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Matthew 5:21-30
21“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ 22But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. 23So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. 25Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. 26Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.
27“You have heard that it was said, ‘you shall not commit adultery.’ 28But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
“Life or Death”
I have set before you life and prosperity or death and adversity. Which one do you want? Our first reading, from the Older Testament (Deuteronomy 30:15-20) presents us with the easiest of choices. Where was this test-writer when I was still in school? Here’s a short sermon for you: Choose life and prosperity. Amen.
We know it isn’t so easy. For starters, prosperity isn’t available to all. There are churches who will tell it is if you just believe…and send them a check. The only party that is guaranteed to get richer is the church, and if you don’t it will tell you it’s because your belief was too weak. The term for that is blasphemy. Even some who have achieved prosperity will discover being wealthy is not all it’s cracked up to be. Similarly, like prosperity, life isn’t something everyone gets choose equally. Does a child in a war-torn part of the world get to choose life? What about a wealthy woman who gets cancer? Someone who can’t afford care or healthy living or simply to live where it is safe? To complicate things even further, Jesus, who would have counted this text as his Scripture, chose neither prosperity nor life in the end, at least not as we commonly define them.
It’s not the wrong question, life or death. It’s that we’ve largely learned to answer that question only shallowly. As I’ve said before, faith is about the orientation of our hearts, not primarily what we believe but what we love. I’m not sure we love life or even prosperity, which I will define here not in terms of the excesses of our culture, but of having enough, of wellness and thriving. Matthew Fox, theologian and mystic, says above all else, our culture loves death, the literal definition of necrophilia. You don’t have to look very far to see our obsession with death—our entertainment, the level of violence in our society, the way our way of life leads to death in some form for others and certainly other species. I don’t mean we should ignore death. Quite the contrary, our obsession with death is an avoidance tactic. A healthy culture neither sweeps death under the rug nor fetishizes it. It acknowledges it. It honors it. It ritualizes it, giving us ways to move through it without being swallowed up by it. It’s amazing how many people cannot even name death at funerals. They insist on a “celebration of life.” I like to celebrate too, but our mourning, our grief, our missing what death takes from us, these are signs of our love for life.
The ways the culture tries to love life are often unhealthy as well. We spend all kinds of money on products and services to give the illusion we aren’t aging, or we extend life by some definition at all costs, devoting less to promoting true quality life. I’ll never forget a woman from my last congregation. Her death came while I was trying to decide whether to come to this church. Graciously, you all gave me the time to attend to her. Her name was “Happy.” Happy’s death came a surprise. She was basically of good health. An x-ray for something treatable revealed a spot on her lung. Though it too was likely benign, all wanted to remove it to be sure. In the midst of that procedure, she through a blood clot that caused significant brain damage. Yes, it’s a nightmare story, one that breaks through our illusion of stability and control.
Happy had long made her wishes clear and in writing. She acknowledged how people with no hope of a meaningful quality of life are kept alive in this country at exorbitant expense, while others suffer around the world without adequate access to healthcare. She specified in no uncertain terms that should she reach such a state, and she was spelled out what that was for her, she did not want her life prolonged. In fact, I seem to remember her mentioning that money that would be used for her care be sent to where it wasn’t as good or as available. So, we held vigil as sustenance was withheld, no medicine, no feeding tube, no water. She was gone within the week. It was the biggest funeral I’ve ever done. That was her way of choosing, and it doesn’t have to be yours, but I might say in her very dying she recognized what loving life looked like.
Sadly, in our culture the question of life has been reduced into a fight over the singular issue of abortion. I won’t solve that one for us today. I understand that perhaps some are too casual about what happens in the termination of a pregnancy, yet others are too casual about supporting life after it emerges from the womb. Our sole focus on that debate misses the myriad of ways we do not love life in our living. We are called to love life, to choose it, and the operative word is “we.” Deuteronomy, like much of the biblical witness, is concerned with the community. When we stick with a highly individualistic lens, we overlook how we fail to promote life for the greater whole.
Fox says if we are going to make it, and he means that literally, we have to move from necrophilia to biophilia. It’s not just about human life. He reminds us that we belong to a larger biosphere, a greater cosmos even, and all of this was created by the Creator. Raised on Newtonian physics, we can forget that all of this is alive. Even the planet itself behaves far more like a living being than a dead piece of granite, though the mystics would say the rocks too are telling of God, are carrying ancient wisdom. Many indigenous spiritualities have known this all along. Love this, all of this. Now, am I saying go out and start hugging trees? No, not without acquiring consent. Then, yes, hug away.
Some years back I was in a gathering of Presbyterian clergy for a conversation about what the climate crisis had to do with our religion. The anxiety in the room rose as we talked about sea level rise and the impact for the poorest and most vulnerable. Oh, I misspoke; there was a rabbi present too, just one. It was the rabbi who called us home to our love of life, because we’d settled into only fearing death. She reminded us that in the midst of all of this, it’s important occasionally, or regularly, to go and sit under a tree, to enjoy its beauty, to delight in its shade, in a manner of speaking to fall back in love. The rabbis are always so much better at this. Perhaps it’s because their festivals were tied to the seasons, to the cycle of planting and harvest, to the land, the earth.
Biophilia, loving life. It’s no mystery social media is dominated by two things: hateful and degrading speech and….cat videos, cute animal clips. It sounds silly on the surface, but are these not superficial expressions of necrophilia and biophilia? We have to learn to practice our biophilia lest we default to necrophilia. The good news is there are endless ways to practice your biophilia. I think of a man I just learned about, a physical therapist and Feldenkrais practitioner, a kind of body movement specialist. He works with cerebral palsy patients and is able to give them the ability for the first time in their lives to dress and take care of themselves. Think of the dignity that grants them. That’s loving life. I remember the conservationists who seem to have given their lives in Mexico to protect fragile monarch habitats. Loving life. I was listening to a story the other day of farmers and everyday folks—you don’t have to have an activist’s spirit—who make their land pesticide free and full of native plants giving the pollinators who make this whole thing work a fighting chance. Matthew Fox recommends we spend time simply staring at what he calls “Father Sky,” you could call it Heavenly Father (it’s the same in the original language). Don’t take my word for it. Try for 10 minutes a day, with no other distractions, and watch how your life changes.
Jesus is described in many ways in our tradition: savior, Lord (a political term), messiah (the anointed one), King of Kings, Son of God, the Christ. One way to think of Jesus is as the connected one. He’s totally connected to eternal life. When he meets someone, he is instantly connected to them. When faced with their suffering, Scripture likes to say Jesus was “moved with compassion,” because he loves life and he sees it being threatened.
His love of life is not restricted to the human realm. Notice the images he uses when teaching. He speaks of lilies, a mustard seed, sheep, goats, bread and wine. He talks about a vine and the branches. He heals with spit from his own body mixed with soil, the saliva of the earth, the earth from which we come. Remember, Adam, the first human in our creation myth, was formed from the soil, the same soil from which the trees and their fruit come. Jesus teaches with trees. His worldview was…the living world. He was a “biophiliac.”
In today’s reading, he may not seem that way to us. He seems to be harsh, promising death: “You have heard it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire’ ” (Mt. 5:21-22). So much for our misguided stereotype of the “angry Old Testament God” and the “loving New Testament Jesus.” In the Old Testament, we’re just told to choose life and prosperity over death and adversity. It’s Jesus who seems to raise the stakes to impossible heights.
Why, because Jesus loves life. His point is not to set up an impossible standard. It’s to reflect back to us the destructive potential of our choices. Remember, faith is about the state of our heart, and if we’ve given our hearts over to hatred or destructive habits then we will inherit a hell of our own making. Jesus isn’t threatening his followers; he’s offering them a cautionary tale. Jesus isn’t obsessed with hell, we are. I finished a book not long ago by David Bentley Hart, an Eastern Orthodox theologian, entitled That All Shall Be Saved. Drawing from both the biblical and philosophical tradition, he argues passionately against the notion of an eternal place of punishment. Do you know from where he has received the most pushback? Christianity. Why? Necrophilia has infected the faith as well. We must have a place for our enemies to go, or more shadowy still, we believe we deserve it. Some simply can’t imagine a God that just gives life.
Love life and you will find it, and you will find prosperity, though your definition of prosperity might well change.
This is our purpose, friends, our work.
As Mary Oliver writes,
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird -
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.[1]
There’s our assignment. Choose life or death. There is a test. You’re living it. Amen.
[1] https://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=2168
Matthew 5:13-20
13“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.
14“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
17“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. 18For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. 19Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
“The Point”
If you wanted to avoid exhibiting your faith, where would you go? To work? We know not to bring that into the workplace. Polite company perhaps? School? No prayer there except during exams or just before you ask someone to the dance. How about the sideline of your kid or grandkid’s soccer game? No, that would detract from the yelling. The Tiburon Ferry? It’s not exactly fair to a captive audience. Can you imagine? “Hey, would you like to talk about Jesus?”
“No thanks!” the other shouts while jumping overboard, “I think I’ll just swim the rest of the way.”
What if I told you one of the best places to avoid your faith is church? Richard Rohr, the great Franciscan author once said religion is “one of the safest places to hide from God.”[1] What? Rohr’s point is that if we’re not careful, the way we practice our religion actually keeps us from living it out. If we can just have enough meetings, even perform enough rituals, we don’t have to commit to the kind of transformation all if it is designed to foster. Coming to church isn’t the point. It’s where we come to be reoriented toward the point, strengthened in heart and soul, and in body, to strive toward the point in our lives and our collective life together.
Do you know what the first thing people say to me when they see me in public? Almost without exception it’s, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t been to church.” That’s not an indictment of you. It’s an indictment of the message on we in the church who’ve clearly taught you that is the point. Matthew Fox, the great theologian and mystic talks about how we divert our attention away from what’s important by making our entire lives about trying to please some kind of grand scorekeeper. When we’re little it’s about about pleasing mommy or daddy. That has its place when we are young, but hopefully we outgrow it. Some never do and spend their lives chasing that affirmation. Some others simply replace the need to please mommy and daddy with a need to please God.
I say those things in compassion, in solidarity, because I’m a pleaser. But, if we think faith is about racking up points with God, we’ve missed the point. God doesn’t care…about that. According to Jesus, God cares about how we live with respect to our neighbor. Most notably in the Gospel of Matthew, he speaks of accountability based on who we treat those in need, equating that to caring for God God’s self. If there is accountability it will be around that, not some perfect attendance sheet, particularly if the lessons didn’t take root in your life.
I am not saying your presence here is unimportant. Your Christian formation is vital, central. What I am saying is church is not the end; it’s the beginning. It’s the pathway to a new world and a new life. Church isn’t the destination; it’s a wisdom center, a healing ground, a beloved community of relationships, a place to learn about and practice the deeper ways of life. It’s a place where we reconnect to our deep ancestral roots that we might understand how we fit in the cosmos so that we might move about it more intentionally, reverently, joyfully, and justly.
That’s the point of our readings today. Did you hear what Isaiah says?
3 “Why do we fast (a religious ritual), but you do not see?
Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”
Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day,
and oppress all your workers.
(This is not about your personal piety, this is about fair treatment and fair pay, this is about a just society.)
4 Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight
and to strike with a wicked fist.
6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
(again, not much about personal piety and devotion, not much about temple attendance, not much about private religion. This is our public as well as personal life.)
10 if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday.
(Notice, the result is not that you earn a sticker, or you’ll be spared from hell, or you’ll be relieved having completed a miserable assignment. The result, the reward is joy! Remember that? Your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom will be like the noonday. This isn’t the pathway to obligation, but to true freedom. Joy not just for you, but for all; that’s another definition of justice, the access of joy for everyone.)
12 Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to live in (Is. 58, selected verses).
(The result is that our community and our communities will be healed, will flourish, will endure for generations, and you will be remembered as the ones who repaired the breach).
Rohr, a priest, says religion can be the worst thing in the world, because it can become an exercise in missing the point. The biblical prophets say God hates our religious festivals and observances (Isaiah 1, Amos 5) not because they are inherently bad, but because they can lose their meaning, their transforming and shaping power, and become hollow. Even more, they can give you the illusion you have fulfilled your divine purpose in observing them.
Rohr also says religion can be the best thing because it can also call us home precisely to our divine purpose. That’s what prophets do. That’s what good ritual, good teaching does. They don’t berate us or scare us or bully us. They call us home. Come home to your creatureliness, your place in the divine creation. Come home to your place in the community and help make it look and feel and actually be a little more beloved. Come home to the one thing everyone has, a higher purpose. Society is going to tell you only have purpose in proportion to what you can spend. Here, we remind you that you have immeasurable purpose because you can love. I don’t just mean love in the syrupy sense, though there’s a place for that, love that shapes the way we live together.
A couple of weeks ago, I referenced an article by Nicholas Kristof, a columnist for The New York Times in which he proclaims that despite all of people’s angst and concern division and derision by many global metrics such as extreme poverty, disease, access to clean water, and education 2019 was the best year ever. Not long after someone said, Kristof and his spouse Sheryl WuDunn, who’ve just written a best-selling book, were coming to the Bay Area and would I like to meet them and go to a talk. I had two thoughts: 1) Yes, of course! And 2) I should start preaching on Steph Curry.
Kristof and WuDunn spoke eloquently and lovingly about some of the people of our country who have felt left behind and how in our social policies of the last 40-50 years we have failed one another in significant ways. We may have divergent views about certain policies, but my point here is about the orientation of our lives. Our worship, our practice is for the purpose of being a meaningful presence in our world, of orienting ourselves toward the wellbeing of our neighbor and the good of the whole. Jesus made it pretty simple: Love God and love neighbor, and doing the second you might accomplish the first. For him this wasn’t replacing religion; it was fulfilling it.
(Do you know what the most important thing is we will do today? We have a dentist here who is going to conduct a free exam for someone in need between services in one of the classrooms. If you want to find Jesus this morning, he’s just as likely to be in that room as this one. Hopefully this room inspires us to do more of that. Otherwise, it’s all just hollow.
Because he loved us, Jesus was unafraid to call out hollowness, comparing in Matthew some self-proclaimed religions people as “whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth. So you also on the outside look righteous to others, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness ” (Mt. 23:27-28). Or in today’s reading simply saying, “You are the salt of the earth, but if the salt has lost its taste….it is no longer good for anything” (Mt. 5:13). I hope here part of what we do is help you get your saltiness back, but this salt is good for your heart.
Matthew says, “You (plural) are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot (shall not) be hid” (5:14). We have sadly often used this to display collective self-righteousness or somehow that we are chosen over and against others, rather than recognizing Jesus’ point that if we are truly filled with light, real light not just gloss and shine, the image of the divine presence, then we cannot be hid wherever we go.
Where can you go and have this light shine? Where is the best place? How about your job, where you work or volunteer? Do those places not need divine presence? School? I hope so. Are we so old that we’ve forgotten the cruelty of school hallways and playgrounds. In polite company, in the midst of the conversational landmines, yes light would be good. The soccer game sidelines could probably use a double dose. And the ferry, yes, because sometimes we are so wounded we would consider jumping overboard than be met with reconciling, truth-telling, hope-filled love. Afterall, we are all on the same boat. Amen.
[1] https://www.huffpost.com/entry/super-soul-sunday-reflect_b_6683862
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
10Now I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose. 11For it has been reported to me by Chloe’s people that there are quarrels among you, my brothers and sisters. 12What I mean is that each of you says, “I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,” or “I belong to Cephas,” or “I belong to Christ.” 13Has Christ been divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul? 14I thank God that I baptized none of you except Crispus and Gaius, 15so that no one can say that you were baptized in my name. 16(I did baptize also the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized anyone else.) 17For Christ did not send me to baptize but to proclaim the gospel, and not with eloquent wisdom, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its power.
18For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Desire
That opening hymn (“We Are One in the Spirit”) has deep emotional ties for me. It conjures memories of childhood, singing accompanied by a guitar at church retreat or the chapel in the woods at summer camp. There and then, we really felt one—with each other, with nature, with God. The notion that “they” would know us by our unified love seemed as realistic as it was idealistic. What happened? The data shows that others don’t identify Christians with love, and we know there is plenty of division within the Christian household. Have I now simply grown up and encountered “the real world,” whatever that means? I know we are speaking of the language of lyric, of poetry, and yet closing the distance between that of which the hymn sings and that which we experience in our daily lives reveals a fundamental yearning within us.
Whenever Paul writes to communities he cares about, it’s clear their struggles pain him. So it is with love. It hurts when our families suffer division, once close friends come apart, or our communities experience strife. I don’t think I need to spend too much time speaking of the divisions in our country. Sometimes I wonder if repeating that narrative only perpetuates it, and I find myself wearying of it.
Not all divisions are so serious, though even minor ones can have an impact. My spouse and I were at an event at our son’s school in the fall. The public schools do these fundraisers to support art and music, so they put on a “lapathon” where the kids run around the field. There’s music and snacks and plenty of photo opportunities for parents. You can imagine the volunteer efforts it takes to pull such an event off, and so while grateful for this I experienced this strange dimension of exclusiveness and division. The lead volunteers all showed up in coordinated outfits, little multicolored tutus and high socks, wigs or colored hair. I’m not sure what the point was. Perhaps I missed it, but I don’t believe the rest of us were ever let into it. It was harmless of course on one level, but on another it all felt a little like the school cliques we remember too well, the cool kids’ club for adults. Why go to such lengths to model that to the children? Why nurture that kind of culture? What’s the upside? Now again, this does not create a serious division, but its triviality is part of the point. These small acts collect, accumulate, and contribute to deeper fissures that grow between us. I’m not talking about positive markers of identity, but the little ways we signal that we don’t belong to each other.
When Paul sees what’s coming between the Corinthians, something compels him to call for unity. Was he merely naïve, an eager convert to this new movement, mistaken that somehow this time it could be different? Perhaps, but Paul had seen division. He’d been a propagator of it, persecuting the earliest followers of Jesus. Could it be that something about that experience corroded him from within and led him to seek a better way, one that didn’t involve obliterating the other as a path to a pure and faithful community? What was he after?
It may be easier to begin by eliminating what Paul was likely not talking about.
I don’t believe in calling for unity Paul was trying to suppress difference. This isn’t modern sensibilities about diversity creeping into interpretation. The evidence is right there in his writings. His most memorable image in Scripture is of the people constituting the body of Christ, each member with its particular form and function. The body does not thrive by overcoming the problem of difference but by relying necessarily upon the gifts that difference brings (Rom. 12:45, 1 Cor. 12:12-27). Similarly, Paul writes of spiritual gifts: “there are a varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit,” diversity within a greater unity, gifts given “for the common good” (1 Cor. 12:4).
Paul is not after uniformity. For all the misunderstood depictions of him as rigid and exclusionary, Paul made it his life mission to be sure people who didn’t follow certain laws or customs could be allowed into the new Christian movement. His was not a ministry of keeping people out, and the fact that others have made that precisely their ministry by misusing his writings is an ironic tragedy indeed.
Wait, Paul calls for everyone to be in “agreement” (v. 10)! The question is whether Paul is calling for agreement on every individual matter or agreement in a deeper sense on the purpose of being together? Similarly, when he speaks of being “of the same mind” is he advocating groupthink or could being of the same mind be more like being on the same page, again, “united in the same…purpose” as he puts it?
In today’s passage Paul recognizes that people have lost sight of the purpose at the heart of the movement. He writes, “For it has been reported to me by Chloe’s people that there are quarrels among you, my brothers and sisters” (I Cor. 1:11). There’s your proof, by the way, that there were women leaders in the early church. “What I mean is that each of you says, “I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,” or “I belong to Cephas,” or “I belong to Christ.” Has Christ been divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?” (v. 12-13). The early Christians seemed to be pledging their allegiance to particular teachers, and Paul was concerned this was trumping their primary allegiance to and identity in Christ. Before we judge them, let us remember we too choose our religious communities by taste, preference, and pastor. Why else do they call it “church shopping?” Let us not lose sight of where we place our allegiances.
Paul is not criticizing different teachers. He, in fact, affirms the necessity of the different roles different teachers play. He uses this lovely agricultural metaphor: “I planted, Apollos watered,” but he’s careful to include the crucial third element, “but God gave the growth” (1 Cor. 3:6). All of it this work is contained within a larger unified whole and purpose. It is telling that Paul uses the imagery of baptism. For Christians, Baptism is a unifying experience that points to a unifying change of state or recognition of a state of being – having died and risen with Christ into a new life and understanding of self and community. Remember, Paul contends elsewhere that baptism eliminates the distinctions between us: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). You may be moved by Paul or Apollos or Cephas or Bethany, but you belong, together, in Christ.
A brilliant spiritual woman, named Ilia Delio, expresses what is at the heart of baptism. Delio brings together in a blessed union of science and religion. She has a doctorate in pharmacology as well as one in historical theology. She carries forward the work of Teilhard de Chardin, a priest and paleontologist in his own right. Teilhard believed humanity was moving toward a new consciousness and new unity. Think of it moving toward the recognition of the ultimate unity which underlies all our divergences.
To mature spiritually is to recognize and live into that unity, both within the fractured community and the fractured self. For Delio baptism is the key image. She says that when Jesus emerged from the waters of his own baptism, he rose as the ihidaya, which is Aramaic for “the single one” or “the unified one.”[1] In fact, Delio says this was one of the earliest titles for Jesus among some of his followers, “the unified one.” This unity wasn’t about getting along with everyone as we know from Jesus’ life. Rather, it was about having a unified or integrated purpose. Another word she uses is “enlightened.” Delio writes, “According to Jesus, this enlightenment takes place primarily within the heart. When your heart becomes ‘single’ –that is, when it desires one thing only, when it can live in perfect alignment with that resonant field of mutual yearning we call ‘the righteousness of God,’ then you ‘see God.’” Actually, she says, “God is the seeing itself.”[2]
Notice, Delio doesn’t say the heart aligns itself with God, this abstract other. Rather, she says the heart becomes aligned with the “resonant field of mutual yearning.” Have you ever been a part of a group where you yearned together for something? It could a sports team when you were young, or a cast of a play, or a team at work, a family, a cause. That field of mutual yearning is the common ground from which communities and groups grow in true unity. Another word for that field is simply Spirit. When we are aligned in our mutual yearning, we say the Spirit is present. We are in Spirit.
I think the assumption is that if we can just again align our yearnings all unity will be restored (or maybe reached for the first time). It’s like our guest spoke about a couple weeks with Nonviolent Communication. Nonviolent communication is about learning to recognize the yearning or need behind any expression of another, no matter how ill-packaged or off-putting, there’s a yearning there. But I actually think there’s a step before trying to match up everyone’s yearning. I think we have lost touch with the yearnings deep within us and therefore the first project is to find the unified self within, as Jesus embodies when he breaks through the waters of baptism. He is singular, though not narrow, in his yearning. Are we even aware of our deepest yearnings? Today we have more options than ever before to distract us from listening to that which is stirring and swirling within us, but until we are truly in touch with the voices deepest inside us calling for our attention, then we have no chance in unifying them with another. We cannot meet others in the resonant field of mutual yearning if we know nothing of the inner landscape ourselves.
Have I lost touch with that child who resonated so deeply with that hymn, when I felt what I was singing? Have you?
Do you know how “We are One in the Spirit” was written? It’s right there in the hymnal: “A parish priest at St. Brendan’s on the South Side of Chicago in the 1960s was very involved in the local Civil Rights movement and needed something for his youth choir to sing at ecumenical, interracial events. Finding nothing, he wrote this song in a single day.”[3] Maybe the priest knew the only place we were united was in the Spirit, in our shared yearning, and he knew meeting in the field of yearning was enough, enough for them and enough for us to hold onto until that day when our greater unity will be restored. Amen.
[1] https://cac.org/be-whole-hearte-04-20/
[2] Ibid.
[3] PCUSA Hymnal Glory to God, “We Are One in the Spirit,” No. 300.
.
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
1Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and our brother Sosthenes,
2To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours:
3Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
4I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, 5for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind — 6just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you — 7so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. 8He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. 9God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
An Opportune Time
I have an article on my desk that has been forwarded to me more than any other in my entire ministry. It was the op ed by Nicholas Kristof entitled “This Has Been the Best Year Ever,” published in The New York Times on Dec. 28. In it, Kristof cites dramatic numbers to talk about how much better life has gotten for many around the world: how many more people now have access to clean water and electricity, the decrease in child mortality, the decrease in extreme poverty, a decline in devastating diseases such as polio, leprosy, and AIDS, and the growth in literacy, with particular gains in education for girls and women.[1] These measures suggest this is a hopeful time.
Kristof acknowledges the problems that worry so many of us—international conflict, a divided populace, climate and ecological breakdown. He says, “there is still so much wrong with the world,” but then he makes what may be the most important observation of the piece: “I worry that deep pessimism about the state of the world is paralyzing rather than empowering; excessive pessimism can leave people feeling not just hopeless but also helpless.”[2] I’m sorry for his ableist use of “paralyzing,” but I think we know what he means about feeling unable to do anything to make a difference. I think this is why the article has struck such a resonate chord with people. In addition to speaking to a number of you, this article has been making the rounds in clergy circles, as we wrestle with the part we play in the narrative of doom and gloom that can have the effect of people resigning themselves to realities they don’t believe they can affect.
We know, in part, why media plays into this narrative. It sells. Even as some of the most pressing challenges probably go under covered, the stories that are told are told in a way that stokes anxiety. The cynical side of me says that’s because anxiety seeks a salve and there are plenty of people ready to sell us something to make us feel better or at least numb. I don’t want to be cynical, and I don’t think you want to be cynical either. You don’t want to feel helpless or hopeless either. If we are truly people of faith, then we should be people of both hope and help. It doesn’t mean living in denial of reality. It means being part of a birthing a new reality, one that is better for all. Jesus calls this the good news, the merging of heaven and earth, “thy kingdom come,” as he taught us to pray, and Christ invites us to participate in the bringing about of that kingdom.
The great Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann talks about the gift of the prophets as their ability to see how differently things could be. They recognize present realities, but they do not resign to letting them have the last word. Tomorrow, our country recognizes Martin Luther King Day. He is most famous for a speech that lays out in vivid pictures a dream for how it could be. There was every reason for him to be pessimistic, excessively pessimistic, and yet he, like others in the movement, was able to see through the fog of societal evil to move the world a step closer to the kingdom come. His good news was that we could be better.
Now unfortunately, or ironically, or perhaps simply tellingly, the speech I chose of his to lift up today is not one of his more obviously hopeful ones. I plan worship a year at a time, so I chose the speech long ago. This is no “I Have a Dream” or “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop” giving hope even on the doorstep of his death. The tenor is more somber. The pace doesn’t pick up in characteristic fashion. In 2017, on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the speech, The New Yorker called it “searing.”[3]It was also roundly criticized, by familiar opponents and some allies alike. The speech was his denunciation of the War in Vietnam. It’s long. It’s a plodding and methodical. It’s critical. It’s heavy.
Why did King speak as he did then? Why did I select this particular speech? Was King so discouraged that he had lost grasp of a sense of hope and starting to feel helpless? Was I? King indicates himself that he was reluctant to speak out on the matter. He says, “the calling to speak is often a vocation of agony,” concluding, “but we must speak.”[4] A prophet’s reluctance is always a good sign, by the way. The Bible isn’t just a litany of prophets; it’s a litany of reluctant prophets. Anyone who enjoys rushing to tell everyone how wrong we are or how chosen they are, should raise suspicion, perhaps of motive, but certainly of understanding. You shake the world because it needs reordering not because you take pleasure in the upset you cause. King’s love of Jesus, his responsibility as a preacher of the gospel, gave him no choice in his mind, but to speak, to offer words that pierced through what he perceived as false, to make a space for a truer way to enter in.
That’s how prophets work. Isaiah, one of the great prophets of the ancestors, says in today’s first reading, “God made my mouth like a sharp sword…God made me polished arrow,” (Is. 49:2). Similarly, Jesus spoke of bringing a sword, which is not a literal call to violence, but rather a metaphor that the truth he spoke would cut through falseness and would be divisive. He was quite clear about that.
So, how do I reconcile these two messages, the first—facts that demonstrate measurable progress—and the second—truth about the real challenges and injustices that persist? I don’t because I don’t think they need to be reconciled. They’re both true, and we need both. Too much doom and gloom and we are lost in despair. Too much unsubstantiated optimism and we are lost in denial. As Christians, we sing that while once we may have been lost, now we are found in Christ. Jesus both faced the worst society has to offer and showed us a new world by rising to new life. Jesus offered us hope in the face of what seems impossible. In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul writes to this little group of people who must have felt the world was against them. Talk about feeling small and helpless, yet Paul says to them that Christ will give them the strength and the tools they need to do what it takes to endure until the fullness of God’s way is made manifest in the world. “Christ will strengthen you to the end,” says Paul, and maybe the key for us to remember is that the end isn’t here yet.
This is why both lifting up encouraging signs and pointing out challenging realities can combat the kind of hopelessness and helplessness that is harmful, because both point us to the possibility of the moment. There is still time. We exist now, and now is full of possibility. Kristof’s article pulls people off the sidelines and says, your participation is not in vain, but it could all be in vain if you do not participate. This is not a hopeless or helpless time as much as it is an opportune time. The tragedy would be to miss the opportunities because we’re too busy wringing our hands to see them. Now is a holy time.
In Jesus and Paul’s time, they spoke of time differently. There was the time that describes a linear string of events: I got up at this time, I had breakfast for this long, I feel asleep at minute 5 of the sermon. It’s a quantitative term, in Greek Chronos. Then there is the qualitative measure of time, Kairos in Greek, and it refers to what the time is for: it’s time for harvest, it’s time to be in mourning, or it’s peace time. In the Scriptures, Kairos refers to the divine possibilities of the present moment, all that this time is for, what the calling of the moment is, and how we can live into it.[5] Wisdom calls us to recognize the Kairos of the moment.
This is why King spoke as he did of the timeliness of things, the urgency and possibility of the moment. It was a recurring them in King’s rhetoric, and it showed up in his Vietnam speech as well.
We are now faced with the fact, my friends, that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history, there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked, and dejected with a lost opportunity. The tide in the affairs of men does not remain at flood -- it ebbs. We may cry out desperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is adamant to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residues of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words, "Too late."
But then he goes on:
We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence or violent coannihilation. We must move past indecision to action.
There in this shadowy speech King summons strength and encouragement to step into the Kairos we’ve been given:
Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter, but beautiful, struggle for a new world. This is the calling of the sons of God, and our brothers wait eagerly for our response. Shall we say the odds are too great? Shall we tell them the struggle is too hard? Will our message be that the forces of American life militate against their arrival as full men, and we send our deepest regrets? Or will there be another message -- of longing, of hope, of solidarity with their yearnings, of commitment to their cause, whatever the cost? The choice is ours, and though we might prefer it otherwise, we must choose in this crucial moment of human history.
Could many of those words not be spoken to our time as well? Few would deny King’s calling. Why then are we slow to embrace our own? Maybe we’ve decided that hopelessness and helplessness is just easier. We’d rather wallow in it than to stand up, take account of how far we’ve come as a way to propel us forward and march one step closer to the kingdom come. It’s not easy, but it is possible. Just think, we may we have just begun what has the potential to become the best year ever. Can you imagine that? That’s not a rhetorical question.
Amen.
[1] https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/28/opinion/sunday/2019-best-year-poverty.html
[2] Ibid.
[3] https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/martin-luther-king-jr-s-searing-antiwar-speech-fifty-years-later
[4] https://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkatimetobreaksilence.htm
[5] For a brief discussion of Chronos vs. Kairos see http://ardmorepres.org/pastors-pen-kronos-vs-kairos/
Jeremiah 23:1-6
1Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the LORD. 2Therefore thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, concerning the shepherds who shepherd my people: It is you who have scattered my flock, and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them. So I will attend to you for your evil doings, says the LORD. 3Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. 4I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the LORD.
5The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. 6In his days Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety. And this is the name by which he will be called: "The LORD is our righteousness." THIS IS THE WORD OF THE LORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
“Scatter or Gather”
A former Presbyterian pastor once said to me, “When I was working, I always tried to keep it so that half the church loved me and half the church really wanted to get rid of me.” Surprisingly, it’s not a technique they teach in seminary, but this man was very proud of this nugget of wisdom. It gets better. He continued, “Then about every year or two I try and get the two halves to switch sides.” His career in ministry was brief.
I think what we recognize in his approach is that while division is sometimes the byproduct of standing up for what’s right, it’s not a proper end goal. Division comes with a cost so it should be worth the price. If you are successful in creating division, but have no discernable higher purpose, you do not win, you, simply put, sin.
I contrast that experience with one I had at a recent Marin Interfaith Council fundraiser. A woman who was there on behalf of the Green Gulch Zen Center and recognized me from a funeral I did for a prominent community member last year. We were talking about some of the difficulties of our time, and in a way only a spiritually grounded person can, she got animated while remaining totally peaceful. She spoke with conviction that our role as leaders is to help people stay grounded through spiritual practices so we can show up to difficult moments in ways resist the temptation to bifurcate, to demean the other, for doing so denies our fundamental interconnectedness. We are the ones who need to sit in those contested spaces differently, with a different kind of presence. This is not about being nice, but about moving us forward.
It was not a strictly “spiritual” conversation. The woman spoke of neuroscience and biology, how we relate to each other as organisms. In fact, her imagery was of us all belonging to a larger living unified body. Before you dismiss this as “out there,” recall how eerily similar this is to the language used by the Apostle Paul and his followers. When we show up to a space seeking healing and growth, we foster health for the larger body. When we show up toting hostility and violence, we don’t simply hurt the other; we poison the universal body we share.
Her plea was not for neutrality, the notion that we should have no convictions, that we should have no values, that we should stand for nothing, lest we offend or make one another uncomfortable. That is immature or unevolved or unexamined spirituality, and it has found a prominent place in contemporary Christianity. No, she was speaking, as I would put it, of nonduality. Nonduality literally means, “there is no 2.” You and I are not fundamentally separate, disconnected, different. Neutrality is to sit on the sidelines. Nonduality is a refusal to accept the construct that there are two teams, even as it acknowledges historical realities of privilege or power differential, past harms, identity, and substantive disagreement. At the core there is only One.
The prophet Jeremiah says, “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture!” (Jer. 23:1). Jeremiah is critiquing the leaders of his day who have forgotten their charge is to tend the flock, not cut it up. They have made full use of the stick side of the crook to keep members in line, but forgetful of the hook was used to pull back to safety the wandering sheep to keep the heard intact. God promises to restore the severed fold and promises to raise up leaders who better recognize their vocation.
Christians see Christ as the ultimate fulfilment of this prophetic vision. The image in Jeremiah shifts to that of a king, which is where we get such titles for Christ, even though Christ is not your typical king. Christ doesn’t conquer with violence, rule from a place of power, govern through fear of the suffering he can inflict. He wins people over with radical love. He empties himself of all privilege. He governs through solidarity with the least by showing how much suffering he can endure. His crook is well worn, gathering in the lost and catching up the left behind, and he is all to happy for the abuser of power to be pulled back in when they’re ready to change. Today we call “Christ the King” or “The Reign of Christ” Sunday, since we’re not much fans of monarchy (or patriarchy). It’s the final Sunday in the Christian year, as if to underline that the bottom line is Christ’s way is the ultimate way of being.
Jesus wasn’t neutral; that reading guts his ministry of all its content. He certainly stood for things. What he was, was nondual. He refused to discard the other as other. He saw the imago dei, the image of God, in all, even those he opposes, and he opposed many. The gospels are, among other things, a litany of all those he opposes, typically those who use power to gain advantage over and exploit others. I’m not the first to point out that Jesus said, “Love your enemies,” in part because he recognized we were going to have some. We used to have fun with that realization in seminary, everyone listing their enemies.
What’s remarkable is what Jesus does with his enemies. While he pulls no punches in warning them of the harm they will inherit for their actions (see Matthew 25), he leaves that judgment to God. When facing his very own executioners he says, “they know not what they do” (Lk. 23:34). In other words, they may not recognize me as part of them, but I still recognize them as part of me. When Jesus says, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Mt. 12:31) he’s not saying love your neighbor as much as yourself. He says love your neighbor as yourself. It’s not about quantity; it’s recognizing you and your neighbor are one.
This understanding is what leads the author of Colossians from which you heard earlier to proclaim, “in Christ all things hold together.” All things. The words are carefully chosen. It’s not just that all people hold together; it’s the entire cosmos. There were ancient maps that tried to depict this. These were not flat earthers—historians will tell you the notion the earth was flat was never a widespread belief. Let me show you. This is called the Ebstorf map. You can see the world is a circle, but at the top is Jesus’ head, the bottom Jesus’ feet, and at each side one of Jesus’ hands. The whole creation is held together inside Christ. It’s an entirely different way of understanding geography. Within this world you cannot see anything as profane, anything as expendable, anything or anyone as anything but infused with the Christ, with God. If you accept that claim, then even as you seek to correct an error, an injustice, you do it from the perspective of trying to bring the body back to wholeness. There is only One.
This is what the woman from Green Gulch was trying to convey to me. Have we lost all ability to see each other in even the situations most ripe for healing?
A supervising doctor described their experience of an eager medical student:
The medical student shadowing me looks over my clinic schedule. She sighs exaggeratedly.
“Doctor T, your YOUNGEST patient today is 70. Don’t you get tired of only seeing older patients?”
I look down at my patient list, and smile.
I don’t see what she sees...
(Carl) At first glance, you might find Carl a bit intimidating.
Gruff and with a jaw that stubbornly juts out, as if DARING you to try him, he seems perpetually irritated.
But Carl runs a dance studio, and still dances every day.
At 70.
And when he smiles, the sun shines for him.
(Gladys) Gladys shows me a photograph.
She seems proud, and I regard it carefully. It’s a black-and-white shot of a concert. A young singer has his back to the camera. The rest is a sea of screaming fans.
A young Gladys is in the front row, clearly visible.
The singer?
Elvis.
(John and Lucy) John and Lucy always come to their appointments together.
Sitting beside each other, they hold hands. Every. Single. Appointment.
I’m always moved by how quiet each one is when it’s the other one’s “turn” during the appointment.
They’ve been married for sixty years.
(Anjali) Anjali brings me food, without fail.
All sorts of delicious desserts that she cooks herself. I once tried to refuse (I’m trying to lose weight), but she looked like she would cry.
Her husband explains. Their son died in a car accident years ago.
She used to cook for him.
(Howard) Howard can barely hear me.
Every single visit he apologizes for being almost deaf, and explains “I LOST MOST OF MY HEARING IN THE WAR!”
He has a photo in his wallet, of him in military uniform. I ask him how he won the medals he’s wearing.
He grins.
“I KEPT MY HEAD DOWN!”
(Alma) Alma has an amazing knack for gardening.
I look forward to her appointments so I can learn more about what’s in season in South Texas this time of year.
We discuss how therapeutic it is to watch a plant sprout.
Her secret?
“Love.”
Every living thing needs love to grow.
(Steve) Steve plays tennis almost every day.
He’s in his late 70s, and one day, finally, I have to suggest that he start toning it down. I’m worried about dehydration.
He says he understands. He’ll tone it down. He promises.
Then he starts walking his dogs for four miles a day.
(Mike) Mike is one of the kindest human beings I’ve ever met.
He brings my entire office staff a bouquet of red and white roses every single visit.
His smile is gentle, his eyes are kind.
He asks me how I’M doing at the start of every appointment, and really wants to know.
One day Mike doesn’t show for his appointment.
I know something’s wrong when his wife sends us a bouquet of red and white roses, and a note.
“Mike passed away in his sleep. It was peaceful. He loved you and your office staff very much. Thank you.”
My heart is broken.
“Don’t you wanna see young patients? Isn’t it rough seeing old people, on so many meds with so many medical problems, all the time?”
I look up from my patient list, and my reverie, to respond.
“This... is a privilege.”
My student doesn’t seem to understand.
Someday, she will.
Someday she will. How about us?
Amen.
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
6Now we command you, beloved, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to keep away from believers who are living in idleness and not according to the tradition that they received from us. 7For you yourselves know how you ought to imitate us; we were not idle when we were with you, 8and we did not eat anyone's bread without paying for it; but with toil and labor we worked night and day, so that we might not burden any of you. 9This was not because we do not have that right, but in order to give you an example to imitate. 10For even when we were with you, we gave you this command: Anyone unwilling to work should not eat.
11For we hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies, not doing any work. 12Now such persons we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living. 13Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
“Waiting Game”
Recently Live from Here the NPR program that replaced A Prairie Home Companion, rebroadcast a Father’s Day Special. On it, a woman offered a touching reflection on her relationship with her father. She spoke about all the lessons she learned from him, all the little phrases and practices he had. For example, even though they never had very much, he would say it’s always a good time to be generous. Whenever they were stuck waiting—it could be traffic or a long line—he would say, “Time is never wasted when you’re with someone you love.” He faithfully used these otherwise frustrating moments of waiting to reaffirm his love.
Today’s Newer Testament passage is about waiting in a way that was not so faithful. It’s a passage that’s not well understood and therefore often misapplied. The author condemns idleness, disavows taking handouts, and conditions eating on being willing to work. One interpretation of these values has permeated our society. We have a real disdain for those we deem not doing their share. While we can all recognize the value of personal responsibility, the biblical author is not, in fact, addressing the general topic of free-riding. The context is specific. Among early Christians, there was a widespread belief that Jesus was coming back to usher in the kingdom of heaven. They may have expected this to be a fulfillment of prophecies such as the one you hear from Isaiah today, the coming of “a new heaven and a new earth” (Is. 65:17). Apparently, some had taken this as license to sit around and do nothing, letting others carry on with the daily work. Why bother, God’s going to come back and fix this?
2 Thessalonians seeks to expand the timeframe of Christ’s return, and to shape the way people live in the meantime. They are to settle in for the long haul, and thus should “do their work quietly and earn their own living” (2 Thess. 3:11-12). The last line of the passage is the real bottom line: “do not be weary in doing what is right.” With whatever time we have as a people or as individuals, never tire of doing what is right.
Which is not to say never tire of doing, and I fear that is where our emphasis all too often lands. The text does not say never tire of doing. I wonder if we’d be kinder, better neighbors, more connected, with more solid judgment if we didn’t treat workaholism as a badge of honor, activity as a measure of our worth. No, here the biblical author is saying, as Martin Luther King put it much later, the “time is always right to do what is right.”[1] Now is always the moment to do what is right, good, truthful, helpful, faithful, what has integrity.
In a world where so much can seem wrong, that can feel a futile effort. Interestingly, 2 Thessalonians doesn’t concern itself much here with future outcomes. Its emphasis is firmly on the present. Don’t be concerned about what will happen then; do what is right now and let then take care of itself. This takes incredible discipline, but it yields an enormous freedom of mind as it liberates us from the endless machinations of how things might go or rehashing how things went. When we live primarily in the present, anxiety goes down since anxiety is a function of a fixation on that past or the future. More opportunities to do what is right start to spring up like previously hidden flowers appearing all around.
What can we do here and now? I saw the great theologian Matthew Fox this past year and one of his remarks that stuck with me was that in the midst of all the existential crises facing our species right now, it is an incredible privilege to be alive right now. We have been chosen on some level to be here now. Consider the choices before us which have the power to shape the very existence of our species not to mention many others. That’s a rather grand thing, but grand things are rooted in tiny things. Tiny things can have a big impact.
Today begins the Alternative Christmas Fair, our tiny attempt to adjust the way we have come to “celebrate” Christmas. I don’t have to tell you how we have allowed a celebration of the birth of Jesus into a ritualized—and I use that word intentionally—celebration of commercialism. The Alternative Christmas Fair transforms the “marketplace” into a place where we can make donations to worthy causes in honor of those we care about. As small as it may seem, it helps reorients us. It helps us practice doing what is right, what is good, helpful, faithful, and has integrity in this moment.
It also has a tangible impact on others. These are such worthy causes, perhaps more so than how we would otherwise spend our money this season. The church commissions select the causes and listen to what they have chosen and what your giving means:
Congregational Life Commission is supporting is the Marin Foster Care Association. Last week I heard Michael Steele, former head of the Republican National Committee, at the Marin Speaker Series. I was totally caught off guard when he spoke of his beginnings as an orphan. He described movingly his mother walking through a room with rows of cribs to find him reaching up through the rails to her. “That’s the one,” she said. There are children right now reaching out looking for someone to say that to them and organizations like this help make sure someone is there to reach back.
Outreach is sponsoring Bridge the Gap, providing tutoring and college prep to low income families and others who have an uphill climb just to get to the place from which many of us started. Bridge the Gap delivers academic support, nutritious meals, and just as importantly it connects people, caring and supportive adults with young people who deserve to have dreams too.
Our own youth programs can be supported through the Alternative Christmas Fair. Young people of every background need the types of experiences our youth ministry provides. In its own way, this is a hard place to grow up. Our youth ministry is generous, giving abundantly to those who have greater material need when on yearly mission trips and our generosity enables theirs.
Congregational Life is also sponsoring the Center for Domestic Peace, an organization that would prefer to name itself after a positive promise, domestic peace, rather than the all too common negative reality of domestic violence. Just recently someone told me they heard a 911 dispatcher say the number one call they receive is domestic violence. You can be a part of supporting a hotline, a safe house, transitional housing, counseling, and legal help to those who need it as well as services for abusers so they might be healed of their ways too.
Women of Westminster continue their sponsorship of the Canal Alliance, in which a number of you have been involved I know. Canal Alliance offers various programs, from education to legal services, and much much more.
The Deacons, our local caregivers and care organizers, are sponsoring Presbyterian Disaster Assistance. I often say the PDA, as we like to call it, is on the ground wherever disaster strikes, and often stays long past when other agencies, and certainly the news crews, are gone. PDA has active responses going on right now addressing the aftermath of Hurricanes Harvey, Irma, Maria, Matthew, and Florence on the coast, flooding and tornadoes all over the middle of the country, and fires and mudslides right here in California.
Spiritual Life is helping to fund research to treat the disease ALS. I know it’s easy to think with all the money that medical research requires, that my few dollars can’t make a difference. Well, what if your few dollars (or more) were precisely that, the few dollars that pushed some researcher or doctor over the edge in making the discovery that leads to a cure? What if your single gift was the one more gift needed to save or prolong someone’s life, someone who would like to celebrate this Christmas or the next 20 Christmases in health with their loved ones?
Time is never wasted when it’s spent with loved ones. The woman from the radio program I mentioned who paid tribute to her father described one other ritual they shared. It surrounded during storms. Living in the Midwest summer thunderstorms are a regular, and I’ll say glorious, thing. The woman, girl at the time, and her father had this pact that whenever there was a storm, they’d meet on the porch. He’d get popsicles out of the garage freezer and they’d sit and count the seconds between lightning and thunder, measuring the distance. At one point he’d remark he could smell the ozone in the air. Inevitably, he’d ask, “What do you think the grass is saying right now?” to which they’d both respond simultaneously, “Ahhhhhhh.”
One day when the storm came, the girl was a little older, and she was suffering from a broken heart after a breakup with a boyfriend. It was all she could do to drag herself out of bed to the porch. When he turned to her and was about to ask what she thought the grass was saying, he saw tears streaming down her face, so he spared her the question and simply reached out and took her hand in his and held it. “I just sobbed,” she recalled. “Finally,” she said, “at one point he looked up to the sky for a long moment and said, ‘The thing about storms is…they pass.’ ”
So, the question is how we will live in the meantime until they do.
Amen.
[1] Emphasis mine. http://www2.oberlin.edu/external/EOG/BlackHistoryMonth/MLK/MLKmainpage.html
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it, and how from childhood you have known the sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work.
In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I solemnly urge you: proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage, with the utmost patience in teaching. For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths. As for you, always be sober, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.
Persistence
You may remember back in 2017, when the US Senate was examining Jeff Sessions as the nominee for Attorney General. Elizabeth Warren chose to read a 1986 letter from Coretta Scott King, which criticized Mr. Sessions when he was, at that time, up for a federal judgeship. Presiding Senate chair Steve Daines and Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell intervened to stop Warren, citing a Senate rule that forbids demeaning another Senator. McConnell later explained, “She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.”[i]
That line then became a rallying cry for women’s rights and feminist advocates across the country. The theme of Women’s History Month in March of 2018 became “Nevertheless, she persisted.” Suddenly, you could by all kinds of swag with the phrase, “Nevertheless, she persisted.” T-shirts, mugs, bumper stickers … you name it. Memes broke out across social media highlighting women throughout history who have shown persistence.
I don’t think the widow from this story from Luke’s Gospel made it into any of these memes, but she certainly could have. The story says that she kept coming to the judge, asking for justice. The judge keeps refusing, and she persists and persists, continuing to seek the justice she has been denied. Finally the judge relents. “I will grant her justice,” he says, “so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.”
Last week, Rob’s sermon was about both the importance of planting gardens and finding beauty in whatever situation we find ourselves, and the continuing call to be actively engaged in our community seeking justice. It is no mistake that our readings this week continue to focus on this theme. These readings highlight the fact that seeking justice is hard work. It requires persistence. It is often a long road. There will be people who disagree with us. We will face roadblocks. Nevertheless, we are called to persist. “Be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable,” says the letter to Timothy. The work of justice is not easy. Yet we persist.
I have been inspired by the persistent work of some local groups as they have advocated for justice. The Marin Organizing Committee, for example, is having a big 10 year anniversary convention next Sunday. They will celebrate some of the justice issues for which they have advocated in the past 10 years, including affordable housing and renter protections. Their work has not been easy. They have had setbacks. They have had people disagree with them. Multiple potential sites for a homeless shelter in Marin, for example, have fallen through as neighbors have complained and city and county codes have proved insurmountable. Nevertheless, they have persisted. A new “housing first” model has been adopted in Marin, and has helped many people who were experiencing homelessness finally find housing.
The local Moms Demand Action group has been meeting here at Westminster for the last several months. They are dedicated to reducing gun violence, mostly by advocating for gun sense legislation – things like mandatory background checks and waiting periods. They have certainly faced setbacks, as they have watched bills they support stall in committee or simply never come for a vote. Earlier this month, State Assemblyman Marc Levine was here reporting on a bill the group had been supporting. It is currently stuck in the appropriations committee, and Levine was not optimistic it would ever move out of that committee. Nevertheless, they persist. They continue to write letters to elected officials, to phone bank, to educate.
Just last week, Alex McNeill was ordained into the ministry. He is the first openly transgender man to be ordained by the Presbyterian church. At his ordination service, The Rev. Janie Spahr – a good friend of Westminster – was mentioned multiple times. The Rev. Scott Clark reflected, “As we celebrated the ordination of the Rev. Alex McNeill, many of us noted all the ways that Janie has opened the way for days like this — through her tenacious (persistent!) insistence that God’s love is for all people; through the love and encouragement she’s offered so many of us; through her prophetic and pastoral witness to a church that was slow to be as loving; and through all the ways that she gathers and embodies a community of love.” Throughout Janie’s career, time and time again, the church has brought charges against her as she tirelessly advocated for justice for the LGBT community. With each new charge, she persisted. And last week she got to celebrate at Alex’s ordination.
The work of justice requires persistence. It is so often difficult. But, let us not forget that it can also bring rejoicing. The work of justice also requires discernment. Elizabeth Warren would argue that on that fateful day in the Senate chambers, she was persisting on behalf of justice. The letter she was reading argued that Sessions used “the awesome power of his office to chill the free exercise of the vote by black citizens” while serving as a United States attorney in Alabama. Warren would argue that she was attempting to give the voiceless a voice – that her persistence was absolutely necessary in the pursuit of justice. Others would say that she was clearly breaking a rule. That she needed to have respect for the rules of the Senate. That her persistence was rude and uncalled for.
We need to be able discern when and how to persist. My four-year-old nephew, for example, is still learning this. He is perhaps the most persistent child I know. But he does not always use his persistence for good. Lately my sister has been struggling with him trashing his room when he is supposed to be taking his afternoon nap. She keeps taking things out of his room, and he keeps finding new things to use to make a mess. It is a constant battle. Luckily, my good-natured sister is taking the long view. She told me the other day that as she struggles through this, she just hopes that he will learn to use his persistence for good one day.
So how do we decide? How do we know when to persist for justice? According to our readings today, a good start is to ground ourselves in scripture and in prayer. The writer of the letter to Timothy reminds him that from childhood he has known the sacred writings that are able to instruct him. That scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching and for training in righteousness. Some people, says the writer, will not put up with sound doctrine and will find teachers to suit their own desires, but we are to continue in what we have learned from scripture. To persistently proclaim the message.
Luke prefaces Jesus’ parable about the widow and the judge by saying it is a parable about the need to pray always and not to lose heart. We are to be as persistent in prayer as the widow is in seeking justice from the judge.
When we plant our gardens – to use Rob’s language from last week – when we feed our souls and nurture our relationship with God through scripture and prayer, we can then be ready to discern how we are called to the work of justice in the world.
Though the phrase, “Nevertheless, she persisted” has been used to highlight women who have persisted for justice, I couldn’t help but make a meme for Jesus as well. For he, too, is a model for persisting for justice in the face of adversity. First, he grounded himself in prayer and scripture – often finding a time to get away for prayer or for study. Then, he boldly proclaimed justice for all. He healed on the Sabbath because he felt strongly that God was calling him to heal … even though it was unlawful to work on the Sabbath. He challenged the power structures that kept so many people poor and voiceless … even though he knew those in power would push back against him. He continued to preach love and justice and grace for all … even when it eventually led to his death.
Jesus never promised his disciples that following him would be easy. In fact, he was very clear that it would be difficult. And yet, he called them to do the work. To persist for justice. May we do the same.
[i] https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/08/us/politics/elizabeth-warren-republicans-facebook-twitter.html
Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7
1These are the words of the letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent from Jerusalem to the remaining elders among the exiles, and to the priests, the prophets, and all the people, whom Nebuchadnezzar had taken into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon.
4Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: 5Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. 6Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. 7But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Just Gardens or Justice?
Is life about cultivating the ability to find peace and joy, if not happiness, in the midst of chaos, unfairness, and suffering, in essence making the best of a bad situation? Or, is it about changing the circumstances that breed chaos, unfairness, and suffering? This is a fundamental question, is it not? A similar question was posed in a graduate ethics course I took, and to the professor’s surprise, most of us answered that life was really about being able to find peace in any circumstance. The question was not framed in terms of justice, but rather vocation and personal happiness. We argued that it shouldn’t matter what one did in life because the goal should be able to find peace anywhere and everywhere. The professor pushed back. “Wouldn’t you rather find somewhere where you can dance?” he asked. Why, insofar as you have choices, choose something you have to work so hard to endure, especially if there are options where your gifts and passions can more naturally be expressed?
Who was right? Is the goal to learn how to endure suffering or avert it for yourself and others? There are merits to both sides. On the one hand, no matter what you do, how much success you have, how much money you get, you will never fully escape suffering. Be very wary of anyone who tries to convince you otherwise. We do have to learn to exist in the midst of circumstances we would not choose. As Viktor Frankl once famously said, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”[1] That is the classic extreme example, for Frankl knew about having everything taken from him. He survived Auschwitz and three other Nazi camps. Though hopefully to lesser degrees, we all have opportunities to choose the attitude we bring to a circumstance we wouldn’t choose.
On the other hand, we also have opportunities, and some would say an obligation, to challenge and change the very circumstances that bring about suffering. There’s the old parable of a village that sits aside a river. One day, a woman notices a baby floating down stream. She rushes out to save the baby. However, another one appears, and then another. In a few days it’s taking everyone in the village just to pull these babies to safety. Finally, someone suggests going upstream to see what’s causing the babies to be thrown into the river in the first place. The goal—to address the problem at its source, change the circumstances.[2]
These two themes flow right through our two readings. In Jeremiah there is this beautiful, if painful, challenge to the people who live as exiles, refugees in a foreign land. Make the best of it. “Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce,” have families, keeping your people alive. However, it’s not just about your people, “seek the welfare of the city…for in its welfare you will find your welfare” (Jer. 29:5-7). Be a blessing to the community around you, the community you didn’t choose. It is an acknowledgment that some circumstances won’t change as quickly as we would like. In the meantime, we are called to learn to put down roots and bear fruit. In lingua Frankl, when your external choices have been taken from you, choose your attitude.
Psalm 66, on the other hand, celebrates God for changing the circumstances of a people. “How awesome are your deeds! Because of your great power, your enemies cringe before you…Come and see what God has done…God turned the sea into dry land; they passed through the river on foot,” recalling the Exodus from slavery to freedom (v.3, 5-6). The presumption is that is faithful to cry to have one’s circumstances changed, and that God sometimes does precisely that. Does this mean it is only God who can change circumstances and we should always leave the systemic change up to God? Hardly, for we can find countless passages where commandments are given to people to change the plight of others. Seeking justice is part of faith. Remember in Isaiah, where God scoffs at religious rituals such as fasting saying, “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?” Jesus, too, breaks religious law to feed people, violates all manner of custom to make people well and restored to the community. He deals not only with the interpersonal but is finally executed precisely because he questions the religious and political structures of his day.
An example from today, one that I have been avoiding because it’s difficult, raises some of these questions and more. Botham Jean was shot and killed in his own apartment by Amber Guyger who claimed she mistook his apartment for her own and therefore him for an intruder. Botham was black and Amber is white and a police officer. We know all too well the fault lines this exposes in our society. If you have followed the story, you know that a rather extraordinary thing happened at Guyger’s sentencing after she was convicted of the murder. Botham’s brother Brandt forgave Guyger and moreover asked the judge if he could give her a hug.
What’s so complicated? This is a moving display of forgiveness, one that conjures memory of the Amish school shooting of some years ago and that community’s radical commitment to forgiveness. As I started to read African Americans’ response to the forgiveness scene, I quickly realized that many weren’t having it. They had grown weary of the narrative that black peoples’ role was to be violated and be forgiving about it. What about the too infrequently untold story of the systemic violation along lines of race. It turns out, Guyger sent racist text messages just days before she killed Botham.[3] What about the obligation to go upstream to try and stop the killing.
To complicate it even further, other African Americans I read, because of course there are diverse African American perspectives, were saying, wait a minute, you want to talk about disempowering a black man, then decide for him how he should respond! If he wants to forgive, that’s his choice. You take away his agency by deciding for him what he should do or not do.
Other voices still said, well Brandt, Botham’s brother, can forgive for himself, but the real victim, Botham, is dead and he doesn’t get that choice.
Do you see how difficult this is, how complicated? That doesn’t excuse us from exercising moral responsibility. We have to wade into the stream because people are dying.
So, do we forgive, do we keep our heads down and carry on until something changes? (Or) Do we work to make things change? Do we grow gardens? (Or) Do seek justice? Yes. Of course, the answer is yes to both. Botham’s brother’s act of forgiveness might look like simply making the best of a bad situation, letting the air out of a tense situation, planting a garden rather than waging a fight in a hostile territory. You could also say his act of forgiveness was one way of working to change the circumstances because of the transformative power of forgiveness. I have to admit, I didn’t want to watch the courtroom hug, having such a bad taste in my mouth after all the reading I’d done. I didn’t have the desire to see this killer held in the arms not just of the victim’s brother but later by the judge herself. How many African American killers are hugged by their judges? Then I saw it, and its power was undeniable to me. The moment just knocked me over, him holding her, and her crumpling in his arms. Forgiveness can be powerful, if chosen, not forced, and it’s hard to believe it has no wider effect.
And yes, we have to recognize that things need to change on a systemic level. The track record is too long, the unequal treatment given people of different races is well-documented. Some on our Outreach Commission have been reading Michelle Allexander’s book The New Jim Crow. They’ll be offering some discussion opportunities I hope you’ll take advantage of them. It’s an eye-opening work. It’s simply not good enough to laud sympathetic and forgiving victims. We are called to be in the business of making fewer of them.
Many people tend to lean one way or the other—heavy on justice or heavy on quietly making the best of things. Both have righteous faithful qualities. One invitation is for us to be spiritually ambidextrous, wise about which is in order in which moment. When I practice soccer with my son, I say, “If you really want to have an advantage over others, work on being good with both feet.” The same is true here, let us cultivate both skill sets, to be able to tap into the peace that surpasses all understanding that we might endure, to live to fight another day, and the ability to be able to tap into a deeper sense of how things ought to be and work to help make them so now. A second invitation recognizes the limits of the first. No one person can manage this balance perfectly alone, so we are to be actively engaged as part of a community, knowing we will have differing strengths and orientations. We balance one another out. One says, “Hey, how can we plant gardens here rather than just brood and stew, protest and fight,” and the other says, “How lovely is this garden we’ve grown; let’s not spend all our time under the fruit tree in a hammock when our neighbors are suffering.”
Just gardens or justice? False choice. The wise one knows how to choose both by knowing how and when to choose each. Amen.
[1] https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2782.Viktor_E_Frankl
[2] https://csl.ku.edu/sites/csl.ku.edu/files/docs/ECP_SavingBabies.pdf
[3] https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2019/10/02/amber-guyger-offensive-texts-botham-jean-murder/
1 Timothy 6:6-19
6Of course, there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment; 7for we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it; 8but if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these. 9But those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. 10For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.
11But as for you, man of God, shun all this; pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness. 12Fight the good fight of the faith; take hold of the eternal life, to which you were called and for which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses. 13In the presence of God, who gives life to all things, and of Christ Jesus, who in his testimony before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, I charge you 14to keep the commandment without spot or blame until the manifestation of our Lord Jesus Christ, 15which he will bring about at the right time-he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords. 16It is he alone who has immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see; to him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen.
17As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. 18They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, 19thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of the life that really is life. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD
That is Really Life
If they say a picture says 1,000 words, I have a couple thousand words for you to see. First this one…(NYC Climate Strike crowd). Does anyone know what this is? It’s from The Wall Street Journal. Maybe this one will help (Greta Thunberg speaking from behind)…These are images from the recent climate strikes. Tens of thousands if not hundreds of thousands gathered in cities around the world, millions in all.[1] You can see many images and you may find them inspiring. Of all the images that inspire me, however, this is the one I find most moving…(image of Greta alone at first Climate Strike). This was Greta Thunberg’s first strike. There she sat curled in on herself all alone, before all the crowds and adulation. These images are taken only 13 months apart.
If you heard her speech to the United Nation’s Climate Action Summit, her tone was sharper than usual, though her words have always been direct and uncompromising in her commitment to proven science and truth. She spoke a prophetic word about accountability, and about the unacceptability of proposals that do too little too late. Thunberg lifted up the falseness of “business as usual,” saying to the adults gathered, “all you can talk about is money and fairy tales of eternal economic growth,” ending with the now familiar, “How dare you.”[2]
She could have been preaching from today’s Scripture reading from 1 Timothy. It too exposes the folly of destructive economic pursuits, in Timothy’s words, “senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction” (1 Tim. 6:9). All our desires, even around money, are surely not senseless and harmful, but we are clearly headed down such a path and a rather dramatic course correction. In Timothy’s words, it sounds like it is time for some to learn to live with more contentment that others might simply live.
If you’re worried that I’m about to lambast you for your wealth, you who have come here for an encouraging word, you needn’t be. I recognize your goodness, your earnestness. That’s why you’re here. The word can be challenging, but it’s always an invitation for growth, so let’s allow ourselves the internal room to receive the invitation. Timothy says what even those of us less familiar with the Bible have undoubtedly heard, that “the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil” (1 Tim. 6:10). Christians have made two mistakes with respect to this line. The first is to fixate on the love of money. “I don’t love money,” we say, and think we are okay, but if we define love as that around which organizes our life, that which drives our decisions, then many of us do indeed love money. The second mistake, and one that is a corollary to the first is to say this is all about personal moral failure. This is bigger any one of us. We exist in a much larger system. We swim in an ocean of norms and expectations, rules and obligations, and we may not even be fully aware of how these drive our decisions. To reference the famous David Foster Wallace commencement speech of years ago, sometimes the fish have to wake up and say, “Oh, this is water.” The first step in turning the tide is recognizing you’re being swayed by it.
I didn’t pick this Scripture passage for the day I am supposed to preach on Stewardship, the annual fundraising drive for the church. It is a lectionary passage, and the lectionary was set with no thought to when individual congregations might make their fall pitch for money. In fact, I find it troubling if not outright spiritual malpractice when pastors drum up some Scripture passage about the evils of having too much money only to conveniently say from the pulpit, “And today is pledge day so we can take that money off your hands.” You should be insulted by that.
I do want us to heed the call from the Stewardship team to support this church, but not out of guilt and certainly not out of bad theology. Rather, let us give in support of the values the church upholds, that in Jesus Christ we see the fullness of what a godly life looks like, and beyond the individual what a vision of God’s dream for the world is. In Christ, we see the outcast restored, care given those in need, servant power subverting coercive power, and the transformative power of forgiveness, which is not the same thing as blanket permissiveness. In Christ we say we have been reconciled and so our acts are simply to live into that reality and defy the voices and forces that don’t yet get it, that are stuck in pitting the weak against each other so they can remain strong.
There are plenty of good causes out there. I’m so glad you support them. None of them are charged with the gospel of Christ. I have been told by a professional fundraiser that the addresses zip codes from which you come are the most sought after by those seeking money. The number of causes are endless: monarch butterflies, art museums, programs that feed and house those in need, advocacy groups, schools…we just survived one of the most painful chapters in our nation’s history – the annual NPR fund drive. There are so many good causes. None other than this one is charged with helping you become a community shaped in the image and dream of Jesus Christ, none but your church.
Stewardship is about money. Let’s not pretend. Beneath the money, however, or what the money is beneath, are far greater things. I put together a little list of what I think stewardship is truly about to share with the elders and this is what I came up with.
Stewardship is about:
-teaching young children about the love of God, and exploring alongside the less-young youth what that love looks like lived out in a complicated world.
-providing a space where people carrying all manner of burdens, worries, hopes, fears, and diagnoses can worship, opening their hearts for a word of inspiration and their lives to other good, caring people.
-singing songs that are about something different than what’s heard in shopping malls or car stereos
-connecting with others to learn, support each other, grow in faith
-working together on meaningful projects and to advocate in the community
-visiting the sick and a quiet prayer in a hospital or retirement community
-shedding tears in the safety of a pastor’s office
-standing against the tide of cynicism disenchantment of public discourse
-standing with the least of these and those who have a lot and are trying to live lives of integrity at home and out in the world.
-it’s about the man or woman you’ll never meet who comes to AA here, and the person you’ve come to know here who shares the same faith you do – imagine that in this world a fellow traveler on the same path.
-Stewardship isn’t about just another budget, it’s about being a part of and supporting a movement that place God’s redeeming grace up against any other value in the world.
The gospel fundamentally changes the way we see things. That’s what Timothy is after. It’s not a cheap shot at the rich. I always look for a compassionate lens when I read Scripture, because that’s how I understand Christ, as a fountain of compassion. Timothy says the challenging things about wealth because he wants those who have it or seek it, and may be blinded by it, to see differently. Just as Jesus says it’s harder to enter the kingdom of heaven for a rich one than a camel to go through the eye of the needle because he knows how truly hard it is, Timothy warns the rich of temptation and the trap of evil because he knows similarly. Timothy and Jesus recognize that with wealth comes so many forces that pull us of course—all the obligations, the allure of more, the seduction of the ego—wealth becomes the sole driving force of our lives and it’s a path to oblivion.
Timothy, like Jesus, warns against riches-loving people not because he hates them, but because he loves them and he sees the damage that is done to society and to them by the endless pursuit of that which you cannot save and will not save you. Our first reading from Psalm 91 is adamant that only God saves, provides, protects, choose your word. I don’t know. A lot of God-fearing, God-loving people seem not to have been protected or provided for at least in ways obvious for us to see. One thing I do know is that when tuned in, when our sights are set on what is good, we become instruments of God’s provision, protection, dare I say “salvation.”
That happens when we learn to see differently, see things as Christ sees them, or to put it differently and the same see Christ in all things, to recognize the sacred, the divine that’s ready to come out and show up in the world. Do you know what’s astonishing to me about that last picture I showed you…I’ll put it up again here…It’s that someone knew to take it. Someone saw something, noticed, and said this is something, she is something, in so many words and maybe not their words, “God is about to do something good.” That’s what we train to do here.
This is where we learn to practice seeing differently, to recognize the life that is really life, and help make that available to others as well. If that’s worth something to you, please support it. Amen.
[1] https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2019/09/21/global-climate-strike-estimates-crowd-size-millions-worldwide/2401672001/, https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/20/nyregion/climate-strike-nyc.html
[2] https://www.npr.org/2019/09/23/763452863/transcript-greta-thunbergs-speech-at-the-u-n-climate-action-summit
1 Timothy 2:1-7
1First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, 2for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity. 3This is right and is acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, 4who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. 5For there is one God; there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human, 6who gave himself a ransom for all-this was attested at the right time. 7For this I was appointed a herald and an apostle (I am telling the truth, I am not lying), a teacher of the Gentiles in faith and truth. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Salvation
It’s a movie scene. A car has gone off the road. A young couple is inside motionless, the driver is alive, eyes open, but can’t move. The passenger lays limp next to him. Her condition is unclear. A man hurries through the tall grass to come to their aid. Reaching the open driver’s side window, he leans in and asks…if the man has accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior. For the record, if, God forbid, you find me on the side of 101, don’t ask if I’m saved. Ask if I need help. The movie is The Apostle, and the man, played by Robert Duvall, is a fiery preacher. The question he asks is the one that dominates the narrative.
For many, this question of personal salvation has dominated their understanding of Christianity. I don’t mean to make light of their faith, nor do I doubt the intensity of the feeling of in a moment giving yourself over to God or Christ. I do, however, believe this treatment of spirituality, if it’s all we have, misses the point and leads us to miss out on so much of the spacious territory to which God invites us in Jesus Christ. Being saved may have brought comfort to some, but it has meant torment to others, and pushed more still away altogether. If we take a step back, we can ask who would want to be part of a faith where God would need to save people by giving up God’s only son, whom if we accept will spare us from eternal damnation? Taken at face-value, it’s a twisted formula. Let us then be released from it, once and for all, that we might enter into a greater realm that God has in store for us, not just one day, but now.
We don’t have to leave the tradition behind to find this greater realm. It’s right there in the heart of the tradition. Believe it or not, in the Bible salvation first referred to our experience in this life. Throughout the Older Testament, including today’s first reading from Jeremiah, we see this understanding of salvation. In today’s reading, it’s a negative example. The people have not been faithful, and they’ve suffered for it—threat from foreign enemies, what we would call “natural disasters,” and famine. The people cry, “we are not saved.” They’re not talking about heaven. They’re talking about their wellbeing here on earth. In fact, most of the Bible’s understanding of salvation is concerned with about how people’s worldly needs are met: are they safe, do they have enough to eat and drink, and so forth. If you want a synonym for salvation that doesn’t sound so loaded, use “wellbeing.”
Add to it, “of the people,” because the biblical understanding of salvation is that it is primarily a communal good, not an individual one. “We are not saved,” they cry in Jeremiah. On the surface, it looks as though the Newer Testament is more concerned with individual salvation. Acts 2, for example, has a passage that reads, “and the Lord was adding those being saved every day.” It reads like people punching their ticket to an exclusive club. However, if you read Acts, you’ll see it’s about people living in intentional community almost like a commune. This is the tale of the first Christians coming together in the wake of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Their understanding of what it means in response to Jesus Christ is to live together, share their worldly possessions, distributing to people according to their need. The early Christian faith was a profoundly communal ethic, not simply a private code of conduct or guide for personal devotion as important as those things are. For them, Christianity was not simply what you prayed or what you said; it was what you did, how you lived in relation to others.
I was reading in the Newer Testament book of James this week, where the author, much to the later dismay of the likes of Martin Luther, says, “Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead” (James 2:24-17). Faith alone doesn’t yield salvation in the sense it does not automatically yield more wellbeing. Salvation isn’t about getting yourself to heaven. It’s about helping earth look a little more like it, particularly by tending to those most in need.
Ellen Davis, professor of Bible and Practical Theology at Duke Divinity School, says that salvation reminds us not that we have an option to be rescued apart from the other, but rather is about the “health of one depending on the health of the other.”[1] You could say another synonym for salvation, then, would be “public health.” Davis says simply, “Salvation is healing.” The healing of social wounds is the manifestation of God’s love, what we would rightly call “salvation.” Another word for this is justice, for a just society is simply a well-healed society, a healthy society, where all the members are in good shape. That’s a whole society, a holy society.
As our reading for today, 1 Timothy puts it God desires “everyone to be saved” (1 Tim. 2:3-4), everybody to be well, not just some, not just Christians, everyone.
Davis pushes us to expand our traditional definition of everyone as well. Mature spirituality always pushes us to be more expansive. She argues that salvation is not simply about the health of one person depending on the health of other people, but the health of any and all people depends on the health of the earth. You don’t have to be a scientist to recognize this most basic of truths. Anyone with even a basic understanding of ecosystems could tell you this. The word “ecosystem” like “ecology” come from the Greek oikos, which just means house. This is God’s house, our shared house. We are not well, we are not saved, if our house is not well. This is a far cry from the spiritual traditions that make the whole quest about escaping this wretched fallen earth, whether it’s contemporary fundamentalism or ancient gnosticism. Both miss the point of salvation. It’s not about escape. It’s about incarnation, healthy inhabitation.
How does Jesus Christ save us, and I do believe Christ does? Just by dying, or also by living and showing us to live in ways that are holy, that take care of the community, that live in right relationship with everything around us. Jesus, you could say, shows us how to restore proper balance to a polluted ecosystem, advocating for those who are the most endangered, bringing down to size those who have taken too much, yet refusing to dominate and annihilate the other, even the enemy. He knows that everyone is in it together, and thus he even seeks to rescue the enemy. This is, on one level, the point of the Good Samaritan story – to seek to rescue the enemy.
Interestingly, another word for salvation is “rescue.” I believe Jesus rescues us not from God’s cocked and loaded wrath. Rather, in Christ, God saves us from the worst of our impulses. In Christ, God shows us how to live in ways that rescue others in need insofar as we are able. Many of you watched with horror, as did I, as the images from the Bahamas came in following hurricane Dorian. Whole islands seem to have been wiped out. Everything destroyed. People lost. Some people found, rescued…sort of. According to multiple news outlets, attempts to bring survivors to the U.S. were thwarted. Even though Bahamians don’t typically require a passport to come here, and there was an internal push from the acting chief of Customs and Border Protection to grant these survivors temporary protected status, such status was denied and at least initially and to my knowledge still, they were not allowed in. They were demonized as “very bad people” and “some very bad gang members and some very very bad drug dealers.”[2]
Earlier I said Jesus shows us how to rescue others insofar as we are able. Smart people can differ about foreign policy, can raise legitimate questions about the logistics of handling refugees. From where I stand, for the wealthiest country on the planet to deny such rescue seems to fundamentally misunderstand not just human decency, but more apropos to this room, salvation. If they are not okay, we are, by definition, not okay.
Are we saved? Yes….and no, as long as we fail to recognize that we can only be saved together. That’s the whole point of the Jesus story. Somehow we’ve been taught salvation is a commodity that we must get in order to have eternal life. No, salvation is a way of life, one that recognizes our wellbeing is bound up in everyone else’s wellbeing. Until we recognize that, we will neither understand Jesus nor the salvation he came to show us.
The car is on the side of the road, the island is ravaged by a hurricane. Do we call them to Jesus or do we act like him? Amen.
[1] From https://www.theworkofthepeople.com/preserve-and-serve (subscription required)
[2] https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2019/09/09/bahamas-recovery-hundreds-refugees-kicked-off-us-bound-ferry/2261863001/, https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2019-09-12/bahamas-dorian-hurricane-trump-temporary-protected-status, https://www.newsweek.com/trump-bad-people-gangs-bahamas-entering-1458384, https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/hurricane-dorian-bahamas-refugees-denied-entry-united-states-881612/
Luke 15:1-10
Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable: “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.”
“Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
Lost and Found
(Note, the sermon began with the song “Leaving 99” by Audio Adrenaline. Lyrics are at the end.)
This is a beautiful scripture passage and a beautiful song. How can we not be moved by the message that God will find us when we are lost? Wherever we are, whatever we have done, we are never too lost for God to find us. Amen! It is my hope and prayer that if you are feeling lost right now – whatever being lost looks like in your life – you may hear today and you may know that God has found you. Notice that I did not say God will find you. I said that God has found you. If you have done something that makes you think you no longer deserve God’s love, God has already found you and is already loving you. If you have wandered so far from God that you wonder if God even knows where you are, God has already found you and is already guiding you back to God. If you don’t think you are worthy of God’s care, God has already found you and is showering you with God’s amazing grace. God continues to seek us and continues to find us … always. Thanks be to God.
There is a part of me that wants to end right there. This is such a good and powerful message. Let’s stop while we’re ahead! However, as I have been spending time with this passage this week, I keep coming back to the beginning. Before the sheep gets lost, before the coin gets lost. At the very beginning of this passage, the tax collectors and sinners are coming to listen to Jesus. The Pharisees and scribes – the religious leaders of the time – are grumbling. They can’t believe that Jesus would dare welcome these people. They are sinners, for goodness sake!
When Jesus hears them grumbling, that is when he tells his story. He directs the parable to the religious leaders who would not dare associate themselves with sinners. He asks them, “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” Notice that Jesus is not telling this parable to those who know they are lost. He is telling this parable to those who think they are found. He is asking them to identify not with the lost sheep or the lost coin, but instead with the shepherd who searches for the lost sheep and the woman who scours her house for the lost coin. Don’t sit there all high and mighty patting yourselves on your righteous backs because you’re not feeling lost right now, says Jesus. No, get out there and seek the lost.
Often, when this story is told, we assume that we are the lost and that God is the shepherd or the woman who looks for us. As I said at the beginning, that is an important and meaningful interpretation. However, in this story, Jesus is very clearly telling the Pharisees and scribes to go out and seek ... and find. Sometimes we are at a point in our lives when we are feeling lost, and we really need to be found. At other times, we are in a good space, we are confident in our belovedness, and it is our turn to seek. To help those who are lost know that they are found.
How we go about finding and welcoming the lost is also important to Jesus. We do not find with “tsk-tsks” and wagging fingers, and lectures on how they should have known better. We do not find with grumbling or snide expressions, and the thought that we would have never gotten so lost. No, when the lost are found, says Jesus, we rejoice! That is the one thing that permeates both stories … joy! Rejoice with me, says Jesus, for I have found what was lost. Yes, there are often consequences to be faced and lessons to be learned, but says Jesus, the first order of business is rejoicing when the lost are found.
Many of you have talked with me about my most recent newsletter article where I wrote about my mom undertaking a pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago in Spain. She left in late August, and it was her plan to walk about 500 miles over the course of 6 weeks. Before she left, she researched for months! She read just about everything there is to read about the Camino, carefully planned how far she would walk each day and where she would stay. She purchased all the supplies she would need. I talked last week about how much of a planner I am, and I come by it naturally. My mom had every last detail planned.
Then she started to walk, and her body did not quite cooperate with all the careful plans she had made. First her knee began to bother her. She was able to stop at a pharmacia and get a brace and some ointment to help with that. Then her back really started bothering her … so much so that she had to skip a day of walking and take the bus instead. Then she developed a serious-looking rash on both of her legs that would likely require anti-biotics. And her back continued to cause her a lot of pain. Finally, after about a week and 75 miles of walking, she made the difficult decision to end her pilgrimage and come home.
Throughout her struggles with her various ailments, she will tell you that she felt very lost. Things were not going as expected! Though intellectually she knew she made the right decision for the health of her body to come home, emotionally it was a huge disappointment. Then came perhaps the hardest part of all - sharing this with the family and friends who had been rooting for her and following her journey. How to admit that she was lost?
As you might expect, my mom received nothing but positive feedback when people learned that she was ending her journey sooner than expected. So many people applauded her for listening to her body, and expressed delight that she had even attempted the adventure at all. Most importantly, they rejoiced with her over the experiences that she was able to have in her week of walking. And they rejoiced with her over the memories and stories she will carry with her always even after a shorter than expected journey.
Now, I wasn’t expecting that anyone would ridicule her for finishing early. This is not a Friday Night Lights scene where someone yells at her to “tough it out.” But, the overwhelming support of everyone was so meaningful to her. Once she was ready to open up and share about her change of plans, it was the rejoicing and positivity of her family and friends that moved her from lost to found.
When she returned home, she sent out a brief message which said, “Although I’m still processing the disappointment of not going as far as I had planned, thanks to all of you who have acknowledged what I did accomplish, and affirmed my decision to return home.” Acknowledged and affirmed. How might we do that with all those we encounter who are lost. Acknowledge and affirm. And rejoice.
Rejoicing with my mom who was feeling emotionally lost is one thing. But who else might be the lost in our lives and in our world? Episcopalian priest Barbara Brown Taylor writes about this passage from Luke in her book The Preaching Life, saying, “It deserves real characters … real Pharisees and real sinners brought face to face with a real Jesus.” She then goes on to list who those “real characters” might be. I will note that she wrote this book in 1993. As you listen to her list, I invite you to wonder about who might be the lost in 2019. She writes, “I imagine Jesus down at the plasma bank on Boulevard, standing in line with the hungover men waiting to sell their blood, or maybe down at the city jail shooting the breeze with the bail bondsmen who cruise the place like vultures. I imagine Jesus at the Majestic Diner with a crack dealer, a car thief, and prostitute with AIDS, buying them all cheese omelettes.”[i]
A crack dealer, a car thief, a prostitute with AIDS. Are we able to rejoice with them as they are found just as we are able to rejoice with my mom? Are we willing to help find them? Taylor continues, “If you are willing to be a shepherd – then the story begins to sound different. The plot is … about seeking, sweeping, finding, rejoicing. The invitation is not about being rescued by Jesus over and over again, but about joining him in rounding up God’s herd and recovering God’s treasure. It is about discovering the joy of finding.”
Let us remember that when Jesus sings, “I’ll leave 99, leave them all behind to find you,” he sings that to everyone. Not just those who are easy to find. That is God’s amazing grace. So when we are lost, may we know that we are found. And when we are found, may we join with Jesus in seeking the lost and in rejoicing!
“Leaving 99”
I'm lost and broken all alone on this road
The wheels keep turning but the feeling is gone
When I fear I'm on my own, you remind me I am not alone. You say..
CHORUS
I'd leave ninety-nine,
Leave them all behind to find you
For you alone, I'd leave ninety-nine,
Leave them all behind to find you
It's dark and lonely and the path is unclear
Can't move my feet because I'm frozen with fear
And you say, my child, my child
I am always here, I'm at your side
CHORUS
You're never too far down, I promise you'll be found
I'll reach into the mud
Pursue you to the end, like a faithful friend
Nothing in this world will keep me away
CHORUS
[i] The Preaching Life, by Barbara Brown Taylor, pg. 148.
Jeremiah 18:1-11
1The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: 2"Come, go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words." 3So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. 4The vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him.
5Then the word of the LORD came to me: 6Can I not do with you, O house of Israel, just as this potter has done? says the LORD. Just like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel. 7At one moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it, 8but if that nation, concerning which I have spoken, turns from its evil, I will change my mind about the disaster that I intended to bring on it. 9And at another moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will build and plant it, 10but if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will change my mind about the good that I had intended to do to it. 11Now, therefore, say to the people of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem: Thus says the LORD: Look, I am a potter shaping evil against you and devising a plan against you. Turn now, all of you from your evil way, and amend your ways and your doings.
Good Clay
Jeff:
Why did Jeremiah have to go see a potter? If you’re familiar with the story, did you ever think about that?
There are lots of metaphors God could use for how we are shaped or turned into something beautiful.
God could’ve told Jeremiah to go see a painter and you could imagine Jeremiah looking at this big canvas with lots of colors coming together to make something beautiful. But, God didn’t tell Jeremiah to go see a painter.
God could’ve told Jeremiah to go to a concert or see a musician or something. I’m sorry RuthE, Alla, and choir. God didn’t choose music.
Why did Jeremiah have to go see a potter?
God could’ve chosen a carpenter. There were plenty of those in Jeremiah’s world and I’ve heard that God has a thing for Jewish carpenters.
Why a potter’s house?
Jeremiah’s world is a crazy place if you didn’t know. He’s commonly referred to, by people who spend all their time studying these things, as the “weeping prophet” and you would be to if you had his life.
His homeland is being conquered by an invading army and his family, friends, and neighbors are all being exiled to a foreign land. So not only are they being conquered, not only are they being enslaved, they are being scattered to another place they’ve never been. These are Jeremiah’s loved ones.
To make matters worse all the leaders of his community, most of them are corrupt. And the religious leaders and preachers? They are all preaching idolatry.
And you thought you had it bad.
In the midst of all this Jeremiah is dealing with a deep sense of doubt… doubt in his faith and doubt in himself. We read about throughout his writings in the Bible. He says things like, “Where are you God? How long will we suffer?” And, “I can’t do this.”
In the midst of all this why is Jeremiah at a potter’s house?
I’ve been to a potter’s house once. It was in a San Luis Potosi which is a city in the middle of Mexico. I was there with a church outside of Houston, TX and we were working with a missionary there named Dale.
Dale loved to take people to the Potter’s house and talk about this story. I was mesmerized by how all these rows and rows of bowls all looked exactly the same even though they were made by hand. Dale talked about the water and the bubbles in this room, in the next room about the shaping, then there we are with the guy at the spinning table. Finally, we come to the room where they are finished after having been put through the fire.
Dale held one of those bowls in his hands and talked so poetically about how fragile our life is and how each of us is held in God’s hands.
Then he dropped the bowl.
Pieces scattered in every direction. It was completely broken.
Dale’s point to all of us was that the pot, after it has become hard can only break. It can not be reshaped. Once we become hard, we can only break.
God says, “Can’t I do just as this potter does?” Well, not if we’ve become hard.
Jeremiah finds himself in one of the most ordinary and simple places and learns a timeless truth, so timeless that it has been passed on from generation to generation to our reading of it to this very day.
It’s a deal to come to church in the morning isn’t it? Sunday morning, right smack dab in the middle of your weekend. It’s a deal to come to church isn’t it? You’ve got to get yourself together. Maybe you have to help get other people together.
But you do it because, generally speaking, we have an expectation that we’ll find some sense of hope, truth, or something you need here.
I hope you find what you need from the people here.
But we’re going to close that building down to renovate it pretty soon. That will push us out of this special place some to the ordinary and simple places that we see all the time.
We will be pushed to the coffee shops, the restaurants, parks, people’s homes, maybe even your home.
What timeless truth will learn in those simple and ordinary places? What timeless truth will we learn in those simple and ordinary places?
How will you be shaped by those simple and ordinary places? How will we be shaped by those simple and ordinary places?
Bethany:
It likely comes as no surprise to many of you to hear that I am a planner. I like to know when and how things are going to happen as far in advance as possible with as many details as possible. I want things to be in the calendar ASAP, and I’m not great at dealing with surprises. I like to be in control. Spontaneous, I am not!
At first glance, this passage from Jeremiah fills me with anxiety. This idea that God is the potter and I am the clay - that God is shaping and molding me as I move through life - just screams lack of control. I want to be the one shaping and molding my life! I don’t want to be some formless lump of clay. Thank you, but no thank you! I’m just fine here on my own, God.
The thing is, however, I am definitely not fine on my own. For, as this passage points out, if left to my own devices, I will most certainly make a mess of things. The reason that God the potter is stepping in here is to encourage the people – who have made a mess of things - to change their ways. God has made it very clear from the beginning of God’s covenant with us that what God desires is for us to listen to God’s voice, and to follow in God’s ways of love. God yearns to shape each one of us into the kind, compassionate, loving children of God that we were created to be. When I begin understand God the potter in this way, my anxiety relaxes, and instead I am filled with hope. I am reminded that God desires only the best for me and will be there to reshape me when – not if! - I go astray.
As much as I am filled with hope for my own journey when reading this passage, I am reminded that Jeremiah is not speaking to one individual, but to the entire community. I can’t help but wonder what that might mean for us as a Westminster community, especially as we enter a year of great change to our physical church structure.
Most importantly, what I hear in this passage is that God desires what it best for us. I know we will have times of anxiety in the coming year. Renovating is never easy. There will be unforeseen difficulties. We will have to be spontaneous and flexible in ways that – if I’m being honest - give me hives. But, God will be moving into that unknown future with us, helping to re-shape and re-form us in ways that we did not even know were possible, so that we may become the very best version of our ourselves.
This only happens, though, if we are open to being re-formed and re-shaped. Are we going to hold fast to the way things used to be? Or will we be open to experimenting and trying new things as we discern God’s call together? I hope that we can help each other hold on to the familiar a little less tightly, give up a little of our precious control, and free ourselves to be open to the movement of the Spirit and to what God is calling us to do and be as we journey together.
Many years ago, we were studying Psalm 139 in our high school Confirmation class, and one of the students got this very disturbed look on her face as we finished reading the first several verses. I asked her what was wrong and she responded, “This Psalm is horrible! It makes God sound like a stalker!” I had always taken great comfort in this Psalm, knowing that God would be with me always … regardless of what happened throughout my life. I could see her point, though. Maybe there are times in our lives when we would prefer to not have God with us. Those times when we just want to be challenged. Those times when we want to stay in our comfortable routines rather than being called into discipleship.
Both of these passages do have a wonderful promise of comfort, as well as a challenge. Yes, God will be with us always, molding us into the best versions of ourselves. That is hope-filled Good News. And, it is also a challenge to actually go about the business of being our best selves as a church community. Let us push ourselves beyond the familiar and comfortable. Yes, we are an inclusive community. How can we be even better about welcoming all? Yes, we are a community that serves. How can we reach out even more to those in need? Yes, we are a community that praises God. How can we even more obviously make known the glory and wonder of God? Yes, we are a generous community. How can we give even more abundantly?
I love our Westminster community. I am richly blessed every time we are together. And I know God is not done with us. God continues to mold and shape us. May we be active participants in God’s vision for our future together.
Rob:
Do you know what distinguishes clay from sand? Death. I know, that’s a strange way to end this shared sermon and kickoff our program year, but work with me.
I have a friend named Charles who is both an Episcopal Priest and a professional potter. He says what makes the clay hold together is, “the sticky death-matter of eons of dead leaves and plants and animals.”[1] One of the most countercultural messages we carry is that we are born out of death, even though both religion and science have long known this.
Yet, we deny it, and in doing so its possible gift to us. I read the other day about a person who asked someone with terminal cancer rather insensitively what it was like to live knowing you were dying. The response, “What’s it like live pretending you’re not?” If we aren’t to fear death, what have we to fear?
We experience death on a number of levels all the time. The losses are real, the pain, the accompanying grief. We can respond to these realities in roughly two ways. One, as things change around us we can try futilely to grip every fleeting moment as if we can stem the flow of time. Or, we can learn to turn things over to some larger hands. That’s a hard lesson for driven, capable people, but as my friend Charles reminded me, we are not the potters. We are the clay. God is the potter. Spirit is the sculptor. Our job is to learn to be clay. It’s plain as day in Jeremiah. The ones who will do well will be malleable to the touch of the divine.
This doesn’t mean we are to be passive, or relinquish control altogether. Nobody has to receive the touch of hands that are unsafe or forceful – that’s, thankfully, one of the markers of our God. Charles says the good potter never dominates the clay, but is in co-creativity with it. Our job is to learn to be good partners with God. That means our prayer might need to be less talking and more listening, less directive and more attentive, less certainty and more curiosity. Charles says, “The saints of the church are not saints because of their holiness,” their own achievement. “They are saints because they let God mold the death and decay in their very real lives…”
That’s my vision for us, that we would learn to allow the death and decay in our individual lives and our collective life to be molded into something that is both useful and beautiful. Three aspects of this image from Jeremiah rise to the surface for me as we look forward to the year ahead:
- The vessel was not made simply to be displayed on a shelf to be admired. It was meant to carry precious things, food and water, oil for flame. Jesus brought material and spiritual sustenance to those in need, and we are called to likewise. Our faith doesn’t live on a shelf; it lives out in the world.
- We are called to be a vessel of hope. It is so easy to despair. Many have been given fragile vessels or have dropped them altogether. We are to be bearers of hope, when others can’t bear it anymore. Hope is not denial. Hope is a spiritual discipline.
- Our fragility can be a gift. I don’t mean the kind of fragility we see that makes us defensive and aggressive, but rather a mode of being that recognizes our own woundedness, our vulnerability, as a point of connection to others. In Jesus, we see an example of how suffering can be a pathway to compassion. Our culture has been built upon impenetrable strength, and it look how deeply broken we are seeing it is. Let us show what can be done with holy brokenness, as did Christ, rising from the dead to new life.
That may not be as concrete as some would like, but talking about the unmovable and the finite makes no sense when referring to clay in the hands of a potter. Let us give up on erecting timeless monuments to unchangeable positions and wade into the flow of eons of creation and recreation, death and resurrection, and make it our life’s work to bec
[1] Personal correspondence.
Jeremiah 1:4-10
4Now the word of the LORD came to me saying, 5"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations." 6Then I said, "Ah, Lord GOD! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy." 7But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a boy'; for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you, 8Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the LORD." 9Then the LORD put out his hand and touched my mouth; and the LORD said to me, "Now I have put my words in your mouth. 10See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Only a…
Over the summer, I had a chance to reunite with some of my high school friends; it happened to be friends with whom I was in a band, apropos for today’s service. It’s amazing when you’re back together with people from an earlier time in your life, how you can feel yourself slipping back into old roles, or at least old ways of seeing yourself. This happens a lot when families get together. Have you noticed this? Old pecking orders or insecurities come up, even though everyone has had a full life of their own. I realized as we got together and have remained in touch that I’m not at all sure all those years other people perceived me as I thought they did. So much of it was in my own head. We craft such strong stories about who we are. Think of the suffering we could spare ourselves if we learned to be a little careful about what we accept as gospel about ourselves. Think of the limits we self-impose.
Our two passages today are about limitations people have internalized. It’s not to say the limits aren’t real, nor that they are peoples’ fault. In Luke, a woman has been stricken for 18 years before Jesus heals her (Lk. 13:12). Jesus doesn’t discount her condition or tell her it’s all in her head. To the contrary it’s so real to him that he can’t wait another day to heal her, breaking the law and doing so on the Sabbath. In a world where peoples’ conditions were believed to be a result of their character or that of their ancestors, imagine what she must have come to believe about herself, her worth, and therefore what she could do or who she could be.
In our other reading we hear Jeremiah recount his own call story. He’s ready to deny what God has in store for him from the moment he hears of it. Told he is to be a prophet, Jeremiah responds, “I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy!” Now, never trust someone who is eager to be a prophet. At the same time, isn’t it amazing how quickly we can rush to try and turn off the valve that controls God’s flow?
There is such power in these, “I am only a…” stories. In one of the graduate programs I was in, there was a student whose GRE scores were at least a hundred or two points too low to be admitted and yet they graduated first in the program. You can guess how I knew, and I share that uncomfortably, but it illustrates a point. No matter how far in school I went, on the first day of class I always thought I didn’t belong, might not be able to hang. I have four graduate degrees! The power of, “I’m only a …”
I listen to a radio/podcast regularly. It’s ostensibly about sports, but in truth it’s about everything and kind of about nothing. One day all the co-hosts were talking about their high school experiences – how many classes did they have a day, how long were the passing periods, what did they keep in their locker and how often did they visit their locker during the day. Then a-matter-of-factly, the one said, “Well they locked our lockers.”
“What?” came the reply from all the other hosts.
“Yeah, they put sheet metal over the lockers. They assumed we had weapons and drugs. It was before we had metal detectors,” he added with little charge to his voice. He is the only African American on the show. Now, I know very little else about the context, and yes there’s a danger in generalizing, but think of what it must do to the psyche of a young boy or girl to have such a visible story placed before you every day by your school – you can’t be trusted not to have drugs or weapons. “You can’t have lockers because you’re only a bunch of ____” (and you can fill in the word there. I won’t say it).
How many of us, if we took a moment, could finish the phrase, “for I am only a ____” with something we’ve internalized about ourselves, our family, or some group to which we belong? How many times have we been presented with a challenge or an opportunity or even a gift or compliment and our instant response is, “Oh no, I am only a ____” We shroud our own self-doubt, even self-loathing, in false humility. In a culture that celebrates the bombastic, what we so often fail to recognize the deep insecurity underneath even the most arrogant.
These kinds of narratives surround us. They wall us in. They separate us from one another and what we become. It’s like construction tape, only it marks off areas that will not be under construction, that will be kept from growing and becoming. For every false or limiting narrative, a line is drawn, a limit imposed. I have already demonstrated two lines for you, what others might we identify that we might release. No one has to share, because it’s vulnerable, but might some of you be ready to share. If you choose not to share, I ask that you hold this space in prayer that it might be safe enough for others to speak. How have you in ways aloud or in the recesses of your heart completed the phrase, “I am only a _____”? We’ll mark a line for each one shared.
Examples (attach stories):
-girl/woman
-ugly/body
-elderly/age
-one person
(lace caution tape around the room)
We are surrounded by the messages we’ve been told about ourselves on the tape that surrounds us, the tape that says, “Caution,” which we can read to say, “Caution, you can’t do that. You’re not worthy of this. You don’t deserve that. That’s not for you.” I don’t mean to sound like a cheap self-help speaker. This isn’t about maximizing your job success, though it could encompass that. It’s not about telling people they can do whatever they want. It’s simply to help people start to reopen the valve and restore the flow from God, like restoring a dried riverbed too long damned.
I’m not going to leave this here too long, but for a bit. Pay attention to how it feels, this simple caution tape representing the stories. Are you beginning to realize their power, how they keep you in place? These lines, these stories. purport to know you, to know who you are and what you are capable of. They haven’t met the prophet Jeremiah, or more accurately, the mysterious One, that knew Jeremiah and knows us. It is the relationship with, the connection to, and the presence of this One that supersedes and precedes any and every other. We call this one God because we can find no suitable name. If we cultivate our ability to listen, we hear it say with every one of our breaths, “don’t say, ‘I am only a_____.’ I knew you first. I know the name you had before you were given a name. Your identity is unshakable in me.”
I was tempted to do this with tissue paper streamers, and have you break through them, but that would be to give them too much power, allowing them to summon rage from within. I’d rather us take a more Zen approach…literally. The Buddhist Leo Babauta writes a blog called “Zen Habits.” [1] In an entry entitled “Becoming Aware of the Stories We Tell Ourselves,” he describes a simple process to liberation from these non-solid binds. The process is about becoming more aware of the stories, which leads to an ability to let go of the grip they have on us:
“The first thing you can do is regard it as a dream. That doesn’t mean it’s false, it just means it’s not so solid. It’s something you’re playing out in your head, just like a dream, with very real emotional results. See it as a dream, not solid, and see if you can come out of the dream to the physical reality of the world around you in this moment. What sensations are happening right now, as opposed to in this dream?
The next thing you can do is not act on the story. Even if you’re caught up in it, that doesn’t mean you have to lash out at someone, or run away to distraction or comfort. Just sit with the story, notice how it’s making you feel, notice the physical sensations in your body. Notice that you’re caught up. But don’t act, just stay with your awareness.
There is another way of being: where you don’t cling to the stories but instead drop below them, and are just aware of the moment as it is, without interpretations, judgements, preconceptions. Stories will still come up, but you can notice them and not get caught up. Or if you do get caught up, notice that and don’t hold so tightly to it, coming back to the present moment.”[2]
Now, on the count of three. Let’s drop the lines. 1-2-3. That’s it. They’re powerless. You don’t have to tear them apart because they are not solid.
Go easy on yourself because this is hard to do. Treat it as a practice to which you can return.
God’s refrain to Jeremiah, like Jesus’s words to the woman are spoken also to us reminding us who we are by first showing us who we are not. You can go back as far as you’d like to reclaim who you are, as you realize little by little there is no more need to utter
[1] https://zenhabits.net/narrative/
[2] Ibid
Luke 12:49-56
49"I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! 50I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! 51Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! 52From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; 53they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law."
54He also said to the crowds, "When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, 'It is going to rain'; and so it happens. 55And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, 'There will be scorching heat'; and it happens. 56You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. Thanks be to God.
Division
I was away for a couple of weeks at the end of July, beginning of August. It’s amazing how much happens in just a couple of weeks: two mass shootings, three if you count the recent shooting of police officers in Philadelphia; and racism again rearing its ugly countenance right in our own community. When I was getting ready to leave for some study leave and vacation—which now seems like forever ago—what was capturing my attention was the 50th anniversary the Apollo 11 moon landing. Upon seeing one program, I remember thinking, “How did they pull this off? With less computer power than is in the average pocket here today, they flew to the moon, landing on its service, re-docking the lunar module while the two craft orbited the moon.” To state the obvious, the moon is really far away. As interesting as the moon was, it was the images looking back at the earth, this tiny marble of color in a sea of blackness, that fittingly take your breath away.
I heard a long interview with astronaut Michael Collins. Collins was the one who remained on the craft orbiting the moon while Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the surface. Collins had a poetic flair for giving voice to these space journeys. He spoke movingly about gazing at the tiny earth. Able to cover it up with just his thumb—can you imagine covering with your thumb very image that ever inspired Shakespeare, every landscape that moved Van Gogh, every feature and creature that inspired songs and rituals of peoples of all places and times, the only home the dinosaurs ever knew—he gazed, toggling his thumb back and forth revealing swaths of color designating what we call continents and oceans. I don’t know if there was a palpable sense of oneness among those who watched from the earth’s surface, but it was clear the astronauts recognized the higher unity of the moment. I found myself tearing up as they read the plaque on the lunar module: We came in peace for all humanity, “mankind,” as they put it.
That’s inspirational unity.
We know there is another kind of unity too, a false unity, manipulative unity. True story—it’s about a church, with the players and roles a church has, but it could be translated to a family a company, a community or a country. It was not unified, and understandably so. Things weren’t going well, but disunity wasn’t the problem; it was the symptom. Rather than engage the underlying causes, there was an ill-conceived attempt simply to push unity. One particular Sunday the choir was instructed to surround the congregation and lead everyone in a refrain that repeated over and over again, “Unity! Unity! Unity! Unity!” You can imagine how that felt. As the prophet Jeremiah once said,
4 They have treated the wound of my people carelessly,
saying, ‘Peace, peace’,
when there is no peace.
15 They acted shamefully... (6:14-15)
You cannot coerce community. You can’t force togetherness, especially when there are people who have been wronged, hurt, and their wrongs have not been redressed, wounds not tended. Jeremiah calls this an abomination because he recognizes that sometimes calls for unity are really attempts to stifle rightful complaint or protest. This is a challenging word for me, someone who likes it when everyone gets along. The church can fall into this trap of comfort, and who doesn’t need a place where you can just feel comfortable? We must remember, though, that the church is called to be planters of holy and just peace, not purveyors of false peace.
Jesus, like the prophet before him, has no time for false peace. “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?” he asks in today’s reading from Luke. “No, I tell you, but rather division!” (Lk. 12:51). In Matthew’s telling of the story, Jesus says he brings a sword! That passage has gotten us in all sorts of trouble, as we’ve misinterpreted it as permission for violence. We should be sophisticated enough to recognize Jesus speaking metaphorically, words, the truth, piercing in nature. They divide people.
Hasn’t civilization been propelled forward at critical moments by people who dared to stand apart and tell the truth, piercing through the contradictions and hypocrisies that have come to be accepted as normal? In hindsight they’ve been celebrated as heroes. In their time, they are not. Jesus was killed because he dared speak the truth about those who misused their power. He betrayed the false unity imposed by top-down power, empire unity, to bear witness to the true unity of seeing the sacred in everyone, including neighbor and enemy alike.
Jesus was divisive. That’s not to say divisiveness was the goal. We can miss that crucial point. The pastor and activist Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove recounts an encounter between Stanley Hauerwas and Jean Vanier. Hauerwas is a professor of Christian Ethics at Duke. He’s a fiery pacifist known for his colorful, even harsh, language. Vanier was a gentle giant, known for starting the L’Arche communities, households where people of vastly differing abilities lived together in intentional community. One night, they were all together and as Wilson-Hartgrove put it, “Stanley got fired up arguing for nonviolence. I’ll never forget,” Wilson-Hartgrove continues, “Jean wrapping his huge hand around Stanley’s face and saying, ‘It’s OK Stanley. It’s OK.’ ”[1] The two agreed on the issue, Vanier was simply calling Hauerwas back home lest his fire for peace consume him and everyone in his path. The truth is we need both, at times the sharp tongue of Hauerwas to maintain a voice for the truth and the gentle hands of Vanier to maintain the relationship, as we try and journey to a new place as a people.
Today’s reading from Hebrews retells the story of our ancestors stepping out in faith to get to a new place. The image of them crossing the Red Sea is archetypal. Liberation comes through separating from false power, moving through a necessarily divided sea. It involved all sorts of suffering, even torture, but they endured it because at their best our ancestors were more committed to their integrity than their comfort. They were tempted to return to slavery because of the predictability and stability it offered. If we want true liberation, we have to step out as they did. It’s hard, because we all have responsibilities. There are no easy answers, just good companions. Hebrews reminds us that in our journey we are surrounded by “a great cloud of witnesses,” helping us to run the race not necessarily that we would choose, but the one “that is set before us.”
I went out on a run recently, a literal one, and not one I’d choose again. I was on vacation and running to meet up with my family at the beach. Two trails were coming together and I saw the biker coming. I thought I could get across his lane and out of the way so he could pass safely by. I was half right. A couple strides into my new direction and I was knocked to the ground along with the rider, with lacerations from his chain and spindle up my leg and scrapes from the pavement on my hands, arm, and side. When I made it to the ocean, I headed over to a lifeguard station to get cleaned up.
I asked the lifeguard how long I should wait before getting back in the water. He replied, “Well everybody’s afraid of the flesh-eating bacteria, but we get in with cuts and scrapes all the time and haven’t had a problem, so I wouldn’t worry about.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, it then hitting me, “…flesh-eating bacteria!? What, if you start to show signs of infection you just need to go in and get some antibiotics?”
“No, there’s nothing they can do. So, they just cut your hand off.”
Two thoughts immediately came to mind: 1) Don’t go in the ocean. 2) Don’t tell my wife. The problem was of course I was going to tell my wife, and what I neglected to mention, I had already rinsed off in the ocean. Now, I’m fine, and I tell you that story not only for the laugh, but for the look… the person who hit me reached over to help me up, his eyes seemed big as saucers. He was scared. You see, again to state the obvious, most people don’t want to hurt us. I know we’re told the opposite all the time, and to be sure there are exceptions and there are unfair systems, but for the most part we’re all looking for a lane to take on the road to freedom and peace. We mustn’t lose sight of this especially when stepping out and choosing to go against the flow of traffic to suggest it’s time for a course correction because the goal is to get everyone on board not to leave people behind. After all, we are on this tiny marble together.
During the coverage of the Apollo 11 anniversary reached back to the Apollo 8 mission, which was the first manned craft to orbit the moon. The astronauts were told that they would have the largest television viewing audience in history—no pressure—and they should do something appropriate. When the time came, they read:
(William Anders)
We are now approaching lunar sunrise, and for all the people back on Earth, the crew of Apollo 8 has a message that we would like to send to you.
In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.
And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.
(James Lovell)
And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.
And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.
And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.
And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day.
(Frank Borman)
And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.
And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called the Seas: and God saw that it was good.
The person charged with communicating between ground control and Apollo 8 was Michael Collins. Poetic as he was, he recalled in a recent interview flubbing the opportunity to say something profound the moment Apollo 8 was to fire its boosters to leave the earth’s orbit en route to circle the moon. The technical term for the maneuver was “lunar thrust injection,” “LTI” for short. When the command was given, all he said was, “Apollo 8, you’re go for LTI.” And the response something like, “Roger, LTI.” No poetry, no profundity, he regretted.
Several months later, the same interviewer shared a stage with Collins and said, “If you could do it all over again, what call would you give? Collins stopped, thought, said, “Well, I would abide by the NASA rules, which you can’t…say more than I think eight words in a row, and, preferably they will all be monosyllabic. But,” Collins paused, “under those conditions, I would say, ‘Apollo 8, the moon is yours. Go.’ ”
Sometimes you have to venture out in front of everyone else in order to get us all somewhere, you have to leave the safe gravitational pull of home. It’s difficult work. It’s scary journey, but it’s necessary one to show the rest of us a different perspective…and the view is out of this world. Amen.
[1] From Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove’s Twitter account, @wilsonhartgrove.
Luke 10:38-42
Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”
Focus
Mary and Martha, 15 years later. Adapted from Maren Tirabassi.[i]
Martha: Your flowers are beautiful, Mary.
Mary: Your vegetables are delicious, Martha.
Martha: The meals we share together – two sisters under one roof - is, indeed, the very best.
Mary: I couldn’t agree more!
Martha: You know, Mary, that story still follows us — all these fifteen years later. I am forever the “do-er,” the worker … and the cranky one, the impatient one, the trying-to-be-pretentious-one, the bossy one.
Mary: Well …?
Martha: Never mind!
Mary: And me? I am the mousy one, the slacker, the navel-gazer, the teacher’s pet — yep, the story doesn’t work so well for me either.
Martha: Do you think that is all anyone will remember about us?
Mary: Surely not. John tells the story of you going out into the road to meet Jesus when he came after Lazarus’ death and, in the midst of the threat from Jerusalem only five miles away, you called Jesus the “Christ, the Child of God, the One for whom we wait.” No one else spoke with such faith, during Jesus’ life. Your faith is born of heart-searching, not doing the dishes.
Martha: And you are not just noted for listening and weeping, but you poured perfume on Jesus’ feet, just when Lazarus’ miracle had made us already notorious, already targets. That’s no meditative self-enlightenment — that’s risky, that’s troublemaking pure and simple.
Mary: Maybe drying his feet with my hair was a little over the top, huh?
Martha: It certainly got Judas all twisted up.
Mary: What a look on his face! And on yours. How proud you were.
Martha: Jesus did love us both so much, didn’t he?
Mary: He did … though I also think he loved everyone.
Martha: Agreed. But I will tell you what’s even more important — to me, at least.
Mary: More important than Jesus loving us?
Martha: Yes. More important than Jesus loving us, is how much we loved him.
Mary: I do hope they remember that when they read our story. Meanwhile, is it going to be forever that I will be remembered as too lazy to get up and chop basil?
Martha: It will be as long as I am remembered as a whiner … and a great cook.
Mary: I just hope no one remembers my cooking!
Martha: Trust me they won’t. Or my long prayers.
Mary: You mean, “Dear God, bless dinner. Amen?”
Martha: Yes, that one.
Mary: We really do complement each other so well.
Martha: Amen to that!
I wanted to start with this story to help us begin to imagine what Mary and Martha may have been like. When we hear their story from Luke’s Gospel, it is so tempting to give them very narrow stereotypes. Martha was the do-er, Mary was the be-er. Martha was about action, Mary was about contemplation. Martha was wrong, Mary was right. But I think that is unfair to both women. This is a very short story – 5 verses! There is no way we can know everything about them in 5 verses. So sometimes it is fun to imagine.
Imagining can also free us from the traditional narrative of this story, which goes like this – Martha, who stubbornly cares only about work, is focused on providing for Jesus. Mary, the lazy one, is sitting at Jesus’ feet listening to him. Martha gets upset that Mary is not helping her with the work, so she complains to Jesus, wanting him to make Mary help her. Instead, Jesus says that Mary has chosen the better thing. All of a sudden, she can’t be seen as lazy, she’s carefully attentive! With that, the contemplatives among us raise their hands in triumph while the activists slump in defeat.
But there’s a little more going on here than meets the eye … just as there is more to both Mary and Martha than can be captured in this story. I’m guessing that at least some of you have heard about the book The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. In it, Chapman describes five different ways that people both give and receive love.
- Words of affirmation
- Quality time
- Receiving gifts
- Acts of service
- Physical touch
According to Chapman, each of us tends to have one dominant love language out of those five. He even provides a survey at the back of the book so you can figure out what your love language is. Two caveats before you rush out to buy the book. First, his original book is focused on couples … he also has a similar book for singles. Second, Chapman has no acknowledgement of LGBTQ couples in his book. My wife and I had quite a time deciding who would take the “wife” survey and who would take the “husband” survey. Though I struggle with his hetero-normative language and have to make many adaptations for my own life, his theory has been useful for me.
When I took the survey, I discovered that my love language is acts of service. That was not a surprise to me. I love to do things, to be active. It is hard for me to sit still when there are things to be done. And, that is definitely how I best express my love for others. If I sweep the house or do the laundry or go grocery shopping so my family doesn’t have to worry about it, that is the best way I know of saying “I love you.”
However, I have encountered a few problems with this love language. It is very easy during all of my endless tasking for my focus to switch to my own needs, rather than focusing on showing my love for others. I can get a little obsessive about completing my to-do lists to the point of annoying my family, rather than loving them. There are times when they would much prefer me to just sit down and focus on them rather than scrubbing the toilets. My response is usually something like, “But have you seen the toilets? They’re gross!” That is no longer about love.
I know Martha never took the survey, but I’m guessing her love language is also acts of service. Jesus shows up at her house, and she immediately gets to work. There is so much to get done in order to appropriately welcome Jesus! Food to prepare, a table to set, some last-minute cleaning … Martha wants to show her love to Jesus by getting things done.
I’m guessing Mary’s love language might have been quality time. With Jesus in her house, she wants to do nothing more than to sit at his feet listening to him and simply being with him. That is the best way she knows to show her love to Jesus.
Both sisters are sharing their love for Jesus, simply in different ways. However, at some point Martha falls into the same trap that I have known, and her tasks become less about love as she gets distracted and her focus shifts to worry. In fact, when she asks Jesus to make Mary get up and help her, he instead addresses her – pointing out that she has become worried and distracted, and that Mary has chosen the better part.
Let me be clear … Jesus is not saying that acts of service are bad. That is often how this passage is interpreted - that Jesus must prefer quiet contemplation over active service. That is just not true. Time and time again in the scriptures, Jesus calls us to serve one another. Service is so important. Instead, Jesus is letting Martha know that her focus is not where it should be. Mary is one hundred percent focused on Jesus. Martha is focused on her worry and the distraction of her tasks when Jesus is sitting right there in front of her!
It makes me wonder, if Martha struggles to focus on Jesus when he is sitting in her home, how much more difficult is it for us to focus on Jesus through the many distractions of our lives? Our call as Christians is to be disciples of Jesus Christ in everything we do. In all of our relationships, in all of our work, in all of our leisure, in all of our tasks. We are called to follow Christ always. To be focused on Christ always. But there is so much that competes for our focus.
Lutheran pastor David Lose tells a story about his dad, also a pastor, who always liked to sing the hymns in worship with great gusto. That would be wonderful, except for the fact that his dad was not a very good singer. Lose remembers a time in his teenage years when their family moved to a new church in a new town. This church had a sound system that required his dad to turn his microphone on and off himself, and he often forgot to turn it off during the hymns.
Lose recalls, “Now my dad was not a great singer. He wasn't tone deaf, it's just that he pretty regularly managed to sing more than a few notes slightly off key. I was 15 at the time, brand new to this church, school, and community, and eager - okay, make that desperate - to make new friends and to be accepted, and so when I heard the sound of my dad singing off-key and louder than everyone else, I would cringe.
This went on fairly regularly for much of the fall. But on one of those Sundays when my dad had again forgotten to turn off the mic so that you could hear his off key-singing above everyone else, and when I was again cringing in embarrassment, my mom noticed what was happening. I'm pretty sure she didn't approve of my reaction, but she didn't frown, or roll her eyes, or do any of the things parents are prone to do when they see their children overreacting to something. Instead, she leaned over to me, smiled understandingly, and then whispered, ‘You know, when your dad is gone, I'll miss his singing.’”[ii]
What his mom heard in her husband’s hymn singing was not the off-key notes, but the total focus on and devotion to God. He was not worried and distracted by microphones or melody lines, instead he simply wanted to sing his love and praise to God. That reminds me of the Psalm that we heard this morning. I’m sure there were other things competing for the attention of the Psalmist, but most important to him was focusing on God and singing God’s praise.
I chose this example because the singing reminded me of the Psalm. And, let’s face it, I’m a sucker for any story that has to do with music. However, I could have told a story about anyone doing anything, for all things can be done while focused on God, and our love for God, and God’s love for us. It is simply a matter of our focus.
I have no doubt that both Martha and Mary loved Jesus dearly. However, in that moment in their home, only Mary was showing that love with all her heart, soul, and mind as Jesus had taught. So Jesus called Martha out. Jesus reminded her that her focus had shifted, and that she was no longer serving out of love. May that be a reminder to us as well. Especially when we are feeling worried and distracted, may we turn our focus back to God. However we show our love - in service, in quality time, in gifts, in touch, in words, may we remain focused always on God.
[i] https://giftsinopenhands.wordpress.com/2019/07/16/martha-and-mary-of-bethany-15-years-later-a-dialogue/
[ii] http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1569
Colossians 1:15-28
15He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; 16for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers-all things have been created through him and for him. 17He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 18He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. 19For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 20and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.
21And you who were once estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, 22he has now reconciled in his fleshly body through death, so as to present you holy and blameless and irreproachable before him-23provided that you continue securely established and steadfast in the faith, without shifting from the hope promised by the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven. I, Paul, became a servant of this gospel.
24I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church. 25I became its servant according to God's commission that was given to me for you, to make the word of God fully known, 26the mystery that has been hidden throughout the ages and generations but has now been revealed to his saints. 27To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. 28It is he whom we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone in all wisdom, so that we may present everyone mature in Christ. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Hold Together
At family camp, someone had this prayer book, which as you can see, I have since ordered. It’s entitled Every Moment Holy, and the prayers and liturgies it contains aim to remind us of just that. In addition to liturgies for morning, midday, and evening, there are prayers for doing the laundry, for preparing a meal, for keeping bees (these essential propagators of life), for students and scholars, medical providers, for fiction writers, for the changing of diapers 1 and the changing of diapers 2 – 1 and 2 are just the numbers of the prayers not the…never mind. There are prayers for arriving at the ocean, for those who sleep in tents, for sunsets and first snow, for planting flowers, before beginning a book, a lament upon finishing a beloved book, for moving into a new home, for welcoming a new pet, for birthdays, prayers for the morning of a medical procedure, for battling a destructive desire, for nights and days of doubt, for those who feel awkward at social gatherings, for those who covet the latest technology, for bill-paying, for homesickness, for those who weep without knowing why, for times when we hear birds, for times when we hear sirens, for being frustrated at a child, for waiting in line. Nearly everything is covered. It doesn’t always use the language I use, so sometimes I change it; other times I let being invited into words I wouldn’t use be a gift.
Here’s one lovely prayer for a ritual many of us treasure:
Meet me, O Christ, in this stillness of morning.
Move me, O Spirit, to quiet my heart.
Mend me, O Father (it’s almost always Father) from yesterday’s harms.
From the discords of yesterday, resurrect my peace.
From the discouragements of yesterday, resurrect my hope.
From the weariness of yesterday, resurrect my strength.
From the doubts of yesterday, resurrect my faith.
From the wounds of yesterday, resurrect my love.
Let me enter this new day, aware of my need and awake
to your grace, O Lord. Amen.
That’s from a liturgy for…morning coffee. Why shouldn’t we soak such occasions with prayer? Our spiritual ancestors and friends the Jews are better at this, as are other wings of our tradition and other religions, with prayers for virtually any occasion. This is not the first prayer book I’ve come across in recent years that tries to lift up many occasions as occasions for prayer, particularly those we might not naturally categorize that way. More than once, the church has given the outgoing elders a book by the Celtic writer John O’Donohue called To Bless the Space Between Us. It too offers prayers for occasions and circumstances we might not expect.
The comprehensiveness of these prayer books tells me something, that we are looking for something or someone to hold all of life together. Am I wrong or does it sometimes feel as though it’s all coming apart? Do you ever feel that way? There is a longing within us and among us for it to be knit back together, to be held together. My guess is if you reflected upon times in your life when things felt good, felt right, where you felt in peace, when you felt as though you were in a good place, it was in a setting where things felt connected, held together. Am I right? When we lack that, the longing we feel is a tension that’s trying to pull us toward it.
As I’ve said before, the root of the word “religion” means, “to knit together.” For all religion has become, and for all the criticism it has garnered, at its core, it is about knitting together—knitting together a set of beliefs, practices, and relationship which help us make sense of, navigate, and share this life. Religion is an attempt to help us be in right relationship with things. It’s a beautiful notion especially in light of the human experience of having things come apart or be torn apart.
Both of our readings from Sacred Scripture deal with this aspect of reality, albeit from different angles. The prophet Amos offers a harsh, even frightening, warning of a looming judgment, or sentence really, the judgment having been rendered. God says God will no longer come by the people, the last harvest has been had, songs in the temple shall cease, dead bodies shall be many, famine, even baldness, is forecast! I resemble the last part of that prophecy. Sadly, such writings contribute to the misconception of an angry “Old Testament God.” This is not at all the purpose of the prophets, to depict a scary God. The prophets were deeply in touch with the places in their community where things were coming apart. The judgment they forewarn is as much a prediction of natural consequences as the manipulations of an angry God. In fact, recently I read a description of God’s wrath as simply the natural consequences of people hurting one another, of injustice. It’s a little like equating God’s wrath with the “natural” disasters that are coming as a result of the destruction and pollution of the environment. If you read Amos, you’ll see it contains a litany of communal transgressions and injustice. What is injustice, but a cutting off of some from what all need and deserve. Amos is lifting up what happens when a community or society comes apart at the seams.
Colossians does not deny the tearing apart we do or that we inherit—and we inherit a lot. Colossians simply reminds us that something stands in the fissure holding us, holding all of it together. Something…someone if you will. Through this One, this manifestation of divine love, “God was pleased to reconcile…all things.” This One, Christ, isn’t simply the title we give to Jesus of Nazareth; Christ is the one in whom all things hold together. Christ contains all things, manifests God’s presence in all things, and invites us into a recognition of this reality that shapes our behavior. Christ reminds us that all forms of separateness in the sense of enmity is at its base level illusion. “You were once estranged and hostile in mind” (Col 1:21) writes the author, inviting the hearer to awaken that we are meant to be knit together. It’s why “us” vs. “them” thinking enjoys momentary success but ultimately does not stand because it betrays the fundamental truth of existence.
Part of what I did to prepare for today was to read from the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services. I didn’t read it all in one sitting. I took a break after finishing the title. It says, of course, what we already know, that life depends on the flourishing of diverse life forms. Think of the bees we mentioned praying for at the outset. Thomas Berry who was a Catholic priest, cultural historian and ecotheologian reminds us that we are faced with the challenge of discovering what it is to be human in a way that transcends all the boundaries we put upon ourselves from nationalities to species. He’s asking us to recognize, in so many words, that we all hold together, or it will all fall apart.
Today, we have a great joy of commissioning some young people for a mission trip, which used to mean (so we thought) sending off people to deliver the goods to some other people—to bring Jesus in some traditions, to bring home repair in others. While we hope we are always ambassadors of Christ and Jesus’ way of love, and while we hope we can do a little good wherever we go, we now recognize that our first task is to look and recognize the threads of divine grace that weave us together. Then we look for places where there is fraying, to ask what’s going on and how, humbly, we can help. Our vocation is simply to participate in the divine interweaving. That’s all there really is. So, it’s not about building a house, or working in a soup kitchen; it’s helping to honor and strengthen the fibers that weave us together as a beloved community.
With that, I return to this our prayer book, Every Moment Holy, and offer this prayer, fittingly titled…
A Liturgy for the Labors of Community
Our lives are so small, O Lord,
Our vision so limited,
Our courage so frail,
Our hours so fleeting.
Therefore give us grace and guidance for the journey ahead.
We are gathered here because we believe that we are called into a work we cannot yet know the fullness of.
Still, we trust the voice of the One who has called us.
And so we offer to you, O God, these things:
Our dreams, our plans, our vision.
Shape them as You will.
Our moments and our gifts.
May they be invested toward bright, eternal ends.
Richly bless the work before us, Father (or Mother, or Creator, or God).
Shepherd us well lest we grow enamored of our own accomplishment or entrenched in old habit. Instead let us listen for Your voice, our hearts ever open to the quiet beckonings of Your Spirit in this endeavor.
Let us in true humility and poverty of spirit remain ever ready to move at the impulse of your love in paths of your design.
You alone, O God, by your gracious and life-giving Spirit have power to knit our imperfect hearts, our weaknesses, our strengths, our stories, and our gifts, one to another (do you hear the language of knitting together?).
Unite Your people and multiply our meager offerings, O Lord, that all might resound to Your glory.
May our acts of service and creation, frail and wanting as they are, be met and multiplied by the mysterious workings of Your Spirit who weaves all things together toward a redemption more good and glorious than we yet have eyes to see, or courage to hope for.
May our love and our labors now echo your love and your labors, O Lord.
Let all that we do here, in these our brief lives, in this our brief moment to love, in this the work you have ordained for this community, flower in winsome and beautiful foretaste of greater glories yet to come.
O Spirit of God, now shape our hearts.
O Spirit of God, now guide our hands.
O Spirit of God, now build your kingdom among us.
Amen.
And Amen.
Luke 10:25-37
25Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" 26He said to him, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" 27He 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." 28And he said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."
29But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" 30Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. 31Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34He 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. 35The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.' 36Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" 37He said, "The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Missing the Point
There was an interesting little book some years ago co-authored by Brian McLaren and Tony Campolo called Adventures in Missing the Point: How the Culture-Controlled Church Neutered the Gospel. It is, as the title suggests, a litany of how the church and many Christians have, well…missed the point on topics such as sin, worship, gender and sexuality, and doubt in the life of faith. We might choose other topics for the list. I find much of my work to be trying to undo what many have been taught about Christianity. Sometimes this is a source of comfort for people. Other times it’s a source of great challenge.
Surely, though, there are some basic pieces of the tradition that we get right, some stories whose meaning is unmistakable. Rob Bell begins a reflection on the story we read moments ago this way: “Let’s take a look at a familiar story from the Bible, shall we? How about the Good Samaritan? Because everybody knows that one.” Well, I’m not sure everyone knows it, but you all have just heard it, so now you do. “It’s about the importance of helping people in trouble, right?” continues Bell. I presume most of us would agree. “You could make it about that,” says Bell, “And that might be helpful. But you’d be missing the point of the story. Most people completely miss the point of the story.”[1]
What?! How could we have gotten that wrong? Well, Bell doesn’t say we’ve gotten it wrong. He simply claims this interpretation misses the point, the main message, and not coincidentally the most challenging point of Jesus’ teaching. If we’re not careful we’ll conveniently overlook the most challenging aspects of Jesus’ teachings.
Let’s review this encounter to see what we might have missed. A lawyer asks Jesus about how to attain eternal life. Jesus redirects him to the law, which as a lawyer, he easily recites: love God with everything you have and your neighbor as yourself. So far so good.
It’s when the lawyer asks who his neighbor is that Jesus launches into a story. Someone is bloodied by the side of the road, having been robbed and attacked. Two religious leaders, a Levite and a priest, pass the beaten one by on the other side of the road. Let’s stop there. The common interpretation of that story is that these are hypocrites, superficial practitioners who haven’t internalized the true meaning of their faith. Though they are supposed to be leaders, they don’t get it. To be sure, Jesus had little tolerance of unrepentant religious leaders who were hypocritical.
Wrong. At least, wrong, on a level. You have to know something about Jewish law to understand this. The person was likely bloody. Blood is ritually impure. That may not make sense to us today, but this was very important to them. A person who came in contact with blood would likewise become unclean, and a religious leader who was ritually unclean couldn’t do their job caring for the community. This wasn’t necessarily a selfish act. It may not square with our sensibilities, but the action of these two religious leaders may have actually been intended to preserve their ability to serve the communities with which they were charged. And, before we shower this text with outrage, let us consider the abandoned people in our own midst who we allow to suffer all the time. I don’t just mean the unspeakable conditions at the border, but right here in Marin and the Bay area, one of the wealthiest places in the world.
Okay, so the two religious leaders aren’t the bad guys; clearly the message must be to try and be the good guy (or woman), to be the “Good Samaritan,” crossing lines to help others. Indeed, at the end, Jesus does say, “Go and do likewise.”
Well, sort of. As Bell asserts, if the point of the story was to inspire the lawyer to act a certain way, Jesus would have made the hero a lawyer who violates the law in order to help a stranger. In doing so, Jesus would have shown the lawyer what it would look like for him to do the right thing. That’s how we all read it, isn’t it? It’s our job to help people no matter our other obligations, because when people need it, no matter who they are, we help.
I was all ready to go all-in on this interpretation. I was ready to challenge people to step outside their comfort zones to take care of those in need, crossing whatever barriers stand before them. I was ready to use a perfect illustration, the case of Scott Daniel Warren. You know who Warren is, right? Warren is a man who was charged with crimes that could land in him jail for 20 years. His crime? Providing, water, food, and shelter to desperate migrants making their way across the southern border. I even had my punchline: We now live in a time and place where being the Good Samaritan is illegal!
I would have missed the point. That’s not to say I would have been entirely wrong – I think Warren was doing the humane thing. I think it’s the thing Jesus himself would do and would have us do. I know some will balk because of the illegality of the act. To that we should remember two things: 1) seeking asylum, which many migrants are doing, is legal, and 2) Jesus himself broke the law, and he did so specifically to feed people who were hungry. Breaking the law to feed people is a time-honored Christian tradition. I’d say I missed the point not because that application of Jesus’ teaching goes too far, but because it doesn’t go far enough. It’s not challenging enough. It doesn’t go far enough in urging us to expand our consciousness and the bounds of our compassion.
Here’s what I mean, and what Bell means. Jesus makes the Good Samaritan the hero, not the lawyer or person of the lawyer’s same ethnic identity or the identity of the likely hearers of this story. In doing so, Jesus signals that the point of the story is not about our ability to cross lines and help. The point of the story is about cultivating our ability to see and believe that others, that they our enemies, are capable of crossing lines to help us. Do you see the difference? I cannot overstate what bitter enemies the Samaritans were. It’s hard to even think of a modern example. Ten or fifteen years ago, I would have said Al Qaeda. Those of you in the Cold War will have an easier time making a connection.
What’s radical about Jesus’ teaching is that it features one of them, one of the enemies, exhibiting compassion, basic human decency and kindness. In fact, it may even feature the Good Samaritan displaying a good bit of cultural competency and sensitivity. Perhaps the Good Samaritan knew something of the Jewish culture, recognized why Jewish religious leaders couldn’t help this beaten one and thus stepped in knowing a Jewish religious leader couldn’t. The hated other becomes the hero, and the challenge is for the hearer to recognize and acknowledge that a Samaritan could be capable of such an act. Helping a supposed enemy is hard enough, though I think we can all imagine it because we like to think of ourselves as the bigger party. To believe that the hated “they” could be capable of risking helping us, well that’s beyond our comprehension. Beyond our current comprehension is precisely the territory Jesus most wants to explore. In telling this tale, Jesus tries to disavow us of this commitment to seeing only shallow, evil, caricatures of others God also made in God’s image.
The story offends our sensibility today in another sense. We are a people of doers, of helpers. Taking this parable as only a lesson in being charitable reaffirms a widely held cultural story we tell ourselves, that we are the helpers, the rescuers, the ones who go in and make things better. We are the good, the charitable, and the just. There are worse qualities to which to aspire, but they’re not the whole story. There is a shadow side to always being the helper, being the giver. Charity also keeps the giver in power. The giver gets to set the agenda. The giver gets to keep the other indebted to them or feeling indebted having had their debts forgiven. A world of only giving is a world of imbalance, even injustice for it can be a way of preserving a mythology of superiority. Jesus wants to challenge even our most deep-seeded mythologies.
In the end, Jesus leaves us not left to marvel at how good we can be, but rather to wonder how good others can be, others we are taught from our youth to hate, fear, and dehumanize. It changes the whole thrust of the story.
Bell puts it this way:
Do you see why I began by talking about the point of the story? You can make it about roadside assistance, which is fine, and maybe even helpful, but Jesus is calling us to something way bigger and higher and deeper and transcendent. Jesus is calling the man to love like God loves. Which means everybody. Even those you hate the most. Jesus is challenging the man to extend divine love to those who are the most difficult to love. That’s where it’s at. That’s the answer to the question. That’s where eternal life is.[2]
One important caveat, and it’s one Bell makes. Especially in day and age in which we are waking up to the experience of abuse victims, we all know that some relationships are so toxic the best we can do is love from a distance. Just like you should never be compelled from the outside to forgive, you shouldn’t be forced to view someone who has hurt you a certain way. Part of the way victims get their power back—and Jesus is always about empowering the powerless—is by getting to choose when and how they see their perpetrator. That’s not letting us off the hook from doing our difficult work. It is helping us do our wider work of service and caring without forestalling it prematurely. There is a time, as our story shows, to cross the street so you can live to help another community another day. I know you wouldn’t abuse that permission so I am glad to give it to you.
So, as you forth from here today, it’s fine to go and be the Good Samaritan, but take it a step further and see if you can go and see the Good Samaritan too. Amen.
[1] https://christianity201.wordpress.com/2015/01/01/the-people-whose-name-you-cant-speak/
[2] https://christianity201.wordpress.com/2015/01/01/the-people-whose-name-you-cant-speak/
Galatians 1:6-12
I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— not that there is another gospel, but there are some who are confusing you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should proclaim to you a gospel contrary to what we proclaimed to you, let that one be accursed! As we have said before, so now I repeat, if anyone proclaims to you a gospel contrary to what you received, let that one be accursed! Am I now seeking human approval, or God’s approval? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still pleasing people, I would not be a servant of Christ. For I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel that was proclaimed by me is not of human origin; for I did not receive it from a human source, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ.
Declaring God’s Marvelous Works
At the risk of boring those of you who have already heard some or all of this story, I want to share with you today a little of my own call story … the events and experiences that led me to pursue ordained ministry. For I am deeply reminded of my own call story when I read this letter from Paul to the Galatians.
I grew up here, in northern California, up in Sebastopol. My dad was a pastor, and I was very involved in church as a child. It was a theologically progressive United Church of Christ congregation, quite similar in many ways to Westminster, though as a child, I had no idea what “theologically progressive” meant. I just knew that when I was at church, I knew I was loved and accepted just the way I was. I knew I was loved and accepted by God, and I knew I was loved and accepted by my fellow church members. There was no one “right” way to be a Christian at my church. Instead, we were on a journey of love and discovery together. You may have noticed on the bulletin cover last week the slogan of the United Church of Christ – “God is Still Speaking.” The church of my childhood was very aware that they did not have all the answers, and that together we were listening and learning and practicing how best to be disciples of Jesus Christ.
Fast forward to my post-college years and this northern California girl found herself in Baton Rouge, Louisiana as part of a teaching program. After settling into my apartment, one of my first priorities was to find a church to attend. Easier said than done! I must have attended at least a dozen churches in the first several months that I was in Baton Rouge. Time after time after time, I found myself disagreeing with the sermons that I heard. At church after church – mostly Presbyterian and Methodist churches – I heard a message of exclusion and division preached. According to these pastors, there was only one way to be a Christian, and anyone who did not conform to their specific rules and regulations simply was not a proper Christian. It was so rigid, so absolute, so certain. It certainly did not seem like God was still speaking in these church communities. God had spoken, and, somehow, these churches each knew the exact right way to be a Christian. And that way excluded a whole lot of people and beliefs and ways of being in this world.
As I mentioned, I am vividly reminded of these experiences when I read Paul’s letter to the Galatians. Paul had been in Galatia previously, and had preached to them about the Good News of Jesus. That is the calling Paul had perceived for his life – to travel around to different communities and share the Gospel. For Paul, the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus was, at its core, about God’s love for us, God’s beloved children. Dr. Wendy Farley, a professor at San Francisco Theological Seminary writes that for Paul, “Love makes one a Christian. It is love that justifies, that makes us right. That love is not conditioned by anything but God’s own love for humanity. If we miss this, for Paul, we miss everything.”[i] As Paul writes in his letter to the Romans, nothing “will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” That is the message he preached in Galatia; that is the message he preached wherever he went.
At some point after Paul leaves Galatia, according to his letter, some other people arrive, also claiming to teach and preach about Jesus Christ. We can tell by the letter that Paul is very disturbed by what they are teaching. He says they are “confusing” the Galatians and wanting to “pervert the gospel of Christ.” In the short passage we heard today, we do not get specifics about what these people are teaching, but later in the letter we learn that they are telling the Galatians that they must first take on Jewish practices in order to become Christians.
At that time, the early Christian movement had two distinct groups of people – those who were Jewish and had decided to become a follower of Christ. And the Gentiles, who had not been Jewish and had decided to become followers of Christ. Those with roots in the Jewish community kept many of their Jewish traditions, such as eating specific foods and circumcising the males. The Gentiles did not feel the need to take on these specifically Jewish traditions, but some of the traveling teachers believed this was the only way to truly be a follower of Jesus.
Paul, as you can hear in the letter, vehemently disagreed. In his mind, this goes against everything Jesus taught. Jesus, who welcomed the outsider, who included everyone, who made sure to include the Gentiles in his ministry. Certainly Jesus would not have rules and regulations about who does and does not get to follow him. As Wendy Farley says, “Paul makes a passionate case for the radical inclusivity of the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Jesus’ ministry was about drawing people in, not pushing people out.
So there I was in Baton Rouge, hearing preacher after preacher telling me what I had to do and believe in order to be considered a Christian. I was not hearing or experiencing radical inclusivity at those churches. Instead, I was hearing things that totally contradicted the Jesus I had learned about growing up and had continued to read about in the Gospels as an adult. Things that did, indeed, sound like a perversion of the gospel – the good news - of Jesus Christ.
My search continued, church after church, until finally I did end up finding a church that preached the radical, open, inclusive love of Jesus. That did not put up any barriers to being a disciple of Christ. I had found my new church home.
I love a story with a happy ending. However, the story does not end there. For now we move to the Psalm, which urges us, “Declare God’s glory among the nations, God’s marvelous works among all the peoples. For great is the Lord and greatly to be praised.” According to the Psalmist, it is not enough to simply resist the teachings of those trying to confuse the gospel. It is not enough to simply attend worship at a church that preaches and teaches about the inclusive and welcoming love of God. No, we are called to declare God’s glory. We are called to declare God’s marvelous works.
As I sat in that church in Baton Rouge, I got to thinking … if there are so many people out there putting up barriers to knowing the love of God through Jesus Christ, what can I do to tear down those barriers? How am I called to declare God’s marvelous works to those who need to hear it? For me, that became a call, slowly, to ordained ministry. The stubborn side of me decided that if there are preachers out there trying to exclude people from the love of God, I was going to become a preacher that would do the opposite. I would not and could not allow their voices to be the only voices out there.
I am fully aware that most people are not called to go into ordained ministry. Thank goodness. What a weird world that would be! However, we are each called to declare God’s marvelous works among the people in our own way. I am so proud to serve a congregation that embraces the radical inclusivity and love of Jesus Christ, that understands there are many ways to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, that realizes it does not have and never will have all the answers. I do wonder, though, if we could do a better job of declaring that good news beyond these four walls.
A few years ago, Rob and I led our Deacons and Elders through a “Natural Church Development” survey process. It was designed to illuminate Westminster’s strengths and weaknesses in eight categories that the Natural Church Development organization had studied and determined to be essential qualities of healthy churches. We scored quite high in several areas, including inspiring worship and loving relationships. There was one category, though, in which we scored noticeably lower than anything else – that category was called “passionate spirituality.” When we started to share these results with our church officers, we received a lot of pushback. “We’re very spiritual … we are passionately spiritual … we are just quiet about it.” The consensus was that, though our members in general feel connected to their spirituality, they are a bit reluctant to share about their faith with others. I can understand that … it can be uncomfortable to share about God to someone who does not hear about or talk about God regularly. It can perhaps be even more uncomfortable to share about the inclusive and welcoming love of God to someone who understands God’s love differently. And we certainly don’t want to become in-your-face proselytizers, trying to forcibly convert people to Christianity.
But that is not what the Psalmist is talking about. The Psalmist begins by encouraging us to sing. O sing to the Lord a new song. Because we are so filled with the love and the glory of God, we can’t help but be moved by song. And then, says the Psalmist, share. Because God loves us so abundantly, we can’t help but share about this love. We cannot and should not keep quiet about the good news of God’s love for us and for all people.
A few weeks ago, Rob talked about Rachel Held Evans, an influential voice in the national conversation about progressive Christianity, who died suddenly in early May. Two of Rachel’s friends wrote a remembrance of her where they noted that her mission was not to convert people, but instead to remind them and to let them know about the wondrous and miraculous love of God made known in Jesus Christ. They write, “She never positioned herself simply ‘against’ anything. To tell the truth is to recognize Rachel for who she was — someone who, inspired by Jesus’ love for her, poured out uncommon love and worked relentlessly ‘for’ the good of all people, whether they agreed with her or not. Rachel was ‘for’ an all-embracing vision of Christ’s church and the relentless inclusion of refugees and those suffering poverty, of LGBTQ people, of women and especially women of color, of the unseen and unheard and swept-aside. She used her writing to build the bridges so many of us needed to get back to God’s love, to one another and to the church. Rachel was ‘for’ Jesus; in many ways, she would have gotten in much less trouble if she hadn’t believed so deeply that Jesus meant what He said. Ultimately, Rachel was ‘for’ the abundance of ordinary ways we encounter God. Everything she did pointed to these encounters: feeding people, opening her home, stirring our laughter, attuning our ears to the predawn song of a mockingbird.”[ii]
Since her death, the main question people have asked is, who is going to pick up where Rachel left off? Who is going to be the voice for the marginalized? Who is going to see that all are included? Who is going to boldly declare God’s marvelous works? My answer? Each one of us. Each one of us is called to preach and to teach the gospel … each in our own way. May it be so. Amen.
[i] Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 3
[ii] https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/how-rachel-held-evans-really-should-be-remembered/2019/05/08/7fcf0f4c-71cb-11e9-8be0-ca575670e91c_story.html?noredirect&utm_term=.0d4aa0eabd55, by Sarah Bessey and Jeff Chu
Acts 16:9-15
9During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, "Come over to Macedonia and help us." 10When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.
11We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, 12and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. 13On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. 14A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. 15When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, "If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home." And she prevailed upon us. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Gate or River?
In the first part of April, Rachel Held Evans, popular Christian writer, New York Times best-seller, was hospitalized after having an allergic reaction to antibiotics she was given for an infection. She was in good enough spirits, and good enough health, to joke on Twitter about her disappointment in missing “Game of Thrones” on TV. Well, her allergic reaction turned serious, turned into seizures, which led doctors to turn to a medically-induced coma in an attempt to protect her brain. They made several attempts to safely bring her out of the coma, transferring her to two additional facilities, but were having little success.
This sent shockwaves through at least certain branches of the Christian family tree. During Evans’ illness there was a massive movement on social media, where Evans had a strong presence, to muster prayers on her behalf. What began as gentle supplications to God morphed into raw pleas and eventually angry cries. Nadia Bolz Weber, popular Christian writer in her own right, and colorful figure, at one point prayed, “We’re not asking nicely, anymore, God.”[1] Honesty is at the heart of prayer. Then, in a moment it happened. The hashtag—the way Twitter posts are grouped—changed from “Pray for RHE” (Rachel Held Evans) to “Because of RHE,” as people moved from asking for divine intervention to save her life to paying tribute to what her life had meant to them. That moment occurred on May 4, when Rachel Held Evans died. She was 37 years old, and left behind two small children.
That’s when it got me. I had never read any of Evans’ work. You may be wondering why, if she was such an important figure. Evans had an enormously popular blog, was a published author, and sought-after speaker. I had a distant sense of what she had done for others, but the issues helped people work through weren’t ones that were the most pressing for me. She was enormously helpful for women who were from traditions that didn’t allow them leadership roles, much less a sense of equality; LGBTQ persons who’d been told they were going to hell by the tradition of their rearing; those who accepted the legitimacy of science, the recognition of evolution; those whose faith simply included doubts and questions. We have plenty of our own issues, I have plenty, but these are largely questions that have been resolved in communities such as ours.
When I saw just who was paying tribute to Evans, and the impact they were telling she’d had, I realized I needed to hear more. So, because of these testimonies—and you can read them yourselves under the hashtag “Because of RHE”—and because there were too many unsorted Legos on our living room floor, one night a couple weeks ago I downloaded her audio book, Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church. If I couldn’t give her my attention during her life, the least I could do was listen to her from beyond the grave, which is precisely how it felt, with her own voice narrating her words from the other side. I sat there putting the Legos away piece by piece and listened as Evans—it’s her voice narrating the book—talked about working through the scattered pieces of her own faith, trying to find a way to put them together in some new and workable form.
I learned that Evans’ place in the Christian world, as prominent as it became, did not come without cost. She took massive amounts of criticism. She left behind the tradition of her childhood and was demonized by some within it for her views. She ended up starting a church with friends that was a labor of love. It never had more than 20 or so members, which ultimately petered out with everyone exhausted and broke, and maybe a little broken. It would be more than two years before she found herself back in any regular worshipping community, an Episcopal church in Tennessee. She never stopped wrestling though, in her writing and in her being. There’s something admirable in that. We have to remember, there was a time when it was easy to go to church and hard to leave it. Now, it’s easier than ever to leave church, to walk away, to pick one that is more comfortable (and there is value in that), or just go away altogether. No one is going to scold for choosing to read the paper on Sunday morning instead of going to church, shame you for being spotted at Peet’s, or watching “Meet the Press” in your slippers. Evans didn’t take the easy route, though.
She persisted, not in going to church—that’s not the point—but in wrestling with a faith that was increasingly hard to define or define with such hard lines, clear definitions, unchanging patterns. She continued to write, no longer from the center, no longer as the girl who had exceled in memorizing Bible verses and winning youth group awards (What a weird thing, to have youth group awards?!). Now, she resided firmly on the edge.
The edge, of course, is where so much happens.
I once took a class where we spent the entire semester exploring the Book of Acts from the perspective of spatial dynamics. Where did certain things in the narrative happen? It was amazing how much of the action happened on edges, in contested spaces—doorways, roads, in between places, places just outside the gate. Outside the gate is precisely where we meet a woman today named Lydia (Acts 16:14). Lydia is stationed “outside the gate by the river,” where the disciples have come supposing it “was a place of prayer” (v. 13). That’s interesting. It’s outside the gate, outside defined bounds, the safety of the city walls, by a river, a body of water, which by definition is in perpetual motion. That’s its stability. A river flows, and while maintaining the same general heading it shifts its path over time. Lydia is called “a worshipper of God” and is moved by the movement of the apostles, or maybe more accurately the movement of the Spirit through them. As many have said, Acts of the Apostles would be better named Acts of the Spirit.
The passage for today ends with the proclamation, “And she prevailed upon us,” meaning she succeeded in having the apostles of Christ come to stay in her home, to dwell there for a bit, to come to her world. That’s a powerful image. The whole story is full of powerful images. Consider, for example, the juxtaposition of the gate and the river. It leads me to ask: Is your faith one that resides firmly inside the gate, or does it walk barefoot upon the soily banks of the river? Do we make our collective faith home inside metaphorical immovable foundations or do we risk dipping into the flow of the stream? There is great comfort, clear direction, in gates, walls, and boundaries, and there is a place for these things, but the walls and all that’s within them have to get moved around, downright shaken up, from time to time, and they do because of what happens at the river. What happens in gated buildings is the accumulation of wealth, the hatching of strategic plans, the designation of power, each too with its place. What happens in rivers is baptism, the reckless spilling of grace, the descent of the Spirit, the pronouncement of heavenly coronation, and the critique of misused power. Where does our faith lie, in the certainty of knowing certain things about God inside the gate or the feeling of the soil from walking with God, whoever God is, down by the river?
The world needs people who report in from the river’s edge, just as it does who speak well from within the city gate. Maybe you, maybe we, could be one of those voices. Rachel Held Evans was. She spoke about how searching for Sunday is not the same as searching for a church. Sunday is a concept, a way of being, a way of leaning into the mystery of the resurrection. These are some quotes I like from Searching Sunday:
“Imagine if every church became a place where everyone is safe, but no one is comfortable. Imagine if every church became a place where we told one another the truth. We might just create sanctuary.”
“…the gospel doesn’t need a coalition devoted to keeping the wrong people out.”
“what makes the gospel offensive isn’t who it keeps out, but who it lets in.”
“Cynicism is a powerful anesthetic we use to numb ourselves to pain, but which also, by its nature, numbs us to truth and joy.”
“people bond more deeply over shared brokenness than they do over shared beliefs.”
“Scripture doesn’t speak of people who found God. Scripture speaks of people who walked with God.”
“There is a difference, after all, between preaching success and preaching resurrection.”
“They reminded me that Christianity isn’t meant to simply be believed; it’s meant to be lived, shared, eaten, spoken, and enacted in the presence of other people. They reminded me that, try as I may, I can’t be a Christian on my own. I need a community. I need the church.”
“The good news is you are a beloved child of God; the bad news is you don’t get to choose your siblings.”
In the foreword to Searching for Sunday, Glennon Doyle Melton writes, “Whenever I want to scare myself, I consider what would happen to the world if Rachel Held Evans stopped writing.” Sometimes fears come true. When we lose someone who has stepped out on a ledge on our behalf, who dared to go to the edge, it can feel as though we are falling. May we land safely, that we might kick of our shoes and make our way to the banks, to dip in, to receive, and to offer up hospitality to all who are in search of it. Amen.
[1] https://theboeskool.com/2019/05/01/thoughts-on-praying-for-miracles/
Acts 11:1-18
1Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. 2So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, 3saying, "Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?" 4Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, 5"I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. 6As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. 7I also heard a voice saying to me, 'Get up, Peter; kill and eat.' 8But I replied, 'By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.' 9But a second time the voice answered from heaven, 'What God has made clean, you must not call profane.' 10This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven. 11At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. 12The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man's house. 13He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, 'Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; 14he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.' 15And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. 16And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, 'John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.' 17If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?" 18When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, "Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD. AMEN.
Balancing Act
Today we have our baccalaureate service for our graduating seniors. Graduation can be such a poignant time. It’s one of the few rituals we still share as a society, this chance to reflect back and look ahead. The irony is that many, if not most, graduates have no idea where they are really going, nor should they. We put too much pressure on them to expect that. Perhaps this moment could simply serve as a chance for us all to stop for a moment to reflect on where we are now.
It’s the time of year when commencement addresses circulate. Interestingly, thought, it’s been the young people who have done much of the inspirational speaking and acting as of late. I think students such as Emma Gonzalez, one of the survivors of the Parkland, Florida shootings. I remember having lunch with Pastor Emeritus Doug Huneke this year and him speaking passionately about how he thought Gonzalez should be given the Nobel Peace Prize. As you may remember, just days after the shooting, Gonzalez addressed a crowd at televised rally. She did two things that took incredible courage at the outset: She asked for silence and she cried. Each is an act of vulnerability. To call for silence is to risk someone else taking the floor back, interjecting; it’s to risk losing control yet again. To offer tears is to risk showing what some will deem weakness. And for a girl to do either is doubly risky.
Risk, Gonzalez did. Gift us, Gonzalez and her classmates have. She didn’t stop at silence and tears; she spoke up to the adults. How scary must that have been? And, she called them to account. On all the excuses offered as to why things can’t change, she called “BS.”[1] Prophetic speech is always offered in the vernacular, the language of the people, the language of the street. The number one responsibilities adults have toward their young people is to make sure they’re safe, and she made it clear in no uncertain terms that the adults had failed.
I think too of Greta Thunberg, who wasn’t even old enough to graduate when she started to make waves. This teen from Sweden has called out the broken promises of the generations above her. Speaking to House of Parliament in the UK just a few weeks ago, she recounted being told as a child to “dream big,” that she could be whatever she wanted, that “the sky was the limit.” Because of the climate breakdown plaguing the skies and seas alike, and the inadequate action, Thunberg told the adults at Parliament in no uncertain terms, “You lied to us.” To those who say she should be in school rather than leading climate strikes, she reminds them what school is supposed to prepare you to do, and she asks chillingly why she should be preparing for a future that she and her peers may not actually have.
Thunberg, as you may know, has Asperger’s. She’s on the autism spectrum, and while you might think I’m including that as an additional challenge, which is how many people think of it, Thunberg credits this as an asset to her. She says her Asperger’s keeps her from being overwhelmed or intimidated by all the vitriol and death threats directed her way. She is unafraid at international climate gatherings, then, to call out the hypocrisy of those who come in search of solutions yet arrive in private jets. She says her piece, and then she gets back on a train to go home.[2]
I have two emotions when I think of such young people and I think of our young people. I’m incredibly proud, though proud is something you are of some beneath you. Maybe a better way of saying it is I look up to these young people. The second thing I feel is incredible sadness. It makes me so sad that people of this age should have to see the things they have seen which have led them to say the things they have said. I say this even as I realize young people around the world endure things no child should all the time, from going to bed hungry to waking up to an unsafe neighborhood and school. To living in a home or area ravaged by drugs to living in a literal war zone. I can’t get the image I have of Syrian children swimming in the crater from a rocket attack.
It’s big stuff. How do we go forward in a world such as this? Today, we are given two readings to consider. One might question the wisdom of reading Revelation on graduation Sunday, this apocalyptic vision, but I figure if we can handle HBO’s “Game of Thrones,” we can handle John’s apocalyptic vision which plays a little like “Game of Thrones.” Revelation depicts a cosmic struggle over who occupies the seat of true power in this world. Revelation is a trippy dream-like making sense of the collapse of the Temple in the year 67, and it’s a critique of the worldly powers of the day, which is one reason it’s precisely a text to share after speaking of Gonzalez and Thunberg. Revelation is also an image of the transformation of all things within Christ, the eternal love of God, always giving birth to the new. After all the smoke and fire, and yes, blood, Revelation peers over the rubble and says, I see a new heaven and a new earth. You can cry and God will wipe every tear from your eye. Death will be no more. There will be a fountain of life from which all will be invited to come and drink.
Acts takes a slightly different approach, and deals with what you’re allowed to eat. “Make sure you have some things that are green,” I believe my mom said to me when I went to college.” Does Mountain Dew count? This vision is one of a sheet coming down from heaven, with all kinds of food on it and all are okay to eat. It seems God is more permissive than my mother.
Now what does this have to do with anything? Actually, this peculiar passage is wrestling in its own way with what we’ve been talking about, “How do we live together?” Living together isn’t only about big ideas; it’s about practical questions of everyday life. As this new religious form was born, they had all kinds questions about which practices they were going to follow because different people had different rules. First, they seek the Spirit, a greater wisdom. They go beyond themselves, and the solution they come up with is one that favors inclusion. It’s okay to eat it all.
My word to the graduates, and my word to the rest of you, is that both are important, to be able to see the bigger picture, to have a vision of how it can be, and the ability to roll up one’s sleeves and get into the weeds…though I guess if you’re working in the weeds, you’d want your sleeves down. It’s a balancing act. All vision and you end up spinning in circles and never getting anywhere. All practical and the train leaves on time, but it’s still heading for a cliff. You will have to be a part of crafting a vision, the big picture, of where we’re going, and of the less than glamourous details of getting us there. If I’ve learned anything in the little growing up that I’ve done, most of this is accomplished not in the big moments, the glamorous ones. Rarely are you awarded and sometimes your best work is unnoticed. It’s the groundwork, though, the bedrock, important for anything lasting. It’s the daily work or relationship-building that enables anything great or small to happen.
Now this is the point in a commencement speech where I’d give you quippy advice for how to proceed, but this is a sermon. I’m not concerned with where you’re going...I’m more concerned with where you are now, which is where and when you will always be. You don’t have to know where you’re going if you know who you are. Invest in being like those early followers of Jesus, seeking a greater Spirit in your life now, open your heart and mind, and where you are going will unfold. My parting words to you will be a prayer I’ve carried for a long time, by a man named Thomas Merton. This is what he prayed, and if you carry it with you, you can take a picture of it, but I’d commend paper. Sometimes you need to be able to put your fingers on something. He begins in a place we can all recognize:
My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
Remember this and you’ll keep your balance. Amen.
[1] https://www.cnn.com/2018/02/17/us/florida-student-emma-gonzalez-speech/index.html
[2] https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/apr/23/greta-thunberg-full-speech-to-mps-you-did-not-actGre-in-time
John 21:1-14
1After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. 2Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. 3Simon Peter said to them, "I am going fishing." They said to him, "We will go with you." They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.
4Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. 5Jesus said to them, "Children, you have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No." 6He said to them, "Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some." So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. 7That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, "It is the Lord!" When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. 8But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off.
9When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. 10Jesus said to them, "Bring some of the fish that you have just caught." 11So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. 12Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast." Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, "Who are you?" because they knew it was the Lord. 13Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. 14This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Reappearance
If this passage sounds familiar to you it’s because it was the same one we read last week when Bethany preached. It’s fitting it reappear here because this is the season of reappearances. The last time I was with you was Easter, when we celebrated the resurrection of Jesus in all its glory and so now we are in the season when we explore the reappearances of Christ. Notice the plural. Do you know how many times the risen Christ appeared in Scripture? Paul writes that he appeared to at least 500! It seems the risen was showing up all over the place. The notion that Christ continues to show up is an early one. I think of the 5th century St. Patrick and his famous prayer that calls Christ’s presence all around:
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Perhaps it’s a prayer of recognition, but I gather it’s more or a prayer of longing.
Do we carry that longing within us too? Do we believe we can encounter reappearances of Christ? Following the services on Easter, I drove to catch up with my family and friends for a picnic at Lake Lagunitas. On the radio there was an interview with Dr. Dan Siegel, professor of psychiatry at UCLA, Executive Director of the Mindsight Institute, and author of The Whole Brain Child, which some of you may have read. Listening, I was instantly captivated. Siegel was talking about the neuropathways in the brain that get formed as a result of trauma, specifically childhood trauma. Interestingly, though ye was pushing back forcefully on what at least I understood to be conventional wisdom, that such trauma has to be damaging for a lifetime. Without equivocation, he said that if people were willing to do the right therapeutic work, difficult work, those neuropathways could be reconfigured, and healing could be found. In other words, there was, and is, and always will be hope. People can come back from the proverbial grave.
I’m taking all this in, and making my way up a winding road, when I see pulled over on the side a white can with a man behind it. It’s not an uncommon sight in Marin, as people pull over to access hiking trails all the time, but this man wasn’t putting on his hiking shoes. He was taking his shoes off. It wasn’t time for a hike. It was time for prayer. Before him was a prayer rug and he was getting ready to prostrate for one of the five periods of daily prayer prescribed for Muslims. There’s something intentional about the repetitive motion of Muslim prayer. Islam means “surrender,” and the motion of prayer embodies it. In fact, it embodies laying down one’s life and then being raised up. A Christian might call it a rehearsed death and resurrection—down to the ground and rising again. In our tradition we speak of baptism as death and resurrection, though we practice that once in a lifetime. They do it five times daily. What if we learned to practice it in our bodies more regularly? Well, some of you have been with our sun salutations in our weekly yoga class.
On Easter, churches tend to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus and the framing is of a one-time supernatural event. There’s power in that symbol, of course, but as the Franciscan Richard Rohr reminds us, Jesus may be a window into the rule as much as an image of the exception. In his new The Universal Christ, Richard Rohr reminds us that resurrection is the natural order of things. It’s not so much supernatural as the Western church likes to depict it. It’s all around. It’s in nature. It’s in the return to life of a trauma victim. It’s in the daily act of prayer. It’s in, as Rohr would put it, dying to false self and being raised in true self all the time, again and again. Christ isn’t just that guy who did it once. Christ is that which does it again and again and invites us in. In our celebration, we tried to accept that invitation by participating in a ritual of placing flowers on the cross. In some Mayan cultures that have adopted Christianity, the cross is always shown flowered because the cross becomes the second tree of life. We do this to remind ourselves to be on the lookout for resurrection all around us.
As if to prove the point that Christ shows up again in and again, look how many times the risen one appears in today’s short passage. Three times. Three times! And the disciples, like so many of us, don’t recognize it. These are the ones who knew Jesus in life, and still they don’t recognize him. Now, let us not get lost in the logistics of resurrection appearances. Does your complexion change? Do you get your peak physique in the next body? I’d like my 24 year-old hairline, but my 27 year-old biceps. Don’t do that. The story shows what many of us know all too well, recognizing the risen Christ in our midst is difficult. It takes practice, practice and tools.
Just before I left, I met with a woman who is a United Church of Christ Pastor, a licensed therapist, and a spiritual director. Her name is Ruth Mordecai – now there’s a powerful biblical name for you. I had asked to meet so we could talk about something called nonviolent communication, which Mordecai has been studying and teaching. Nonviolent communication isn’t merely not calling people nasty names. Rather it’s a way of transforming the entire way we listen and speak in order to break through the patterns that tend to make our interactions unproductive if not outright hurtful. It’s a way of recognizing the felt needs beneath people’s expressions, and our own. It’s about finding ways to really hear each other, really be heard, and thus come to a more meaningful place as a result of being in communication.
Mordecai says that tools of nonviolent communication can help foster genuineness and compassion and can help in “avoiding repetitive arguments with loved ones or people with differing viewpoints (especially political).”[1] Now, how many of us could stand to benefit from this? I can’t tell you how many people I’ve counseled, whose families or friendships or even casual encounters have suffered significant fissures as the result of repetitive arguments, disagreements, particularly in this moment around political issues. It’s no wonder we interact in this way. Every time we turn on a screen, we see people assaulting one another’s character, degrading one another’s fundamental dignity, and disregarding others’ basic humanity.
It’s not just politics. Decades ago there were some interesting experiments with what was called “reality TV.” It’s so manufactured now that the name is an oxymoron. What began as cheap programing (you don’t have to pay writers) and kind of an interesting social experiment, had devolved into the poorest of modeling of adult behavior. The formula has been to supply people with copious amounts of alcohol and watch the fireworks fly and the mudslinging begin. I’m not the kind of person that likes to blame pop culture for our behavior, the “video games make you violent” line of reasoning, but I do think that the images we allow to surround us do seep into us and give permission to conduct ourselves in certain ways. After all our skin is porous. That with which we surround ourselves is bound to get in.
Overcoming these overt patterns of behavior, however isn’t even the most appealing part of nonviolent communication to me. It’s what happens beneath the surface. Nonviolent communication, says Mordecai, can actually change the way we experience the other. Imagine that, actually feeling love for the one who used to cause you to bite your tongue lest you bite off their head? Is this what Jesus meant when he said to love your enemies, not simply to do the right thing or refrain from doing the harmful thing, but to truly feel a certain way? Isn’t that why he didn’t simply say to treat your neighbors, your enemies even, well, but also to love them? I’m working to bring Mordecai to Westminster for some workshops in nonviolent communication next year and I hope you’ll take advantage.
Rohr’s reminds us that the Christian path is really about recognizing Christ all around and within all things. It’s a change of disposition and perspective. It’s not easy, and so he counsels us to start small. Don’t start by trying to see Christ in your enemy. You’re doomed to fail. Start by trying to love a rock, something simple, something that won’t smack you in the face. He opens The Universal Christ by stating, in all good orthodoxy, and without a hint of shallow sentimentality, that he absolutely saw Christ in the eyes of his dying black lab. Later in the book he speaks about how his dog becomes his spiritual teacher as it approaches death, a death for which Rohr is not yet ready.
In the end it’s about shifting from seeing the resurrection as admiration—isn’t it terrific what God did—to an aspiration: Isn’t it amazing what happens when I embrace my own resurrection, look for resurrection in the world, and adjust my eyesight accordingly.
In that light, St. Patrick’s old prayer makes new sense. Here it is in fuller, if not complete, form:
I arise today (This isn’t just a morning prayer; it’s a theological statement)
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation… (This is a confession, a declaration)
I arise today, through
The strength of heaven,
The light of the sun,
The radiance of the moon,
The splendor of fire,
The speed of lightning,
The swiftness of wind,
The depth of the sea,
The stability of the earth,
The firmness of rock… (Where is God? All around).
Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, (Now, here it comes…)
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me. (Deep trust in possibility of new life in communication).
The extent to which we encounter a reappearance of the risen Christ isn’t wholly up to God. It’s also up to you. Amen.
[1] From Ruth Mordecai’s prepared materials.
Psalm 37: 21-40
21 The wicked borrow, and do not pay back,
but the righteous are generous and keep giving;
22 for those blessed by the Lord shall inherit the land,
but those cursed by him shall be cut off.
23 Our steps are made firm by the Lord,
when he delights in our way;
24 though we stumble, we shall not fall headlong,
for the Lord holds us by the hand.
25 I have been young, and now am old,
yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken
or their children begging bread.
26 They are ever giving liberally and lending,
and their children become a blessing.
27 Depart from evil, and do good;
so you shall abide for ever.
28 For the Lord loves justice;
The Lord will not forsake his faithful ones.
The righteous shall be kept safe for ever,
but the children of the wicked shall be cut off.
29 The righteous shall inherit the land,
and live in it for ever.
30 The mouths of the righteous utter wisdom,
and their tongues speak justice.
31 The law of their God is in their hearts;
their steps do not slip.
32 The wicked watch for the righteous,
and seek to kill them.
33 The Lord will not abandon them to their power,
or let them be condemned when they are brought to trial.
34 Wait for the Lord, and keep to her way,
and she will exalt you to inherit the land;
you will look on the destruction of the wicked.
35 I have seen the wicked oppressing,
and towering like a cedar of Lebanon.
36 Again I passed by, and they were no more;
though I sought them, they could not be found.
37 Mark the blameless, and behold the upright,
for there is posterity for the peaceable.
38 But transgressors shall be altogether destroyed;
the posterity of the wicked shall be cut off.
39 The salvation of the righteous is from the Lord;
he is their refuge in the time of trouble.
40 The Lord helps them and rescues them;
she rescues them from the wicked, and saves them,
because they take refuge in her.
THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
The Arc
The quote on the front of your bulletin reads:
“Look at the facts of the world. You see a continual and progressive triumph of the right. I do not pretend to understand the moral universe, the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways. I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. But from what I see I am sure it bends towards justice.”[1]
It is perhaps a familiar quote to you, fitting for Black History Month. It seems to be state the very theme of 37th Psalm, which you heard in its entirety this morning, namely that things work out for the good and thus there is great reason to be and do good. Listen to a few select lines from the psalm with this in mind:
Do not fret because of the wicked (v. 1)…Trust in the Lord, and do good (v.3)…and he will give you the desires of your heart…trust in the Lord, and the Lord will act (v. 5)…wait patiently (v.7)… a little while, and the wicked will be no more (v. 10)…the meek shall inherit the land [now we know where Jesus got it] (v. 11)…the Lord upholds the righteous (v. 17)…But the wicked perish (v. 20)…Depart from evil, and do good; so you shall abide forever.
For the Lord loves justice; the Lord will not forsake her faithful ones (v. 27-28).
Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann classifies this as one of the “psalms of orientation” because it names how it is supposed to be. This is how the cosmos should be oriented. The wicked should be held accountable and the good should be rewarded. In a world marked and marred by injustice, justice should prevail. It all begs one simple question, “Is it so?” Is it true that there is a moral universe, and does it bend anywhere in the direction of justice?
I confess that I am not necessarily an optimist. I use the language of confession intentionally because it feels as though optimism is something we should have, particularly in the religious world. In New York Times columnist David Brooks’ book The Road to Character, he says one of the shared characteristics of moral heroes is “insane optimism.”[2] Maybe I don’t have the stuff of moral heroism in me because it’s hard for me to fully embrace optimism when I see suffering all around. Late one night I was watching televangelism—yes, I do that for fun—and the preacher told this story of visiting the Sudan during a famine. He gave the backstory to what would become a Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph. It is of a small child who appears to be scooting on the ground, clearly suffering from hunger and malnourishment. That’s not the haunting part for, sadly, we’ve become used to those kinds of pictures. The haunting part was what stood behind him and several feet back. Standing, waiting, was a vulture. It was waiting for the transformation from child to carrion. How does one claim optimism in a world where that image occurs? What about those whose lives are far more privileged, and yet are also are trapped in their own circumstances and feel desperate? What about the state of the world, or to put it more directly, the state of the earth?
There is, of course, a difference between optimism and hope. Optimism is one’s assessment based on the evidence at hand. Hope is the trust that things will work out based on conviction, faith if you will. I have come to believe that faith is far more about the latter than the former. That said, there are many smarter than I who would argue with evidence against my despair. They tell me to step back and look at the bigger picture, which is just an aggregate of little pictures. Harvard Psychologist Stephen Pinker argued extensively for optimism in his 2018 book Enlightenment Now: The Case for Reason, Science, and Progress in which he claims a marked decrease in violence in the world. Swedish physician and Professor of International Health Hans Rosling has attained popular acclaim with his Gapminder quiz with which he regularly exposes people’s overly negative view of the world.
There are critiques of Pinker’s work and conclusions, and I have my own questions about Rosling’s methodology, but these works and others like them have given me reason to question whether things are as bad as I sometimes think they are. In today’s world, we are bathed in bad news because it sells. We access to it at our fingertips. Leaders can play into our basest of fears in order to manipulate action and so bad news becomes a useful tool.
Some of the great spiritual leaders have learned to see through this, claiming with conviction a better future is on the way. The great paleontologist priest Jesuit Teilhard de Chardin wrote passionately about our ongoing evolution to a greater consciousness. His works were buried until he was, but in 1965, ten years after his death he wrote this in Building the Earth: “The more I look at the world as a scientist the less I see any other possible biological result apart from its active and conscious unity. Life can progress on our planet in the future…by throwing down the barriers which still wall off human activity, and by giving itself up without hesitation to faith in the future.”[3] That last caveat is critical, recognizing human activity as part of a larger unity. Teilhard knew faith in our own boundaries, nationalism, could be our downfall, leading him to proclaim summarily, “The age of nations is past.”[4]
Even our opening quote seems to understand itself as an evidence-based assertion. There is no claim to understand the entirety of the moral framework of the universe and yet still, “from what I see I am sure it bends toward justice.” Now would be a good time to discuss who said this. I purposely left the attribution off the bulletin cover. My guess is many of you associate it with Martin Luther King, and you would be right as he often spoke of it. He did not, however, originate it. The quote is from a 19th century man named Theodore Parker, a Unitarian Universalist minister. Parker is famous for two monumental phrases, and this is the lesser of the two. The other of the universe was that democracy was “government of all the people, by all the people, for all the people.” It is from there that Abraham Lincoln found phrasing for the Gettysburg Address.
Parker was clearly brilliant. Self-taught, by the age of 25 he could read twenty languages. He was a renowned preacher. Thousands came to hear him on Sundays. You might think Parker was celebrated in his time, but quite the contrary. He was vilified as a radical theologian, which is often the best kind if you ask me. He readily spoke of God as Father and Mother (this is the 19th century), and he opposed slavery and the pro-slavery Mexican War. He denied—and I trust this really got him in trouble—that the Bible carried “miraculous authority,” saying people would love the Bible more if they didn’t worship it. I would add people would understand the sacred wisdom of the Bible more if they stopped worshiping it. So ostracized was Parker by the church that he was forced to preach his own installation service.[5]
It is all the more remarkable, then, considering all the opposition he faced, that Parker could say it was from what he saw that he was convinced the moral arc of the universe bent toward justice. Could it be he saw things differently? Could it be that it was not he was able to overlook suffering, but rather he learned to look through it to recognize something greater at work, not something that gave him the excuse to sit on the sidelines, but something greater that pulled him into participation? Could it be that the moral arc appeared to bend toward justice because of the degree to which Parker’s own life leaned that way?
There is a next line in Parker’s quote that I omitted. “Things refuse to be mismanaged long.” It goes on, “Jefferson trembled when he thought of slavery and remembered that God is just. Ere long all America will tremble.” When I think of black history month and of the great spiritual anthem which will close today’s service, I am reminded of the importance of looking back from where we’ve come so that we can get a sense of where we’re going. I’m left with the final question of whether we will stand quietly by, waiting for God to have the last word or will we, too, lift every voice and sing till earth and heaven ring, ring with the harmonies of liberty? Amen.
[1] Theodore Parker, https://www.uuworld.org/articles/parker-radical-theologian
[2] David Brooks, The Road to Character (New York: Random House, 2015).
[3] Teilhard de Chardin, Building the Earth (New York: Avon Books, 1965), 68.
[4] Ibid., 67.
[5] Background information on Parker from the Unitarian Universalist Church, https://www.uuworld.org/articles/parker-radical-theologian
Luke 6:17-26 - Jesus came down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them. Then he looked up at his disciples and said:
“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.”
Upside Down
William Willimon, who served for many years as the Dean of the chapel at Duke University, tells a story about receiving a telephone call one day. His secretary buzzed him and said that there was a man calling who was terribly upset. Willimon said, “Is he upset about what I said in my last sermon?” “No,” his secretary said, “He is mad over something you have done to his daughter.” Willimon was puzzled and told his secretary to put him through. The father began by saying, “I hold you personally responsible for this.” “For what?” Willimon asked. The father replied, “My daughter. We sent her to Duke to get a good education. She is supposed to go to medical school and become a third-generation doctor. Now she’s got some foolish idea in her head about doing mission work Haiti, and I hold you responsible.”
Turns out, his daughter was involved in the chapel, and had been one of the organizers of a previous spring Mission trip to Haiti. The father said, “She has a bachelor of science degree from Duke University. But instead of going to medical school, she now wants to go to Haiti for three years to teach kids there. This would not have happened if it hadn’t been for you. She has listened to your sermons and you’ve taken advantage of her at an impressionable age.” At this point, Willimon was getting a bit energized himself. He responded, “Now just a minute. Didn’t you have her baptized?” The father replied, “Well, yes, but...” “– And,” Willimon continued, “didn’t you take her to Sunday School?” The father stammered in reply, “Well, sure we did.” “There you have it,” Willimon said. “She was messed up before she came to us. You introduced her to Jesus. Don’t blame this on me. You’re the one who started it.” “But,” the father pleaded, “all we wanted was a Presbyterian.” Willimon replied, “Well, sorry sir, you messed up. You’ve gone and made a disciple.”[i]
I am a parent, and I can absolutely understand the bewilderment of this father. I’m guessing his daughter had been on the path to medical school since middle school. At least, that kind of pressure to succeed by society’s standards has already begun for my 6th grade son. Just the other day, we were at a dinner party and multiple people asked us if we had started thinking about where he would go to high school. Well … no, not yet. He’s 11. But he has to get into the right high school, so he can get into the right college, so he can get into the right graduate school, so he can get the right job.
But what is that “right” track? Something that will make a lot of money? Something that will impress others with its prestige? Much of the time, that is what our culture and society seem to think. But that certainly does not seem to be what Jesus thinks. In this passage from Luke’s Gospel, we Jesus sharing some surprising notions about who is blessed. “Blessed are the poor … Blessed are you who are hungry now … Blessed are you who weep … Blessed are you who are hated and excluded.” He then follows the blessings with woes, which we don’t hear in Matthew’s version. “Woe to you who are rich ... Woe to you who are full now ... Woe to you who are spoken well of.”
I can just imagine the look of surprise and confusion on the disciples’ face as Jesus is saying all of this. Jesus, you are turning everything we know about status and power and prestige and wealth upside down. You are challenging every convention and assumption of our society. His was a counter-cultural message then, and it remains a counter-cultural message today.
I am very slowly working on a Doctor of Ministry degree and have been doing a lot of reading about vocation and calling, especially in young people. With the daily onslaught of messages that young people get from society about what they “should” be and do in life, and what “success” looks like, how do they listen for God’s call? How do they figure out how to be a disciple of Jesus Christ? David White is a seminary professor in Texas, and one of the leading researchers in the area of faith and young people. He says, “Every young person in American culture is formed by the myth that happiness can be found at the cash register, and each young person must decide how he or she will embrace or resist this vision.”[ii] And even when they are able to resist that dominant cultural vision – to dare to be counter-cultural and instead live into God’s vision, are the adults in their lives able to do the same? The story about the young woman from Duke wanting to serve in Haiti is, unfortunately, all too common. There seems to always be pressure from somewhere to ignore that message of Jesus.
To whom do we listen? The prophet Jeremiah tells us, “Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals … Blessed are those who trust in the Lord.” It is so tempting to listen to the people around us. To just go along with our cultural and societal norms. But only when we trust in God, says Jeremiah, do our roots grow deep and our branches bear fruit.
This is not an issue only for young people. Just last year, a family member of mine who is in her late 40’s (still quite young!) decided to quit her lucrative job in radio advertising and become the manager of a local donut store. She loves it. Even though she has to get up at 3:00 in the morning to start baking … even though she is not making nearly as much money as she did before, she loves it. She is absolutely beaming in every picture I have seen of her in the donut store. She loves interacting with her customers. She loves providing tasty treats and putting smiles on peoples’ faces. She loves it.
And, most of the people who are close to her have done nothing but say rude and hurtful things about this decision. She has gone crazy! What is she thinking? Is she insane? Why in the world has she done this? You get the point. She has turned her life upside down, she has defied society’s definitions of success and achievement, and the people closest to her just don’t understand.
Now, I don’t know if she would say that managing a donut store is fulfilling her call to be a disciple of Jesus. But, I do know that because she works early in the morning, she now has more time to be with her children when they get home from school. She now has more time to be present with her friends and family members when they need her support. She is able to serve and support her customers in a variety of ways. And, the joy that she gets from her job certainly spills over to other parts of her life. It certainly seems like it is her calling.
I often think in songs, and as I have followed her journey over the last several months, I keep thinking of the song “Upside Down” by Jack Johnson. He wrote it for the Curious George movie that came out a few years ago. Monkeys spend so much of their time upside down as they swing through the branches, they have an entirely different view of the world than we humans do. What if we, like Curious George, like my family member, like Jesus, spend a little more time in this upside-down space? A space where anything is possible, like the hungry being fed and the poor inheriting the kingdom of God. A space filled with a love that we share with everyone. A space where things are not necessarily what they seem, where we are open to the movement of the Spirit. I’ve asked Scott to help me share this song with you today. (See lyrics below.)
I am especially a fan of that last line – “Is this how it’s supposed to be?” For that is the question that Jesus wants us to ask. When we see most of the world’s wealth in the hands of just a few – Is this how it’s supposed to be? When we see people going hungry – Is this how it’s supposed to be? When we see people weeping due to an injustice they have suffered – Is this how it’s supposed to be? No, this is not how it’s supposed to be. Jesus is calling us to turn things upside down. To challenge the status quo. To make radical changes to our lives. To examine the ways that we are complicit in keeping people poor and hungry and excluded and to make a change. To be counter-cultural.
Don’t let the light-hearted song we sang fool you. This is hard work. David White puts it this way, “God’s truth may in fact be an unpopular, minority opinion, scandalous to common sensibilities.” Putting off medical school to serve in Haiti? Unpopular. Living in such a way that the poor, the hungry, the excluded are blessed? A minority opinion. Following God’s call to see that the poor are offered resources and education to break the cycle of poverty, that the hungry are given opportunities to be filled in both the short-term and the long-term, that the excluded are gathered in and lovingly cared for? Scandalous. But this is what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. We are called to turn not just the world, but our own lives, upside down in order to do justice and love kindness. May it be so.
Upside Down, By Jack Johnson
Who's to say what’s impossible
Well they forgot, this world keeps spinning
And with each new day, I can feel a change in everything
And as the surface breaks reflections fade
But in some ways they remain the same
And as my mind begins to spread its wings, there's no stopping curiosity
I want to turn the whole thing upside down
I’ll find things they say just can't be found
I'll share this love I find with everyone
We'll sing and dance to Mother Nature's songs
I don't want this feeling to go away
Who's to say I can’t do everything
Well I can try, and as I roll along I begin to find
Things aren't always just what they seem
This world keeps spinning and there's no time to waste
Well it all keeps spinning, spinning, round and round and upside down
Who's to say what's impossible and can't be found
I don't want this feeling to go away, please don’t go away.
Is this how it’s supposed to be?
[i] https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermon-illustrations/62606/william-willimon-used-to-be-the-dean-of-the-by-scott-brewer
[ii] For more information, see Dreamcare and Practicing Discernment with Youth by David White
Luke 5:1-11
1Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, 2he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. 3He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. 4When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch."
5Simon answered, "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets." 6When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. 7So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. 8But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" 9For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; 10and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon.
Then Jesus said to Simon, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people." 11When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Gathered
A week ago yesterday, a number of us were at the Presbytery meeting, the regional gathering of the church. During our opening worship we were treated to a retelling of the creation story, Genesis as appears in the children’s book, Big Momma Makes the World. On a day that focused on the Christian mandate for humans to live more sustainably on the planet, it was a fitting inclusion of the divine feminine, God as “Big Momma.” Sometimes a simple shift in imagery for the divine can open up new understandings not only of God, and by extension one’s own direction in life. A number of years ago, a book that was just flying off the rack was The Shack. Perhaps you know it. It’s not perfect by any means. I have some theological qualms with the way it treats the subject of abuse, and yet it’s undeniable how much it opened for people different conceptions of God, with its alternative representation of the Trinity. I’ll leave it at that, in case you want read it for yourself.
If, as Christians, we hold to the mystery that in Jesus we glimpse God, then we should pay attention to how Jesus presents himself as well as the images he holds up for others. Jesus does not come as a conqueror. He does not claim for himself the title others want for him, king. In today’s story when interacting with Simon a fisherman, he says, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people” (Lk. 5:10). He meets Simon and the others where they are, as fishers, and pulls from within their work the makings of an even deeper vocation.
Consider the imagery he draws out of the encounter, the casting of a net and gathering in. Jesus, and God by extension, is the great gatherer in. We can take the metaphor too far. The “fish” in the imagery are not to be eaten(!), though now that I say that, it might be fair to say they will be nourishment for others. It’s a remarkable image even for our context, perhaps especially for our context, where we are measured by our ability to distinguish ourselves from one another. We are guided largely by competition and excelling. In fact, our cultural myth is one of heroes who stand out. You may quite like that notion. Jesus, at least here, holds up a very different model, one of those who gather others in.
Jesus gathers time and again with those cast aside by communities and societies, touching the untouchables, healing those whose ailments have left them estranged, comingling with those who are hated, including those hated for good reason. Often the secondary result of Jesus’ actions is restoring the person to the communal unit, which may not be of secondary purpose at all. A central piece of following Jesus is looking out for and restoring those who society has left on the margins, and yes even those whose choices have marginalized themselves. Recently I attended a parenting workshop led by someone who has done a lot of work in restorative practices. Whether in prisons, schools, or families, she helps shift people from the binaries of crime and punishment, victim and perpetrator, to a focus on the communal unit, its wounds, and what steps are necessary for its healing. It’s quite amazing to see a video of school children in restorative circles learning to name their feelings, acknowledging the harmfulness of their actions, or both—and its often both—and then working together as a body to restore and strengthen shared life.
Not only are we fragmented socially or communally, but we are often psychologically and spiritually fragmented as well. That can be an exhausting way to live, and yet sometimes we turn to fragmentation as a strategy because we think it will help us attain what we think we want. You may remember in the news the story of the general manager of the professional basketball team the Philadelphia 76ers named Bryan Colangelo. The Colangelo name is somewhat basketball royalty, and you’d think this would come with a sense of security. However, it was learned that Colangelo was secretly operating a handful of anonymous social media accounts through which he was criticizing some of his own players. It caused significant organizational strife, ruining morale, became a public relations nightmare, and Colangelo was subsequently fired.[1] This notion of maintaining “burner accounts,” in which people maintain several online identities for any host of reasons has become commonplace—workplaces dealings, trolling people with provocative or offensive opinions for fun, having secret explicit relationships and the list goes on and on. What does this do to the whole self? Aquinas reminds that, “Every cell in us worships God,”[2] which is to say every cell is to be oriented in a unified direction. Remember when Jesus heals people, he is in effect making people whole again.
Who is Christ, but the one who shows us how to cast nets and gather in that which is adrift? Have we considered how this is our calling too? This morning you will hear a bit about two examples of gathering activities in the life of this congregation. Commissioned at 10:00 will be a delegation to go to the border to see first-hand some of what is happening to those who have been displaced from their homeland, find themselves disbursed and in need of being gathered to some safe place. At each service, we’ll hear from our youth director Jeff about a chance for homes to gather in youth from the congregation for a very special weekend this spring. I wonder how you will take up the invitation of Jesus to join in the vocation of gathering in your life and how we will continue to envision together how we might do that as a church, particularly as we are about to expand our physical gathering space, this church facility.
If nothing else, perhaps especially if you are feeling scattered, broken apart, or simply lost, take to heart the image of God as the great gatherer. Perhaps that’s how you got here this morning or whatever morning you first came. Acts of gathering are often born of an experience of having been gathered.
Mike McHargue, “Science Mike” as he’s known on the internet is the author of Finding God in the Waves, a tale of what happened when he lost his faith. Recently I heard an interview in which McHargue expanded upon a critical portion of that story. Having grown alienated from and dissatisfied with the faith of his youth, he finds himself in a series of “comings out” about his lack of belief—first to his wife, to his family and friends, to his church, and eventually in a rather dramatic moment at a conference featuring the nationally renowned speaker Rob Bell. McHaurgue stands up during a question and answer time and laid it all out – his doubts about his fundamentalist upbringing in light of his embrace of scientific understanding, his qualms about the Bible as he’d been taught to read it, his uncertainty about the very existence of God.
He was received with grace, particularly by Bell, who didn’t attempt to talk him out of or into anything. At one point, McHargue, like the others gathered, is invited forward for communion. He’s determined not to go. He’s just acknowledged who he is by claiming who he is no longer. He’s not going to be the guy who renounces his faith only to break down in an emotional moment and say he’s again found God. He finds himself walking toward Bell, Bell whose eyes swell with redness and mounting tears. Only later is McHargue told he too had tears running down his face. Bell extends the bread, “This is the body of Christ.” “I can’t take this,” thinks McHargue. “Jesus was just an ordinary rabbi pumped up through a game of telephone or a myth,” he thinks, “If I take this I’m lying to people.” So he goes to turn away and leave and that’s when a moment happens that McHargue calls “insane, just crazy,” undermining his own credibility as an atheist he later described! In that moment as he turned away from the offered bread, he heard a voice, an audible voice in his ear: “I was here when you were eight and I’m here now.” “I was here when you were eight and I’m here now.”
Sometimes we go out and find God and sometimes God gathers us in. Having been gathered again and again, we become clear about what our vocation is. Amen.
[1] https://www.theringer.com/nba/2018/5/29/17406750/bryan-colangelo-philadelphiers-twitter-joel-embiid-anonymous-markelle-fultz
[2] Thomas Aquinas in, “Every Foot a Shrine” from Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West Daniel Ladinsky, ed. (New York: Penguin Compass, 2002), 128.
Luke 4:14-21
14Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. 15He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.
16When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: 18"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, 19to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." 20And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
What’s the News?
Last week when leading the time of discovery with our young children I asked what seem a rather innocuous question. The 3rd and 4th graders were going to be looking at the very passage you just heard, and I challenged them to learn what the content of this good news was and is. We talk about good news all the time in church. The word “gospel” just means good news, but how well do we know how Jesus talked about the good news? My guess is if you asked most Christians what the good news is, or most non-Christians—which may be a more telling indicator of how well we have communicated the good news—my guess is if you asked people among the top answers, if not the top answer, would be some form of the following: if you believe in Jesus, because Jesus died for your sins, then you get to go to heaven. This is how you are “saved.” Maybe sprinkle something about being good in there for good measure.
This notion of who is saved, who gets into heaven, and by extension who does not, is a sticking point or stumbling block for many Christians in churches such as this ours. Perhaps you’ve come here to get away from that type of in and out thinking. How could a loving God deny any of God’s children salvation?
It is worth exploring the evolution of the church’s thinking on this because it can lead us to a very different place, and a better understanding of the good news. Brian Zahnd, author and founder of Word of Life, a non-denominational congregation in Missouri summarizes well a monumental shift that took place in Christianity over the course of history. Zahnd reminds us that the early church maintained a bold and consistently anti-empire message, meaning it challenged power and how it was used to dominate, exploit, and coerce people. Early Christianity called out how earthly rulers made themselves the subject of worship. He says this went on,
…until it [the church] became the empire and everything had to change and that’s when you see a shift in theology, so that it becomes much more afterlife-oriented because now we can’t really critique empire, we can’t really boldly advocate a new society upon earth because we have our society—it’s called empire. But we [also] can’t get rid of Jesus. After all, we are Christians. We have to give him something to do, so Jesus is removed from actually being Lord – we still maintain the vernacular. We call him “Lord” but we don’t mean…he’s running the scene politically. We give him a new title. He becomes “The Secretary of Afterlife Affairs.” His job is to get us into heaven when we die. Thank you very much Jesus, now we will continue to run the show politically…[1]
It’s easy to see how this would happen. It’s not necessarily insidious. It can happen subconsciously. Once Christianity is in charge, it becomes far less interested in the portions of the tradition that held those in charge accountable. Of course, history shows us what happened when the church lost its focus on accountability for the powerful. If there is good news in the decline of the church in the world’s power centers, it is that Christianity is in those places reclaiming it’s authentic and prophetic voice because. Quite literally, the church now has less to lose. It has less of its own power to protect and therefore it can turn its attention back to restoring and protecting the power of the most powerless in our midst.
Notice how Jesus himself actual spoke about the good news. In today’s reading he quotes the prophet Isaiah, saying, “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, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor” (Lk. 4:18-19). None of that concerns the afterlife. Quite the contrary. It’s about present, worldly conditions. Why would Jesus say his good news was for the poor if it wasn’t somehow about addressing their poverty? Why would he say the Scripture is fulfilled in their hearing, if he wasn’t signaling a new way was being ushered in at that moment? Because he was promising heaven after they day? Then, why would he announce the year of the Lord’s favor?
The year of the Lord’s favor is a critical phrase and it points to the heart of the matter, and the heart of Jesus. The year of the Lord’s favor refers to the jubilee, the Jewish notion that periodically debts were to be forgiven, land returned to its owners, the enslaved free, a radical reorganization of society. Not a word about heaven. He’s talking about the distribution of resources, what we might call economic justice. And, this is not the only time he does so. Remember when someone approaches Jesus and asks him what they have to do to inherit eternal life. Do you remember how Jesus responds? Keep the commandments and go sell all you have and give the money to the poor (Lk. 18:22). The person wants life in heaven. Jesus gives him a lesson in economic redistribution, how to be a part of healing life on earth. Some would say we’ve been taught to focus on heaven so we don’t ask inconvenient questions about the injustices that reign on earth.
Jesus’ worldly focus would be totally in keeping with his Jewish heritage. As the Franciscan Richard Rohr points out the Scriptures for Jesus, which included writings such as Isaiah, were entirely concerned with this life. That was his world. Christians tend to talk about salvation as individual wellbeing for eternity. Salvation to them meant wellbeing in the here and now for the community. In fact, the notion that some in the community could have salvation while others not would have been totally foreign to them. Rohr says that Jesus saves us the same way God does, by making us liberated, free, whole, and happy here and now.[2]
Does this mean Jesus didn’t believe in heaven or that we shouldn’t? “Certainly not,” says Rohr, who is adamant about his belief in eternal life. “I’m not questioning that at all,” says Rohr, “I’m not doubting that. That’s my belief in the resurrection…” He simply says that when you make all of Scripture about an entrance exam to the afterlife, you not only miss the point, you commit nothing short of heresy because you have overlooked 3/4 if not 7/8 of the Bible. Rohr calls it “antiseptic Christianity,” because it scrubs clean the majority of the biblical witness, which is about doing the dirty work of making way for God’s kingdom, God’s reign, God’s shalom, God’s way to be enacted here and how, just as Jesus taught us to pray and we do whenever we worship, “thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.”[3] Good theology calls us to help usher in heaven on earth, not spend life trying to graduate from earth to heaven.
We do not relegate the work of ushering in heaven to God. Referring to the very passage we read today, Jean Vanier, founder of the L’Arche communities, says, “when we announce the good news to the poor, it is not to tell them Jesus loves them, but rather to say, ‘I love you and I commit myself to you in the name of Jesus.’ ”[4] What makes us think the poor don’t know of Jesus’ or God’s love? What seems to be in question is everyone else’s love for them in this culture which seems to deride and blame the poor and the alien for where they find themselves. No, what others need to know is that we love them, and that is borne out not in sentimental expressions, but in helping order life in a way that embodies love in both personal and systemic ways, the latter we call justice. Shane Claiborne puts this in pressingly present terms. He writes, “When I ask God why all of these injustices are allowed to exist in the world, I can feel the Spirit whisper to me, ‘You tell me why we allow this to happen. You are my body, my hands, my feet.”[5]
It’s interesting that when you start talking about justice in the church, some people get nervous. Some people get resistant. Nobody has a problem with charity, but justice is a different story…and it is. As Mark Sandlin, Presbyterian pastor in Greensboro, North Carolina, puts it, “charity is love in the present, justice is love extended into the future.” Sandlin, who has a degree in business administration calls justice “love with a strategy.”[6] Charity is unthreatening because it doesn’t question the way things are; it just tries and alleviates immediate suffering, and there is a place for that, an important one. Jesus, however, also calls us to justice, love with a strategy, love that asks why the conditions exist that create the demand for charity. “How do we know what justice is?” we might ask. Ask those on the bottom. It’s quite clear to them.
Just as there are those who want to make the faith about love without concern for justice, there are those who seem to forget that justice must be borne out of and enacted as love. Justice work must be about love. We mustn’t forget that. So often, well-intended justice work, which may understandably arise from our anger at the way things are never grows up out of it and the result is hatred. Hatred cannot give birth to salvation. Surely, we’ve seen this, people undercutting the effectiveness of their own message because of the way they deliver it. If it’s grounded in love—which is not to be confused with weakness—a call for justice still may be faced with opposition, with ignorance, with ugliness, but it will retain its integrity, and therefore its anointing. I know for a fact you all faced opposition external and internal when you chose to include people in the full life of the church regardless of sexual orientation and identity, but that doesn’t mean it was the wrong thing to do because you discerned together that this is what it mean to follow Jesus in the late 20th century.
In the end, Zahnd makes what he says himself is a ridiculous claim, and it’s the oldest and perhaps most oft-repeated claim of the tradition, though I think we’ve often forgotten what it means—and progressives maybe were the fastest to jettison it, though it’s high time we reclaim it: Jesus is Lord. “That’s my politics,” says Zahnd. “He’s not Lord-elect. He’s not going to be Lord someday. He is Lord now.”[7] Everything falls in line around that reality, around that vision of what reality should look like not only one day but now.
I began by talking about the children, asking them about the good news. When we look at a child with loving eyes, it’s hard to imagine that God would deny that child salvation in the next life. Let us not then deny any of God’s children salvation in this one. Let us couple our commitment to charity with that to justice, love with a strategy. Let us make that our work not only as private citizens but as our calling as a church. Amen.
[1] https://www.theworkofthepeople.com/war-prayer
[2] https://www.theworkofthepeople.com/antiseptic-christianity
[3] https://www.theworkofthepeople.com/antiseptic-christianity
[4] John Vanier, The Gospel of John: The Gospel of Relationship Audiobook.
[5] Shane Claiborne, The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical.
[6] Sandlin via Twitter.
[7] https://www.theworkofthepeople.com/war-prayer
Isaiah 43:1-7
1But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
2When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
3For I am the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
I give Egypt as your ransom,
Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.
4Because you are precious in my sight,
and honored, and I love you,
I give people in return for you,
nations in exchange for your life.
5Do not fear, for I am with you;
I will bring your offspring from the east,
and from the west I will gather you;
6I will say to the north, "Give them up,"
and to the south, "Do not withhold;
bring my sons from far away
and my daughters from the end of the earth —
7everyone who is called by my name,
whom I created for my glory,
whom I formed and made."
THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Where Else?
It is a breathtaking statement of divine solidarity: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…when you walk through fire you shall not be burned” (Is. 43:2). This is how a particular people, ancient Israel, whose stories included slavery and exile, heard the divine voice coming to them, God acting in their communal life. All of it begs the question, “Where else?” Where else does God speak, Spirit move, way appear?
If we gather in church only to hear about how an ancient people experienced God working in their midst, with no attentiveness to the possibility of it in ours, are we not engaged in a study of history or myth-history or some form of spiritual archaeology and not an active practice of faith? I had a New Testament professor in seminary who once asked why we needed preaching every week. Why couldn’t we simply sit around and talk about where we saw the risen Christ at work in the world? Sure, we can be wary of those who claim a direct line to God’s clearly delineated will, and yet we can let that wariness totally stifle our spiritual lives. However, that’s why we tell our stories in the context of community, so we can hold each other accountable and discern the Spirit together. Sharing can help us cultivate the ability to look for glimpses of the mysterious work of God in our midst? Glimpses may be all we get.
That’s what we plan to do today. Testimonies are a regular part of some churches’ practices, but we don’t tend to use that terms in churches such as ours. Today, we offer up a couple different examples of how Spirit, God, Christ if you will might be at work not only in the overly dramatic but in the day to day. I pray indeed that God will be with us when we pass through the waters and the fires, and yet most of life is lived in between them. We hear from Mark Sachs and Polly Chandler today, members of this community. Their examples may be of them experiencing something from beyond, or something emerging from within. You can call it testimony. You can call it storytelling. I call it God extending and making good upon the promise made to the ancient people of Israel to we who are here, now…
Mark Sachs:
I started a nonprofit called RestoringVision that provides new reading glasses to people in developing countries. Since we started in 2003, we have helped over 12M people. Today I’m going to tell you about one of them.
I was on our mission trip to Mexico last October when we were approached by a woman with a 28 year old daughter with Down ’s syndrome. What happened next were a series of circumstances—any one of which could have derailed the outcome. But, which together, created a remarkable result for this young woman.
This is what happened:
- First, we had 2 optometrists on the trip. We generally don’t have optometrists on our mission trips b/c dispensing reading glasses doesn’t require an ECP. So, I actively downplay the need for them.
- Before we went, we were approached about adding distance vision glasses to our mission. I have always resisted making our model more complicated—which this would do. But, I agreed to try them on a test basis to see if we could make them work with minimal complication.
- We set up our dispensing table in a small Mayan village outside of Valladolid. The woman who had the child with Down’s syndrome, heard about the clinic and brought her daughter to it.
- SLIDE 1: The optometrists had the tools to test for visual acuity. We had brought a wall chart and a portable auto refractor. But neither would have worked for this woman because of the severity of her nearsightedness. They determined that this woman needed -10D distance power glasses. (That means her world was capped at about 2 inches in front of her face.)
- SLIDE 2 and 3: We had some -5D distance vision which they fit on her.
- SLIDE 4: The impact to her vision was immediate. Her eyes, which before had been looking up, down and sideways, went immediately to looking at something. It was really amazing to watch when they put the glasses on her. It also impacted her personal affect. She went from not talking, or being a part of the conversation (her mother said she barely had the gift of speech), to almost constant talking.
- And while these didn’t get her all the way to -10D (she probably sees shapes rather than distinct features), the glasses clearly changed her life.
- Plus, amazingly, one of the other volunteers has a -10D distance vision prescription. She later sent a pair of her glasses to this woman.
Many elements and people came together to help this woman. And I ask you, were they merely coincidences or something else? I happen to think they were a Mayan Miracle.
Polly Chandler: text unavailable
John 18:33-37
33Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, "Are you the King of the Jews?" 34Jesus answered, "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?" 35Pilate replied, "I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?" 36Jesus answered, "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here." 37Pilate asked him, "So you are a king?" Jesus answered, "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
King?
I invite you to take a moment and call to mind a particularly peaceful place. Close your eyes if that helps. It might be a place from your childhood. It may well be a place in nature. It’s somewhere you want for nothing, you’re totally relaxed. Some would say God feels near. Hold that image in your mind’s eye…
The Celts referred to these as “thin places,” where the boundary between heaven and earth becomes but a tiny membrane. Thin places can be important places literally to visit or to visit in your mind’s eye during prayer. See yourself there. Visualize meeting Jesus or God there. Don’t overthink it or script it. Allow whatever happens to unfold. This can be a good practice particularly when you are somewhere you don’t want to be, whether it’s the dentist’s or penned in your house when this place we love is so ravaged by the fire and smoke.
The stories of heroes in the midst of these fires are mounting as they do – the school bus driver who drove students to safety when their families couldn’t get to their kids in time, the garbageman who rescued a woman in her 90s, the firefighter walking a neighborhood with a cat perched happily on his shoulder glad to be off the charred ground. I saw one clip of young man standing in a cul de sac in front of where his house had burned. He was holding what looked like a picture. He was so grateful, he said, that when then firefighters went in to see what they could salvage from the house as it burned, they noticed his pregnant wife’s ultrasound on the refrigerator and thought to grab it for the couple. What an expression of kindness.
Somehow, this time no number of these stories or the generosity shown the victims will erase for me the bigger questions raised by this new normal we seem to be inheriting and inhabiting. It’s not enough to rebuild. It’s time to rethink how we live, and I wrote this originally before the Trump administration’s rather dire climate report was released on Friday. We won’t answer that question comprehensively today. The question for us is what is the relevant word from the church in times such as these. Thoughts and prayers, a refrain that’s now cynically received, just doesn’t do it. Paradise was not doomed by a lack of prayer. What is the relevant word from the church on a Sunday such as this?
Well, if you turn to the church calendar it is Christ the King Sunday. Hmm, could anything feel less relevant? That’s simply not language with which many of us resonate. I can relate to wanting something like a king, an all-powerful figure to come in and make everything right. If you know Scripture or history, you’ll know that when the people clamor for a king and are granted one, it usually turns out poorly for the people. Inevitably, it seems, the people learn the hard way that the king doesn’t have their interests at the heart of his aspirations. As a result, I was tempted to skip Christ the King Sunday. I have before and I’m not sure anybody has noticed.
Then I read N.T. Wright’s succinct statement about Jesus at the outset of his book, Simply Jesus: “He was not the king they expected.” My interest was piqued. “He wasn’t like the monarchs of old,” Wright continues, “who sat on their jeweled and ivory thrones, dispensing their justice and wisdom. Nor was he the great warrior-king some had wanted. He didn’t raise an army and ride into battle at its head. He was riding on a donkey. And he was weeping, weeping for the dream that had to die, weeping for the sword that would pierce his supporters to the soul. Weeping for the kingdom that wasn’t coming as well as for the kingdom that was.”[1]
Weeping for what was and what wasn’t, now there is someone to whom I can profoundly relate. Have you not had occasion for heartbreak over a feeling that this was not how it was supposed to be, whatever the “this” is? I attended one of the Marin Interfaith Council events a couple years ago. One of the Buddhist teachers reminded us that one of the primary tasks in life is to recognize and inhabit the world that is rather than the world that we wish was. Otherwise, and this is my language, we’ll find ourselves navigating the world using a map that bears no resemblance to the landscape. We are left lost and frustrated.
Jesus wept for the distance between the world that was and the world that God desired. He meets us in our weeping there. Notice, Jesus, the crier, does not declare himself king. It’s Pilate who asks him, presumably picking up on the talk, or accusations, of his people. “Are you the King…” he asks. Jesus answers, “You say that I am a King” (Jn. 18:37). Jesus doesn’t appear interested in the title and why would he be? The kingdom, the reign, in which he is interested looks nothing like those typically seen on earth. Jesus understands his vocation differently. “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice” (v. 37).
Jesus doesn’t identify as a king. Jesus identifies as a witness. What a shift. Jesus’ primary interest is not power; it’s truth. He is not seeking to be what only one can be; he is after what anyone with truly open eyes can be, a witness to and for the truth, to and for another way of being in the world. It takes no special status to be a witness. Witnesses are merely those who see and those who speak.
Witnessing has three important layers of meaning. First, the witness has to have eyes open to what is really going on, to go and see it. Second, the witness has to have a clear vision of how it could be otherwise—more just and more compassionate. Third, the witness has to bear witness to, articulate, the distance between how it is and how it could be. This responsibility, which falls to all people of faith, has particular implications for people of privilege. A pastor friend of mine told me a powerful story not long ago. His father had been a pastor too and grandfather, and he took a couple weeks and selected sermons of those they had written and read them in worship.
When it came time for the pastor to read his father’s sermon, he chose one written during the civil rights movement and some of his work in the South (perhaps even to Selma). My friend decided not to alter his father’s sermon as he read it, simply to read it as it was originally written. As he delivered it, he felt increasingly uncomfortable because he noticed the one African American in his congregation who attended regularly but not frequently happened to be there that day. It was uncomfortable because the sermon used different words for those we now call African Americans. It was uncomfortable because he started to wonder how this African American man, of some age himself, would receive these words and reflections of a white man about a time and set of circumstances that was so systematically devastating to African American men, women, and children. Would it be received as patronizing or self-congratulatory?
When it came time for communion the man whispered in the pastor’s ear that he’d like to address the congregation. During announcements at the end, he was given the floor. He proceeded to offer great gratitude for the pastor’s father through tears. Quite the contrary to the fear that he would express offense at the words of a white pastor, the man said that when a white man spoke up in those days it was like 1,000 African Americans did. It was not the way it should have been, but it was the way the world was. Those who held elevated positions in society had a responsibility to go and lay their eyes on what was going on, and to lend their voice to a movement to change it, to witness and bear witness. There are some who can be heard in a way others will not. It was not about speaking over the voice of those who were suffering or to speak for them, but to speak about what was happening so their voices could be heard.
Jesus chooses the vocation of witness knowing that we can too. Jesus goes right to the ugliest and most unjust of circumstances and lays his eyes upon them before he lays his hands upon them. He also spends ample time in prayer and study to be clear about the other world that he is committed to bringing about. He speaks about this other kingdom, this other realm or way of being all the time. Through parables and stories, through his sermon on the mount, through his embodied words when he heals, he points us the way from one kingdom to another. His kingdom is not contained in the usual power structures of the day. It is set loose in his being and in the collective being of those who would likewise choose to see.
It’s fine for the church to call Christ king, for the way it reminds us where our ultimate allegiance and authority lies, for how it gives us a place to hang our hopes when we are hanging on by a thread, provided it remembers how Jesus redefines the role of king. This king does not ride in on a white horse to save or subdue or exploit the people. He saves them by enlisting their participation in bringing about the kingdom of God from the bottom up. As Pope Francis has said, “The future of humankind isn't exclusively in the hands of politicians, of great leaders, of big companies. Yes, they do hold an enormous responsibility. But the future is, most of all, in the hands of those people who recognize the other as a "you" and themselves as part of an ‘us.’ ”[2] His talk was entitled, “Why the only future worth building,” –notice the collaborative language – “includes everyone.”[3] The Catholic church is an example of an institution struggling mightily against the dangers of power concentrated at the top, to turn that power structure upside down which is to say right side up.
As N.T. Wright puts it, the disciples become the living Temple, the dwelling place for God, a vessel and channel for Spirit, the very body of Christ at work in the world. Just as Jesus transformed the space around him, redefining what was considered holy and what was considered profane, those who catch the vision he has also have the ability to transform the world around them by bringing the heavenly sensibilities to bear on this world. Wright says of the early disciples who follow after his death, “Where they are, heaven and earth are joined together. Jesus is with them, his life is at work in and through them…”[4] In other words, the vocation of the Christian community is to become a living thin place, rubbing thing the barrier between heaven and earth. Isn’t that an image, that we could become the kind of place you drew to mind at the outset of this sermon, that the way we are with one another and with others is of such a character that it feels like that place you imagined feels like, a place of peace, where you want nothing, where it feels as though God is near. Picture that. Now open your eyes and keep them open. Amen.
[1] N.T. Wright, A New Vision of Who He Was, What He Did, and Why He Matters (New York: HarperOne, 2011), 1.
[2]https://www.ted.com/talks/pope_francis_why_the_only_future_worth_building_includes_everyone/transcript?language=en
[3] Ibid.
[4] Ibid., 215.
Ruth 4:13-17
So Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife. When they came together, the LORD made her conceive, and she bore a son. 14Then the women said to Naomi, "Blessed be the LORD, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin; and may his name be renowned in Israel! 15He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age; for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him." 16Then Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom, and became his nurse. 17The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, "A son has been born to Naomi." They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Finding a Way
Nearly two centuries ago, a woman left her home in Virginia to settle in the Midwest. Unsure of what she’d find and afraid of what she was leaving behind she began a letter with the sentence, “Goodbye God, I’m moving to Indiana.” As a native Hoosier, that literally hits close to home. The letter-writer presumed she was leaving a place not simply of familiarity, but of faithful and earnest piety, and heading to the Godless frontier. A little-known fact is that church attendance was, and actually is still to this day, higher in the Midwest than in the American South, but how was she to know? In those days, they didn’t have access to that kind of information, much less a broader sensibility about God’s presence in different forms and cultures.
We shouldn’t be so hard on this woman. How often have people found themselves on such frightening journeys into the unknown, displaced in any number of senses, simply doing whatever they needed to do in order to find a way, particularly women? It’s important to name that gender dynamic since the Bible so often skews masculine and patriarchal. The woman in today’s story, Ruth, is perhaps best known for her unwavering loyalty to her mother-in-law Naomi after Naomi’s husband and two sons have died. In those days it was a woman’s relationship to men that provided her security. Without a husband or son to provide that for her, she was totally vulnerable. Naomi determines she is too old to find another husband and has no family of her own to which to return. Her daughters-in-law still have families to which they can return, and so Naomi urges them to go back to their families. They are in a foreign land.
Ruth refuses, saying in poetic solidarity, “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God” (Ruth 1:16). It is bold and dangerous, which is how women have had to be as long as we can remember. In today’s episode of that story, Naomi continues to try and ensure Ruth’s security through a bold and dangerous move. That is the exact word Naomi uses in creatively trying to secure Ruth a husband, “My daughter, I need to seek some security for you…” This marriage is not about love or mutuality, as we often think of marriage. This marriage is about survival.
What unfolds is described in allusion and euphemism. Ruth is instructed to wait until Boaz has had enough to eat and drink and is asleep, emphasis on the drink. Then she is to lie by him and “uncover his feet.” If you’re wondering if this means what you think it means…it does. Put on your perfume, dress up and “make yourself known” to him (3:4), yes, “known” in the biblical sense.
In this era of #MeToo, when we are trying to become at least a little more aware of the plight of women in the face of sexual misconduct, and men to a lesser extent, this story is fraught with landmines. We should be careful when we remember this important stories what messages we inadvertently send. Even as we honor Naomi’s and Ruth’s creativity, we can lament the world in which such an act felt necessary. We can weep when we imagine what it must have felt like for Naomi to have to tell Ruth to do, and ache for Ruth as she follows through. We can wonder as well what it was like for Boaz to experience it. That Boaz turned out to be an honorable man, that in the story the two wed and seem to have a good life doesn’t undo so much of what feels problematic.
It’s a story of creativity also of great risk, one in which bodies are used intimately and consent is questionable on a couple of fronts. Ruth does her work under the cover of darkness, which is how women have had to operate, hiding and revealing selectively in order to ensure their safety.
I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the Jewish festival of Purim. Its remembrance involves a kind of hiding and revealing. The episode it recalls is from another biblical book of decidedly female focus, Esther. Esther, the story’s heroine craftily brings about the demise of the villain Haman. At Purim parties to this day, there is a certain kind of cookie served. Some say these cookies are to resemble the hat or the ear of Haman. Others say, however, that the cookies resemble another body part, a reproductive organ and not the one that men have. It becomes a symbol of the sacred feminine, one that has to remain somewhat hidden because the feminine is not allowed to be so overtly celebrated. [1] Recently, around Halloween, a mother had to explain to her inquisitive child where the notion of witches came. She described how witches weren’t always scary, but rather were tapped into the spirit and had spiritual powers, but because this was threatening to men and the things that helped them keep their power, scary stories were told of the witches to scare them away.
Yet, even when pushed underground, the feminine finds a way, working within a system that is stacked against them. And, yes, I recognize a certain irony in me preaching this sermon. How do I know? Philip Newell tells a story about a particular community of Catholic sisters who have used their creativity to find fuller expression in a system that does not grant them the same voice or power. These nuns have made a habit of securing priests who have a different set of abilities. For a while they had a priest who was too unsteady to hold the elements. “Poor Father so and so,” they would say, “He cannot hold the chalice.” While the priest would speak the words of the mass, the sisters would step in to handle the elements. For another time, they had a priest who could hold the elements just fine but could not speak. “Poor Father such and such. He cannot talk,” so these nuns would offer the words at the altar, staying within the system, and yet subverting it, finding their way.
It might make you angry that women have had to operate in this way. You may not like Ruth’s story at all. I’m not here to make you change your mind. Please don’t “blame” it on the Old Testament, though. As I say to anyone who draws a strong distinction between the two testaments, “There is far more mercy in the Old Testament and far more wrath in the New than most people seem to think. If you don’t agree, read Matthew 25 and then come and see me.” So often we misunderstand and therefore misuse the Bible. We think of it as a series of simple moral lessons and look for the hero to emulate in every episode. That’s simply not what the Bible is. The Bible is a library of stories, history, poetry, songs, letters, and truth claims, all of which written by and for people struggling, just like you and me, to make it through the world in the light of their God. We see them struggle, stumble, fail and triumph in different order and measure just like the rest of us.
If we want to get into testament distinctions, I might argue the Older Testament does an even better job of bearing witness to the grittiness of the real world. Naomi and Ruth are real-world women in a real-world predicament. Stories such as theirs are all too true, and I don’t have to tell that to many of you in this room.
Ruth and Naomi find a way in this cruel world—she and Boaz do marry and Ruth bears a child, a child Naomi nurses. Did you catch the lineage of their offspring and its significance for us sitting here today? Obed, who became the father of Jesse, who became the father of David, and if you’ve read the gospels, you’ll remember they go to painstaking lengths to make clear that the household of David is what eventually gives birth to Jesus. This creative, messy, painful—I’m not sure how to describe it—response to the harsh reality of life is what gives birth to the one we proclaim as Messiah. This story is about people caught in a messy world, mustering what courage they can and finding a way.
Notice how God does not judge Ruth or Naomi. Then, as now, we have a habit of “slut-shaming” women. Forgive me for using such a harsh term, but the name isn’t nearly as bad as the reality to which it points, as men and women are held to such different sexual standards. God does not shame Ruth, yet so many in her world would. So many in our world would, perhaps especially in the religious community. Christians call Jesus their savior and yet somehow sometimes forget one of his fundamental teachings was, “Do not judge.” We don’t know the stories behind people’s behavior. Sometimes they are just doing what they need to do, creatively finding a way best they can when few choices are available to them. We must remember.
In a Ted Talk Pope Francis put it this way,
In order to do good, we need memory, we need courage and we need creativity...Yes, love does require a creative, concrete and ingenious attitude. Good intentions and conventional formulas, so often used to appease our conscience, are not enough. Let us help each other, all together, to remember that the other is not a statistic or a number. The other has a face. The ‘you’ is always a real presence, a person to take care of.
I love that last line. Usually when Christians debate “real presence” they are talking about what’s present of Christ in the elements at communion. Here, Pope Francis is reminding us that the real presence of Christ in the other person. If you accept that, you cannot treat people with malice or neglect. I hear a lot about the importance of the rule of law, and I honor the notion and those who take it seriously, and we should remember that when the law did not take care of people, when it was not compassionate, Jesus broke it, fully prepared to face the consequences. In doing so, you might say he fulfilled it. The obligation of the Christian is not to follow the law at all costs; it is to follow Jesus Christ at all costs.
We have to decide whether we are determined to see others’ attempts to care for their loved ones as grotesque and worthy of condemnation or beautiful and necessary. The author Steve Almond tells a story about going on the radio to talk about John Steinbeck’s famous novel, The Grapes of Wrath, a tale that illustrates the plight of poor tenant farmers and their forced migration due to the ecological devastation of the dust bowl. Almond recounts receiving a number of responses to the segment. One in particular stood out. It was from a man who while agreeing the book was “a classic,” found its closing scene disgusting. The scene features a woman, Rose of Sharon, giving birth to a stillborn baby in a barn—yes the symbolism is there. Sharing that barn is an “emaciated stranger,” dying of hunger. The woman undertakes an unusual act in attempt to save the man and maybe herself. The Grapes of Wrath concludes thusly:The
Then slowly she lay down beside him. He shook his head slowly from side to side. Rose of Sharon loosened one side of the blanket and bared her breast. ‘You got to,’ she said. She squirmed closer and pulled his head close. ‘There!’ she said. ‘There,’ Her hand moved behind his head and supported it. Her finger moved gently in his hair. She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously.
“What was she doing smiling?” the questioner asked Almond. “Wasn’t it creepy enough she was breastfeeding a grown man?”[2]
Almond reflects, “I wanted to tell him he was missing the point of the story. The point of the story was that the man was starving to death. The point of the story was that she was saving his life.” Are we too immature to see the beauty of this lifegiving act? Here were two people in the pit of desperation and in the most literal of fashions she nurses him back to life. Naomi nurses a grandchild, Rose of Sharon nurses a man dying of hunger, each of them giving the only thing they had, the nourishment of themselves, two women on the threshing floor, finding a way. The way we choose to tell and hear their stories will say everything about the kind of people we are. Amen.
[1] https://www.chabad.org/holidays/purim/article_cdo/aid/2872815/jewish/The-History-and-Meaning-of-Hamantaschen.htm
[2] Steve Almond, Bad Stories: What the Hell Just Happened to
Mark 10:46-52
46They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. 47When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" 48Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, "Son of David, have mercy on me!" 49Jesus stood still and said, "Call him here." And they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take heart; get up, he is calling you." 50So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. 51Then Jesus said to him, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man said to him, "My teacher, let me see again." 52Jesus said to him, "Go; your faith has made you well." Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
Access & Kinship
Father Gregory Boyle is a Catholic Priest and founder of Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles, the largest ministry for gang members in the country. In their own words, Homeboy Industries “provides hope, training, and support to formerly gang-involved and previously incarcerated men and women allowing them to redirect their lives and become contributing members of the community.”[1] Their services range from parenting classes to anger management, job placement to tattoo removal. That’s the official description of what they do, but if you really want to understand what the ministry is, you have to hear the stories, many of which you can find in Boyle’s books Tattoos on the Heart and Barking to the Choir (both been recommended to me by a different one of you, so I offer you my gratitude).
The stories are intense, I warn you, but well worth it. In Barking to the Choir, Boyle tells of a man named Sergio. Boyle has brought Sergio to a speaking engagement, as he does with his “homies” so they can tell their story in their own words. Sergio in his mid-twenties, recounts what his life was like growing up. He describes a moment in which his mother turned to him and said, “Why don’tcha just kill yourself? You’re such a burden to me.”[2] Sergio was six. When he was nine, Sergio, who makes no mention of another parent, says his mother drove him deep into Baja California and left him on the door of an orphanage saying she had “found this kid.” He remained there for 90 days until his grandmother tracked down where he was and rescued him. Sergio used to get made fun of in elementary school because he would wear three t-shirts. What a silly thing to do in the Southern California weather, but Sergio didn’t wear three shirts because of the heating; he wore them because of the beating he endured at home. The blood often showed through the first two shirts. It took the third to conceal his wounds. We hide the unsightly wounds we carry.
The crowds want to hide from Jesus the unsightly in their midst. A blind beggar by the side of the road calls out to him, and Scripture says “Many sternly ordered him to be quiet” (Mk. 10:47-48). Not one, not a few, man. Have they not understood the purpose for which and the people for whom Jesus has come? How could they do this? I don’t think it’s because they are evil. Maybe they don’t want to trouble their prized guest. Maybe they are embarrassed at the beggar’s presence and think it will somehow reflect poorly on them or their community. Maybe they are reacting out of their own unattended sadness and grief over the state of their world. More on that later. The beggar is a wound they’d rather keep unseen.
Who are the unsightly ones for us, the ones we don’t want to look at, deal with? What stories do we tell about them in order to make it easier to neglect them? In Jesus’ time, people believed physical ailments were the result of immoral conduct, their own or that of their family members. We scoff at such primitive beliefs now, and yet in our own way do we not reign down moral judgments on those who, like the blind beggar, find themselves on the road desperate and crying out? Jesus makes clear that following him is fundamentally not about gatekeeping. It is about open access.
The purpose of Boyle’s storytelling is not merely to shock. It is to provide access to a world that many of us know nothing about. It brings visibility to the unsightly and the unseen, restoring dignity to those who are so often labeled as thugs or monsters. Assigning those labels makes it easier to write people off or lock them up. Father Boyle doesn’t deny or excuse destructive behavior. He simply brings to light the massive hidden trauma many carry with them that, unhealed, leads people to inflict it upon others and themselves in a vicious cycle. Think of the trauma someone like Sergio carries. Imagine the sort of trauma his mother must have carried and passed on to her son.
Boyle defies the commonly held notion that people join gangs to belong. He says gang members will even say that because they know that’s what people want to hear, but he doesn’t believe it. Boyle says people join gangs because they are in immense pain and, put simply, “misery loves company.” The hopeless seek out the hopeless and together they try and deaden the pain, often through destructive behavior, a way of rerouting their suffering.
Pain, you see, is like water; it finds its way to the lowest places. There it pools. In telling these peoples’ stories, Boyle invites us down to the water’s edge, not so we can heroically drain the water or bail them out, but so we can see our own reflection in it. The stories of Homeboy Industries often evoke tears, but the purpose of those tears is not to create pity at those whose lives are so different from ours. The purpose is to remind us of our common humanity, for we all cry the same kind of saltwater, and we all have reasons to cry. It is on this most basic of levels, that we discover we are family.
The prevailing metaphor Boyle uses for being a Christian is, in fact, kinship. The goal of the Christian is not to be good or believe this or that. It is to learn to see each other first as kin, belonging to each other. That’s no small thing when you’re working with gangs, which are based in mutually opposed ideologies of belonging. It feels less and less like a small thing for those of us outside the gang world. Jesus, himself, spoke in terms of kinship, a kinship that superseded even blood relationships. It’s why we call one another sisters and brothers in Christ. It’s not a mere nicety. It’s a statement of moral clarity in a world where people are confused into believing they belong only to their nation or their race or even their religion. No, we all belong to each other, and we all belong to God. That’s not to critique minority groups who have a need to cling together in a hostile world, but rather to remind us that all such communities do so precisely out of a sense that they too have been told they’re a burden and have been effectively dropped off at the orphanage unwanted.
Speaking of clarity, it is, ironically, the blind one in today’s story who sees Jesus most clearly, crying “Son of David, have mercy on me!” One would safely assume a blind person cannot see, but appearances are deceiving, and following Jesus requires a different kind of seeing. It is learning to see beyond what the world tells you about someone to what is behind and beneath appearances. Following Jesus is also about learning how to hear differently. It is about hearing other peoples’ stories. A person’s story becomes a bridge from one soul to another and that bridge makes the way for compassion. This is why it is so essential to dehumanize a person or group if you want to make an enemy of them. When you cut off the path to their story, reduce them to a caricature or stereotype, paint a frightening two-dimensional picture, you blow up the bridge to kinship. In the Christian lexicon, there’s a word for that. It’s called sin, sin which comes from the Old English, “to tear asunder.” When we say that Jesus was without sin, we may think of someone who was a good boy in Sunday School, but perhaps more fittingly he was someone who refused to tear people from their stories.
I mentioned grief earlier, and it’s an important topic to which to return. So often our outward displays of hostility are an expression of our inward pain. You don’t need to be a psychologist or spiritual guru to know this. You just have to have a bad day and then observe yourself come home and take it out on your loved ones. Recently my spiritual director commented that all the fragmentation we’re seeing in the world, all the angst, is connected to the angst and fragmentation that we are experiencing within. Frenetic attempts to right what is happening “out there” only feel futile when what is “in here” remains scattered. “How,” one could ask, “can we dare go in at a time like this?” Because we must. I’ve come to realize that we cannot control outcomes. The only thing we can control is how we show up in the world. If we don’t do the inner work of peacemaking or healing, we will have no chance of bringing peace or healing to a world torn asunder. If we do that work, that work of becoming integrated—the opposite of tearing—we can be a real force for good and God.
Look at the blind man. He is broken in one sense, but whole in a more important one. He is totally aware of the healing he needs, and he cries out to Jesus for it. As he does, Jesus says that it is his faith, which makes him well. The Scripture says nothing of Jesus’ magic powers, only of the man’s seeking of Jesus and Jesus seeing past the brokenness of the man to the possibility of wholeness within him. It’s a remarkable exchange. Jesus calls him over and the man, throwing off his cloak, ridding himself of his only protection, springs up and comes to Jesus. How do you suppose a blind man runs to Jesus? Maybe he has learned to see with something other than his eyes.
Can we likewise address the pain inside and surrender it to Christ for its healing? Can we learn to see and hear differently? If not, we will continue to inflict our pain on each other or doing our own destructive things to anesthetize ourselves to it, isolating ourselves from the one thing we need the most, kinship. What a week it has been. What pain we are carrying: Improvised explosive devices sent through our own postal system at political figures, a caravan of pain heading north in search of a safe place to be, and people gathered Friday for worship gunned down in a house of prayer. These unsightly events point to something within us. Among us, we may have different ideas of how to address what is going on, but my guess is if we all go deeply enough, we will meet. If you’re angry, keep looking deeper. If you’re afraid, look through the fear. Look all the way to the bottom until you get to the bottom of it, that reservoir of pain. Once you’re staring at your own reflection in it you look up, to your leftyou’re your right, you’ll see your kin right beside you looking at the very same thing. That’s where we all meet. That’s where we can recognize our fundamental kinship, and subsequently where we can learn to move forward as family.
In the final pages of Barking to the Choir, Boyle recounts a story about a man named Mario. Boyle describes Mario as one of the most tattooed of any of the trainees at Homeboy Industries, which is saying something. Arms, neck, even his face is covered save for a little space around his nose, mouth, and eyes. My, the lengths we go to become unsightly so that we, and our pain, don’t have to be truly seen. Mario is also, according to Boyle, is also one of the kindest, most gentle, people at Homeboy. On this particular occasion, Boyle has brought him along for a speaking engagement along with two other homies.
For the keynote, Boyle invites the homes to share their stories for 5 minutes and then together they’d take questions form the audience. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to read for you how it went:
Once the room settled, I encouraged the audience to just raise their hands and belt our their questions without the aid of a microphone. The first question was from a woman near the front. She stood and said that she had a question for Mario. The spine shiver that went through his slim body was likely visible from any seat. He gingerly approached the mike.
“Yes?” he squeaked.
“You say you’re a father,” the woman began, “and your son and your daughter are starting to reach their teenage years. What wisdom do you impart to them?” She recalibrates, “I mean, what advice do you give them?”
She sat, and Mario was left alone to sift her words and find and response. He trembled some, and closed his eyes, then suddenly blurted out: “I just…” as soon as those two words let his mouth, he retreated again to silence. Standing next to him, I could feel, sense, and see the sentence he was putting together in his mind, reducing him to a new, emotional setting. His eyes were closed and he was clutching the microphone. He finally opened his eyes and stretched his arm out toward the woman as if he were pleading with her. “I just…I just don’t want my kids to turn out to be like me.” His last words felt squeezed out and his sobbing became more pronounced.
The audience was silent, and not one of us made a move to fill it. The woman stood up again. Now it was her turn to cry as she pointed at Mario, her voice steely and certain, even through her tears. “why wouldn’t you want your kids to turn out to be like you?” she said. “You are gentle, you are kind, you are loving, you are wise.” She steadied herself, planted herself firmly. “I hope your kids turn out to be like you.” There was not much of a pause before all one thousand attendees stood and began to clap. The ovation seemed to have no end. All Mario could do was hold his face in his hands, overwhelmed with emotion.
Bobby [one of the other Homeboys] and I each lightly placed a hand on his back as he gently sobbed and a roomful of strangers returned him to himself. As I looked at this crowd, it was unshakably clear that they, too, had been returned to themselves. It was all exquisitely mutual. An “orphan” guiding us to the birth of a new inclusion. A lanky tattooed gang member befriending his own wound and inoculating this room from despising the wounded. Everyone recognizing themselves in the brokenness. All of us, a cry for help, judgment nowhere in sight. And, yes, entering, just right now, into the fullness of new kinship.[3]
Amen.
[1] https://www.homeboyindustries.org/why-we-do-it/
[2] This story is found in Gregory Boyle, Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship (New York: Simon & Shuster, 2017), 53.
[3] Ibid, 204-205.
Mark 10:35-45
35James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you." 36And he said to them, "What is it you want me to do for you?" 37And they said to him, "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory." 38But Jesus said to them, "You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" 39They replied, "We are able." Then Jesus said to them, "The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; 40but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared."
41When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. 42So Jesus called them and said to them, "You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. 43But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, 44and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. 45For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Master Class
I will defend academia at just about every turn. There is almost always something to be gained by careful study. Even with topics are seemingly far out there, I believe there is an intrinsic value in simply pushing the envelope. So, I remain steadfast while others roll their at college classes devoted to pop culture. San Francisco Theological Seminary did just that in a whole series on Beyoncé. Sometimes through these figures and phenomena we can uncover important lessons about race, class, and culture in our society.
That said, even I may have reached my limit when researching some of the most ridiculous titles you can find in today’s college course catalogs. I say “titles,” because I hope in some cases the quippy title is pointing something a little more serious. I hope because, for example I found:
- “The Sociology of Miley Cyrus” from Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, New York. I might want to skid less.
- Closer to home, “The Amazing World of Bubbles” at Cal-Tech, something about physics…and soap I presume.
- There’s “How to Watch Television,” at Montclair State. My how things have declined. When I went to school nobody had to teach us that.
- Even our Ivy League schools are not immune. Princeton has taken teaching the essentials to a whole new level with the class “Getting Dressed.” Apparently, it’s been wildly successful, for I’ve not seen reports of rampant nudity since or pants on backwards since.
I once had a professor who said when he was a student at Berkeley he had a class that was literally about nothing. Forgive me. That’s redundant; I suppose I could have just said he took a class at Berkeley. Sorry, it’s just I went to the heated rival of Berkeley…Iowa, equal in every way except academics. What my professor meant was there was no officially stated topic for the class. There was no syllabus. When the first class began, they all just sat there in the lecture hall, waiting for something supposedly to arise organically. Berkeley.
To cap them all off, or actually to name the course that started this whole search was something being offered at Gonzaga University. It’s more ridiculous than all the others, and on top of that, it’s not only a course but an entire degree program…At Gonzaga you can now earn a Master’s in…Servant Leadership. At Gonzaga, leadership is taught through the primary skills of:
Listening Conceptualization
Empathy Foresight
Healing Stewardship
Awareness Commitment to the Growth of People
Persuasion Building Community[1]
Now, I’ll be. Those sound an awful lot like the skills Jesus taught and embodied. Gonzaga may have remained true to its Christian heritage after all. Listen to these skills again with Jesus in mind:
Listening Conceptualization
Empathy Foresight
Healing Stewardship
Awareness Commitment to the Growth of People
Persuasion Building Community
That particular list is derived from the work of Robert Greenleaf, who while working in and studying organizational management grew increasingly skeptical of the effectiveness of the sort of authoritarian leadership that dominated the landscape. As a result, Greenleaf founded the Center for Applied Ethics where he developed and advocated what he termed “Servant Leadership,” though of course we see the model had already at work long ago in the person of Jesus.
One day James and John, some of the named early followers of Jesus came to Jesus to say they wanted to ask him something. By the way, I sat with our confirmation students last week and asked what question they would ask Jesus. I’ll keep their questions private, but I’ll tell you that they did better than James and John. James and John say to Jesus, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory” (Mk. 10:37). Over halfway through the gospel story and these supposed members of Jesus’ inner circle still think it’s about power and glory. I suppose their inability to “get it” should be of some comfort to us in our own struggles.
If I were Jesus, I think I might have been too flabbergasted to respond, or maybe too despondent. There are few worse feelings for a teacher than when her or his students take as gospel truth the opposite of the intended message. Jesus does answer. He simply says to them, “You do know what you are asking” (10:38). It reminds me of what God says to Job in today’s first reading: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” (Job 38:4). There is so much you do not know.
It is hard to think as Jesus thinks, know what God does, when you still see as the world sees. In this passage, Jesus reminds James and John that in their world what it means to be a ruler is to “lord it over.” That’s not the type of rule Jesus is looking for, and so Jesus asks us to be born again into a new way of thinking about everything, leadership included, nothing short of dying to the old ways that we might be raised with him to the new and with him into a new. In the kingdom of God, leaders do not lord it over people; they’re servants: “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant” (Mk. 10:43). Our dear James and John, like so many of us, appear to have been brought up surrounded by the wrong curriculum.
By the grace of God, from time to time a divine lesson plan falls from heaven and someone picks it up and studies it, takes it to heart. We might call these folks prophets. We might simply call them visiting professors who teach us a course in servant leadership. Last week I told you about a crossing guard at Georgetown University who became one because his father had died crossing a street and he wanted to give his life over to protecting pedestrians. I wonder what servant leaders you could name. What makes a servant leader powerful is precisely their choice to use their power, to divest of it or direct it to benefiting others not primarily themselves or their own people.
At the camp where I spent many a summer, there was a sign at the entrance that said, “future local and world leaders at work and play.” Indeed, one of the greatest parts of working there was that getting to encounter young people who you just knew would grow up to do greater things than you could ever imagine.
One of these bright, likeable, full of potential young persons at my camp was a boy named Tripp Zanetis, real name. It’s been a lot of years, so I had lost track of where Tripp ended up until last year when there was a story about him in the news. Tripp had gone off to college at NYU and was a student there when the World Trade Center was attacked on September 11, 2001. For 14 hours he volunteered with the fire department that day. After graduating cum laude with a B.A. in politics he joined the New York Fire Department, where he was later promoted all the way to fire marshal. In 2008, he joined the Air National Guard as a helicopter pilot to fly search and rescue. When I first wrote this, I spelled it “helpicopter,” but it sort of fits. In 2014, while still on active duty and on leave from the fire department, he enrolled at Stanford Law School where, among other things, he worked with the international refugee assistance project, was co-president of a veteran’s organization, and facilitated Stanford Law’s inaugural LGBTQ advocacy conference winning a national LGBT Bar Association student leadership award.
See what I mean about greater than I could ever imagine? Talk about servant leadership. The only thing missing from Tripp’s resume from Jesus’ words about being a servant leader was the whole “giving his life…for many.” That final addition to his resume came in March of this year when the 37-year-old’s search and rescue “helpicopter” was shot down near the Iraq-Syria border.[2]
Jesus’ curriculum is no joke. To be fair to Tripp I need to say that though I met him at a Christian camp, he had discarded his Christian faith some time ago. I don’t know why. It could have been widespread discrimination against gays & lesbians in some manifestations of the church. It might have been some other way in which the church felt hypocritical or out of touch. Perhaps he just didn’t believe in it. While he may not have preferred to use the Christian language system, from where I stand Tripp was very much committed to the kind of life that Jesus tried to teach his disciples to lead, disciples which is simply the word for students.
With that, I wonder what Christ’s course catalog for his students would look like:
- Rather than “The Sociology of Myley Cyrus” perhaps “The Sociology of King Cyrus, Nebuchadnezzar, Pharaoh or Caesar: What Empire Does and Most Certainly Does Not have to do with God’s Will.”
- Rather than “The Amazing World of Bubbles,” perhaps “The Amazing World of Troubles: How Faith is about Learning to Live with Integrity and Hope in the Midst of Tragedy and Evil.”
- Rather than “How to Watch Television,” “How to Get off the Couch and Get Involved in a World Where We Can Make a Difference without Having to be a Star.”
- Rather than “How to Get Dressed,” how about “How to Address the Needs of the Most Overlooked by Trusting Their Instincts and Listening to Their Voice about what They Need.”
- Finally, rather than a course about “Nothing,” how about a course in what love actually looks like lived out (in the gritty edges of real life), which you could title, I suppose, “Everything,” for as Dorothy Day reminds us, “Love and ever more love is the only solution to every problem that comes up.”
Now, those would be some master classes taught by the master. Amen.
[1] https://www.gonzaga.edu/online-graduate-programs/online-programs/m-a-organizational-leadership/concentrations/servant-leadership, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZvErLrO4Yk
[2] https://news.stanford.edu/2018/03/18/campus-mourns-law-alum-tripp-zanetis/
Hebrews 4:12-16
12Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. 13And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account.
14Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession. 15For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. 16Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Wedding Crashers
I was in San Francisco for a wedding last weekend and it was a glorious occasion in a beautiful part of the city. It was an evening wedding, so I brought back my young son to the hotel to be with a sitter between the service and the reception. Standing out the hotel waiting for a ride, I noticed a man walking toward me on the sidewalk. Judging by his appearance, I gathered this was someone who lived on the streets. Rather than walk past me on the sidewalk, he made a wide loop, stepping instead on the street. I felt uncomfortable, thinking my suit sent the message to him that I didn’t want him near me or maybe my white skin; perhaps it was the part of town we were in. Somewhere he had gotten the message that people like me didn’t want people like him near. Once he passed, he stepped back on the sidewalk and went over to a bowl placed near the hotel door. It was there for dog-walkers. One at a time he dipped his hands in the dog bowl to cool and wash them, and then he was on his way.
What a distance there was between the two of us. The sharpness of that reality crashed right into the wedding experience, not ruining it—we’ve become quite adept at navigating these realities—just making itself known. Jesus addresses social distance all the time. In today’s passage from Mark a lawyer approaches him, disingenuously the commentators tell us, looking to show that he lacks nothing in his religious observance. Almost, as far as Jesus is concerned, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me” (Mk. 10:21).
The rich one is disheartened and departs. The teaching becomes more difficult for the reader who continues: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God” (v. 25). You’ll hear all kinds of interpretations of that line, that “the eye of the needle” was the name for a gate to a city, one a camel needed to bow down in order to enter, or that the camel was a kind of knot that would be difficult to fit through the eye of a needle. I would caution against such attempts to soften Jesus’ teaching. I will make no attempt myself. It is simply, and in my judgment intentionally, a challenging teaching, at least to the relative few in the world who have a lot. I will suggest, however, this teaching is about more than what at first we might think, and that it’s not about Jesus hating rich people.
We hear Jesus’ words as condemning or damning, but I wonder if they aren’t merely describing a deeper reality, one that in fact contrasts two realities. Here’s what I mean by that—maybe Jesus isn’t rooting for a reality so much as pointing one out. Take Jesus’s words at face value. He is pointing out that is something about being rich that gets in the way of inhabiting God’s kingdom. If “kingdom” language gets in the way for you, use “reign” or “realm” of God.
What gets in the way? As one commentator puts it, “A disciple cannot be a rich person with all the accompanying complex socioeconomic ties and relationships.”[1] The obligations and expectations of the rich person, the number of other people and allegiances to whom they are beholden encumber them in such a way as to prevent their ability to truly follow Jesus into God’s way of being, God’s realm. Two ways of ordering relationships are at odds, and it has to do with power. As another commentator elaborates, “Jesus is asking the man to divest himself of all his goods once and for all and so deprive himself of the role of benefactor.”[2] A benefactor may be charitable, but in doing so the benefactor also reinforces their power over the beneficent, and reinforces the relationship of inequality. This is the underbelly of what we call philanthropy, where those with the resources retain disproportionate control over society’s agenda. Philanthropy, you could say, is profoundly antidemocratic.
What is the reign of God like? It is where power functions differently. Unlike the dominant culture in Jesus’ time, and our own, God’s reign is about connectedness, mutuality, and a trust in natural divine provision not a social construction of scarcity that spawns violence. You can’t enter God’s reign based on connectedness if you are captive to a system of separateness and hierarchy, and that is where the rich one in the story chooses to remain. It is where I was as the poor man circumvented me on his way to the dog dish.
It is where people all around Oneil Batchelor lived every day. Batchelor, an immigrant from Jamaica, was the same age as many of the students at Georgetown where he worked as a janitor. “There was this space, like ice separating us,” he said of the distance between the students and him. That distance persisted for close to a decade and then Febim Bellamy, a business student from India broke that ice. They shared their experiences of being an immigrant. They talked about politics, history, business, and music. Bellamy came to Batchelor’s church and met his 6-year-old daughter. Bellamy said once he truly saw Batchelor, he couldn’t help but see the others, others who were all around him. There was:
- The woman who vacuumed the library, Menuna Tackie, from Ghana who studied in her free time for her citizenship test.
- The cook in the dining hall, Jose Manzanares, who witnessed family members killed in El Salvador, much like our own beloved Jesus who cares for our building here.
- The dining hall cashier Umberto “Suru” Ripai, who hadn’t seen his family in South Sudan for 45 years.
- There was the crossing guard on campus, Anthony “Tracey” Smith, who always smiled even when others didn’t smile back. Smith’s father had been killed in a cross-walk, and so he decided to dedicate his life to protecting pedestrians by becoming a crossing guard. Now, there’s a story of Christian vocation if ever there were one.
Bellamy helped bring to light the stories of these previously invisible people who make Georgetown run.[3] Bellamy, you might say, had enrolled at Georgetown, but he had matriculated into the reign of God, as he helped to dismantle the barriers between us, just as Jesus did time and time again.
Jesus’ words cut right through our world. They are meant to. Hebrews says, “the word of god is…sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Hebrews 4:12). It also says that the word of God is “living and active,” and there’s the good news, for it is working in the world and it is trying to work in you, in us. We might feel as though we cannot approach what Jesus is calling us to, but quite the contrary, Hebrews calls us to “approach the throne of grace”—it’s not the seat of condemnation; atop the kingdom of God is a throne of grace— “approach the throne of grace with boldness,” not because of who you are, but because of who Christ is. Christ has passed through the heavens on our behalf, is our high priest, and yet is the one who can sympathize with us in our weakness. Remember, in the gospel stories, Jesus was tested, tempted with power and wealth.
I’m glad Christ can sympathize with my weakness. Aren’t you? Can you let yourself rest in the notion that Christ can sympathize with our weaknesses, every one of them? We’ve been taught that our weaknesses are what separate us from God. At the height of irony, religious communities have established themselves as the places you join when you overcome your weaknesses, or certainly where you dare not display them, when it is our weaknesses that become a portal and pathway to our connection with God through Christ. Christians hold to this notion the divine presence is in Christ, the incarnation we call it, precisely because it makes God identifiable, relatable, and approachable.
Approach is what Hebrews beckons us to do, not bashfully as if we are unsure if we deserve it, but “with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16). Why go tiptoeing to God when you can careen? You’re not going to receive condemnation for your need, but a portion of grace. When you acknowledge your need, give it over to God to Jesus, to Spirit—you can pick your term—to the universe, watch what comes back.
A wedding is a beautiful thing to watch, not because it’s the only kind of love, or even necessarily the best kind of love, but it is one of the clearest symbolic expressions of chosen love in our culture. I won’t go into the personal lives of the two I saw married this weekend, but I will say it is clear to those of us who know and love them and showed up to bear witness that they need each other. We’re not talking about neediness, but completeness (my apologies to Jerry McGuire). It’s the kind of need that says everything is better when the other is there. You might say, I will say, that these two were each an answer to the other’s prayer. I know not everyone gets the answer to prayer they want in that area, and maybe that’s why this union felt so powerful.
It was a Jewish wedding, my first, and as someone who does weddings in another tradition, I was quite interested in the rituals and what they signified. There’s more than I have time to talk about here—the way they circled each other upon processing, their gathering under the spiritual shelter of the chuppa surrounded by community, and of course the smashing of the glass at the end which single-handedly provided the allure to keep my son up 2 hours past his bed-time. Perhaps the most moving part, however, came in a chant that was not only sung to us, but which we were invited in sing together. The words were, “There is enough room for us all. There is enough room for us all. There is enough room for us all” (and they repeated it with joy).
What a bold statement? What a bold statement to make to this, our world. There is enough room for all of us, and there is enough joy for all of us. We don’t have to take. We don’t have to hoard. We don’t have to set the price so high only a few can partake. There is enough.
It’s not a sappy, sentimental, statement, as we so associate with weddings; it’s a powerful statement.
It is a bold statement, a declaration of what is true and therefore what is false.
It is a defiant statement to what we are too often taught in too many ways.
It is a promising statement, both because it gives hope and because it expresses a commitment to live into sacred reality.
There is no more countercultural, radical, subversive statement one can make, a people can make, than to say of all the available options of how to order life, many of which come with generous advertising budgets and well-funded super-PAC like money, of all the available options of how I will choose to order my life, I choose love. We choose love.
When we sang that chant, over and over again, something happened to the room, something holy entered that space and began flowing between us and through us, and it hit me that the real wedding crasher was the Spirit of the living God. Amen.
[1] The New Interpreter’s Bible Vol. VIII (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), 648.
[2] John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of Mark (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 2002), 303.
[3] https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/the-janitor-felt-invisible-to-georgetown-students--until-one-changed-his-life/2016/10/12/cf8c27fe-9087-11e6-a6a3-d50061aa9fae_story.html?noredirect=on&utm_term=.e4b384bca6df
Mark 9:38-50
38John said to him, "Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us." 39But Jesus said, "Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. 40Whoever is not against us is for us. 41For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.
42"If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. 43If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. 45And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell. 47And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, 48where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.
49"For everyone will be salted with fire. 50Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
About You
In the first chapter of his book, The Road to Character, New York Times columnist David Brooks bemoans what he calls, “the gospel of self-trust,” which he finds pervasive in our culture.[1] I wish he had termed it “the gospel of self-absorption” for that’s what he’s really talking about. We all know people who truly need to be encouraged to trust themselves, particularly young girls. Brooks’ work isn’t perfect. He, like the rest of us at times, confuses his cultural preferences with ultimate truths, but nevertheless he has something important to say to us. In a world in which we are told our job is to be great and we get to greatness solely on our own merits, Brooks says we do not travel alone, and the journey we are on is larger than ourselves. In so many words, he says, “It’s not all about you.”
To Brooks, then, the gospel of self-trust is no gospel at all. Life is not a quest to gather as much acclaim for one’s self or one’s group as possible. Respect or dignity yes, self-aggrandizement no. Jesus, who lifted up the downtrodden also spoke a warning to those who wanted to make it all about them. In the story we heard today, one of his students comes to him and says, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him…” Now that’s interesting. Why one earth would they try and stop him from casting out demons!? The disciples answer that sentence in their next breath “…because he was not following us” (Mark 9:28).
Maybe more than acclaim, what the disciples seem to be seeking here is control. They are thrown by others doing what they have decided is their work alone, to which Jesus responds, “Whoever is not against us is for us” (v. 40). It’s a critical teaching moment. As one commentator put it, “The disciples’ misunderstanding provides the occasion for Jesus to define true greatness in his movement as the humble service of others (9:35), to urge the disciples to find Jesus and his Father in the most apparently insignificant people (9:37), and to remind the disciples that they cannot confine Jesus’ power to their own group (9:39-40).”[2] The moment Jesus’ followers descend into tribalism, Jesus calls them to something greater.
A classmate in seminary was once ranting about some televangelist he’d seen, and we can understand why, so many of them hucksters, pedaling self-serving messages to great fortune. The response from the faculty member in the room, our World Christianity professor, was surprising however. “Why are you so sure the Holy Spirit can’t work, even through him? Maybe a seed will be planted in someone that will take root and grow.” In other words, why are you so sure God can only work through you and your way? Religion, like so many institutions has sought to exert control from the top down. The problem is that’s not how Spirit works.
Spirit works in and through all sorts of situations, through institutions and around them, through powerful people and through powerless people. Once you attempt to control that, by definition, you limit it. Good leaders know this. A good leader may establish a strong culture, but the best ones make room and opportunity for gifts of those in their charge to arise. A good leader may help establish shared norms and values, but she or he does not hold them so tightly that it inhibits creativity and innovation. You could say a good leader knows how to make just the right space for the Spirit to do its work, even if they never use that language.
The Spirit does work, though I fear we’ve lost the ability to recognize or trust it. I’ve just started this little book by episcopal priest Gray Temple called, When God Happens. The presumption, of course, is that God does happen, God is active. Temple says we’ve been so conditioned by a limited image of what that’s supposed to look, feel like, that we’ve learned not to recognize God for ourselves.[3]
How can we judge then what is of God, and what is not, what is of ego or other motivation? Institutions have risen up around these matters for a reason, no only out of a thirst for power. We’ve all seen what damage can be done in the name of God by a rogue believer touting exclusive access to the voice of God. Yes, here Jesus gives his disciples a decidedly simple answer: “whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ,” is with you. In other words, if they recognize that you are about the greater work of Christ, this new reality breaking into the world, subverting power and lifting up humble service and they offer hospitality to you, then they are not your enemies; they are your allies. The world will supply plenty of enemies, why manufacture your own? Remember this is bigger than you. It’s not about you.
And, it’s about you. It’s not about you in the sense of controlling others; it is about you in the sense of learning to control yourself, exercising discipline, and I should ourselves. Look at how the passage continues: “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off…if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off…if your eye cause you to stumble, tear it out” (v.43-47). That last one is particularly prescient for us. In a moment in which we are struggling to awaken to the reality of sexual violence and misconduct, we still hear people say, “Well, did you see what she was wearing? She shouldn’t dress like that.” Jesus says, if looking at her, or him, causes you to stumble, cut your eye out. It’s a you problem.
If the first half of the passage reminds us of the importance of recognizing our potential allies, the second half helps us remember the work we need to do in order to be good allies. Both presume we need one another, and our success is predicated on our ability to be in relationship.
When I was a youth pastor, I once attended a high school graduation that left me feeling more and more uneasy with each passing moment, or more accurately each successive speaker. I try not to be hard on students, youth. They’re young. They’re still growing, and they’re likely simply displaying what we have taught them. In that moment, though, I shuddered at what we had taught them. Each speech could be summarized as follows: I’m great. Look how great I am. I got this great all by myself. Imagine how great I am going to go on to be. No mention of mentors. No thanks, even obligatory, to teachers or parents or even peers if I recall correctly. I know there’s a developmental stage where we think we are the center of everything, but I sat there stunned, wondering if that stage now lasted in perpetuity.
Then came time for the distinguished alumnus to speak, and they truly had done great things. I must have wondered what he was going to say about greatness. By any measure, he had gone on to a great life. Then, without any references to the speeches that came before, or hint of snark in his voice, he proceeded to give the most eloquent, humble accounting of his life, giving primary recognition to those who had helped them along the way, lifting up the graces experienced, acknowledging the sheer luck opportunities seemed to involve at times, and all of it was rooted in relationship. Of all the things that had been important, good things such as studying or attending good schools, hard work, trying to be all he could be, what had been most determinative of his path, most important and most deserving of gratitude, were the relationships he had been fortunate enough to have and to nurture. He had many unearned allies and had never forgotten it. That was a gospel worth recognizing…
…which makes sense because that distinguished alumnus was David Brooks. The road to character like the road to the kingdom of heaven is not traveled alone, so let us practice recognizing and becoming good travel partners. Amen.
38John said to him, "Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us." 39But Jesus said, "Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. 40Whoever is not against us is for us. 41For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.
42"If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. 43If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. 45And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell. 47And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, 48where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.
49"For everyone will be salted with fire. 50Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another."
[1] David Brooks, The Road to Character (New York: Random House, 2015), 7.
[2] John R. Donohue and Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina vol. 2 (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 2002), 290.
[3] Gray Temple, When God Happens (New York: Church Publishing Incorporated, 2001), 2.
James 3:13-4:4
13Who is wise and understanding among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom. 14But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth. 15Such wisdom does not come down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, devilish. 16For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind. 17But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. 18And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace.
4:1 Those conflicts and disputes among you, where do they come from? Do they not come from your cravings that are at war within you? 2You want something and do not have it; so you commit murder. And you covet something and cannot obtain it; so you engage in disputes and conflicts. You do not have, because you do not ask. 3You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures. 4Adulterers! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Gentleness & Power
The moved Saved offers a caricature and critique of a certain kind of Christianity. It features zealous youth at a religious high school. There’s a scene in which one girl chases after another offering all kinds of judgment and condemnation. It culminates in her throwing the Bible at her yelling, “I’m filled with the Christ’s love!” The other girl, poignantly named “Mary,” turns around, picks up the Bible and responds, “Don’t you get it; this is not a weapon.” The language of faith or the faithful mustn’t be fundamentally a language of aggression. The Franciscan Richard Rohr says that if conservatives lean toward fear, liberals lean toward rage. Either is legitimate for a moment, but neither is an effective long-term strategy.
James puts before us that teaching that true wisdom gives birth to gentleness. If you carry bitter envy or selfish ambition, you’ve got to get back to work, back to prayer, back to contemplation and quiet, where the true desires of your heart can be heard and the Spirit can chip away at your bitterness. It’s easier said than done, but it can be done and it must be done, or we run the risk of doing so much damage. James is speaking to the difficulty of being with others. I can’t tell you how many times people say to me, “I can’t be around…” or “I don’t know how to be with…” you fill in the blank. It could be a family member or co-worker or even friend where a divide has formed. They just can’t engage without things escalating, so they totally disengage, and there is a time for that, when it’s too raw to do anything but further damage.
Sooner or later, however, you have to engage. All too often Christianity gets reduced to some vague notion of being nice, avoiding conflict, “not going there.” This so-called peacekeeping can end up enabling hurtful behavior. As Christian ethicist Stanley Hauerwas reminds us, while we are called to be peacemakers, calling it “the virtue of the church,” we are not called to preserve false peace. He writes, “You cannot overlook a fault on the presumption that it is better not to disturb the peace. Rather, you must risk stirring the waters, causing disorder, rather than overlook the sin.”[1] Hauerwas is not deputizing us into the personal sin police force, winging around our Bibles like that angry teenager. He is more concerned with recognizing falseness at work and calling it out.
Hauerwas, who was at Duke Divinity and Duke Law, is an interesting example to use here, because he has not been known for gentleness. A fiery teacher, he garnered a reputation for swearing prolifically in class, elevating it to a veritable artform. As a pacifist from the Mennonite tradition, he came to the point where he recognized the incongruity in himself. A friend of mine who studied under him said once Hauerwas reported to the class that he had asked the community around him, his colleagues and friends, to hold him accountable to his pacifism not just in his stances on war, but in his personal conduct, and in his speech.
Hauerwas recognized what James understood so well, that you can’t work for peace while embodying violence, of any form. “Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom…the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy” (James 3:13-17). Your work has to be about pure wisdom, not personal grudges or bitterness toward those who oppose you. It will not only taint your message, but it will give others all the reason they need to find you unconvincing, to write you off.
Gentleness is not very much in vogue. I’m not sure it ever was. It’s a feminine characteristic, and in our culture that means it’s something for women to overcome and men to avoid. Of course, it is present in us all, and it should be lifted up, not torn down. Jesus was plenty strong, and he embraced gentleness. We know the Catholic Church is currently experiencing its own struggles with incongruity; it’s leader has something to say on this matter of gentles. Pope Francis uses the term tenderness and says:
Yes, tenderness is the path of choice for the strongest, most courageous men and women. Tenderness is not weakness; it is fortitude. It is the path of solidarity, the path of humility. Please, allow me to say it loud and clear: the more powerful you are, the more your actions will have an impact on people, the more responsible you are to act humbly. If you don’t, your power will ruin you, and you will ruin the other. There is a saying in Argentina: "Power is like drinking gin on an empty stomach." You feel dizzy, you get drunk, you lose your balance, and you will end up hurting yourself and those around you, if you don’t connect your power with humility and tenderness. Through humility and concrete love, on the other hand, power – the highest, the strongest one – becomes a service, a force for good.[2]
Francis goes on to talk about a “revolution of tenderness.” In three words he names perhaps the fullness of the Christian vocation, revolution of tenderness. You need both pieces, revolution and tenderness, revolution because it calls into question conventional wisdom that oppresses or harms or neglects, and tenderness lest we just replace one violent system with another. Without revolution all you have is chicken soup for the soul. There’s a time for that, but it’s not the whole feast. Without tenderness you have holy war, and in my opinion there’s no such thing.
It comes down to a choice. What reality do you want to live into—the temporal false reality that is fading away, or the eternal real, the “real real” as Richard Rohr would put it? . In the children’s Bible that Desmond Tutu put together, one of the things he says at the outset is that children should learn to become “friends with God.” That is the language of James: “Adulterers! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God?” (4:4). It’s not a purity code. Adultery is a metaphor for having a divided allegiance. You can’t be friends with the world, which is built on using violence and aggression to gain power-over, and be friends with God, who embodies power-with through a revolution of tenderness led by the Prince of Peace. Choose your friends carefully, as they say.
Now there is an important critique to offer of this, an important caveat to give voice to. It’s awfully convenient for those in power to argue for gentleness, to argue for divesting of power, to argue for nonviolence to the powerless because it becomes a way of keeping them down. That’s insidious, and the church in various forms has been guilty of it, whether it’s with respect to oppressed peoples or abused individuals. Being friends with God, as we see most clearly in the life of Jesus, means standing alongside the most vulnerable people (if you’re not one yourself), and using your power gently to oppose injustice, personal or institutional. That needs to be clear.
So, what do you do? How do you do it? You practice practice practice your gentleness. You adopt practices that teach you to slow down in heated moments in order to circumvent your reactiveness. You develop a robust prayer practice, and I’d recommend one in which you don’t do all the talking. You live in some form of community. Hauerwas, imperfect as he may be, is a good example, for what did he do, but reach out to seek the accountability of other people? And, for Hauerwas, a key is remembering we are a forgiven people.[3] As Christians we believe that we have been shown tenderness, and it’s from that experience that we draw the ability to be tender with others. For some of you, it’s going to take a lot of work getting in touch with your forgiveness, because it’s been denied you by circumstance or teaching. It’s hard work. It’s good work. It’s necessary work. I want to support you in it, for you don’t do it, if we don’t do it, then we add to the list one more unhealed crusader, and Lord knows we don’t need any more of those.
We can do the work together, practice here.
The great/famed preacher Fred Craddock tells a story about showing up to a church one night where he was to be the featured preacher for services to be held over the next three days. When he arrives, there is a funeral letting out. Craddock is welcomed by the local minister who is consoling the widow and is somewhat awkwardly introduced to her. A stranger to her, Craddock sheepishly expressed his condolences. She responded that because of the circumstances she wouldn’t be at services that night, but she would be the next two days. He replied instinctually, “Oh, you don’t need to.” Think of that, a preacher telling someone they don’t need to be at church, as if it’s some form of punishment! “Yes I do…you see, this is my church, and they’re going to see that my children and I are okay.”[4]
There’s the gentleness, the church as a cradle of tenderness. We practice it in here in easier moments, so when we are called to more difficult ones, it’s gentleness that is our native tongue. A
[1] Stanley Hauerwas, “Peacemaking: The Virtue of the Church” in The Hauerwas Reader (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 324-325.
[2] Pope Francis, Ted Talk.
[3] Hauerwas, 321.
[4] Fred Craddock
Psalm 19:1-4
1The heavens are telling the glory of God;
and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.
2Day to day pours forth speech,
and night to night declares knowledge.
3There is no speech, nor are there words;
their voice is not heard;
4yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
and their words to the end of the world.
THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Wisdom
We gathered at our bedroom window. It was only some time that our young son spotted the second baby dear nestled in the brush its markings rendering it barely visible. They were clearly born that morning, for when they tried to stand, their legs wobbled and with each attempted step they lost more ground on the steep embankment than they gained. Remembering that does often leave their young in a safe place to go scavenge for food, we trusted she’d be back. Sure enough, hours later, mother returned, the fawns nursed, and they were off not to be seen again for weeks.
Consider the wisdom of nature, fawns near perfect camouflage, the mother spreading out her two young to avoid predation for both of them if one were taken, leaving them in safe hiding while going for food, and then moving them so no predators would catch onto their whereabouts. There’s even more, while distasteful sounding to you and me. Fawns otherwise have almost no scent, and they…how do I say delicately “hold it” while mother is away no smell might alert predators to their presence. When the mother returns, they feely eliminate waste…and then their mother consumes it, to maintain their secrecy. Now that’s committed parenting. The instinct and ability for survival is brilliantly creative and resourceful, the culmination of eons of evolution by one language system, the indelible imprint of God by another, and there it was outside our window.
There are so many examples of nature holding remarkable knowledge: the relationship between cricket chirps and the temperature, crows working together in teams, symbiotic relationships between species, and animals using tools. Our family went on a ranger led walk at Bear Valley, the visitors’ center to Pt. Reyes, and while learning about the flora and fauna of the area we were told how certain animals have been known to consume the bark of a particular tree to alleviate pain. The derivative of that bark is what we call aspirin.
People who grasp the wisdom of the created world can partner with it for their own good. One of the more well-known examples is “three sisters planting.” As opposed to the monocultures that dominate factory farms, which rely on often harmful chemicals, three sisters planting involves growing corn, beans, and squash together in a way that is mutually supportive. The corn gives beans a place to attach itself and grown. The beans pull nitrogen from the air and put it in the soil, and coil in such a way as to keep the three plants close together. The large squash leaves, in turn, provide shade, keeping the soil cool and therefore moist, prevent weeds, and with their prickly surface keep away animals such as racoons who might otherwise eat them.
“The heavens are telling the glory of God,” says the Psalmist, but it’s not just about stargazing, “and the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork.” The created world is trying to teach us about God. “[D]ay to day” it “pours forth speech” (Ps. 19:1). When we cut ourselves off from creation, from nature, we are cutting ourselves off from divine wisdom and even God God’s self. The church got it wrong when it decided it was to be the exclusive arbiter of divine speech, caretakers yes, sole proprietors certainly not. When you try to possess something, you show you’ve not gotten it.
Rather than recognizing the sacred origin and sacred wisdom inherited in nature, we have been indoctrinated into a mythology that reduces everything, and one might argue everyone, into a commodity, things you can get and things you can sell. The market is the organizing force of our society, that around which all things orbit, the object of our worship you could even say. There is no nature; there are natural resources, which are to be used. There is “the environment,” cold, objective, rather than as St. Francis spoke about, “Mother Earth,” “Sister Water,” “Brothers Wind and Air” in addition to “Brother Sun,” “Sister Moon.” Part of the modern attraction to indigenous peoples and traditions is the notion that they do not commodify the world, and yet the best manifestations of our tradition do not either. In fact, look at the spiritual parents of our tradition, Judaism, our indigenous ancestors. Their festivals are intimately tied to the cycles of the earth and cosmos.
The irony is that in commodifying all things, we have refused to pay full price, instead each generation passes it down to the next, and now we are standing in a moment in history when the bill is coming due. This doesn’t even account for the cost of this consumptive way of living to other beings and to the human soul.
Both Psalms and Proverbs give voice to a divine frustration with people who choose not to listen. The Psalmist writes that God’s voice, pouring forth all around us, “is not heard” (19:3). Proverbs, likewise, describes Lady Wisdom as “crying out in the street” yet says that people not only scoff in response, but “delight in their scoffing” (Prov. 1:22). “Fools hate knowledge” says Proverbs (1:22), presumably because it exposes who they are and the choices they have made. I suspect this is why Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, a powerful Christian voice for justice in North Carolina, prayed this week for the vulnerable in the path of Florence and at the same time for leaders who continue to deny climate science. The obvious critique is politicizing tragedy, but as someone asked helpfully this week, is it politicizing to talk about it, or is it politicizing it to refuse to talk about it, to eschew knowledge when it could have saved life, land, and property not even to mention money?
Then, Proverbs offers a warning that on the surface is astonishing, not likely what you and I have been taught to expect.
24Because I have called and you refused,
have stretched out my hand and no one heeded,
25and because you have ignored all my counsel
and would have none of my reproof,
26I also will laugh at your calamity;
I will mock when panic strikes you,
27when panic strikes you like a storm,
and your calamity comes like a whirlwind,
when distress and anguish come upon you.
28Then they will call upon me, but I will not answer;
they will seek me diligently, but will not find me (Prov. 1:24-28).
When the storm comes, don’t come running to me. Wait, is this saying God will not answer our prayers!? God is going to mock our panic?! Slow down. Always slow down. That’s not what the text says. The text is speaking of wisdom, or rather Wisdom is speaking. This is not a threat. It’s stating a natural conclusion. When wisdom is placed alongside foolish behavior, the contrast is so stark that it appears as mockery.
What does Wisdom say to us? The same thing every prophet has ever said to us, in fact every great teacher from every religious and spiritual tradition has ever said to us, and it can be summarized in two words. Two words. I’ll give you a hint. It’s not, “Love God.” It’s not “Love neighbor” or “Love self,” though all those things are important. It’s more fundamental than that. The two words at the heart of it all are, “Wake up.” Wake up. Wake up to what is going on. That’s the invitation of wisdom in every time and place. Wake up your senses, so you see and hear what’s going on, even taste. Did you hear what the beauty pageant contestant from Michigan said the other day when she introduced herself? She said she was “from the state with 84% of the United States’ fresh water, but none for its residents to drink.” She let her taste buds, along with eyes and ears to tell her about the injustice still occurring in Flint, where the people still do not have safe water. Allow your senses wake you up to what is going on. The other choice is to insulate yourself more and more from what’s happening, and some can afford to do that more than others, but it eventually catches up to us all. If you want the most concise description of Jesus Christ it is of someone who is totally awake, totally able to sense what is going on in every moment and completely tapped into the source of life and healing.
Wake up. “God is perfectly hidden and perfectly revealed in every moment,” says Franciscan Richard Rohr, “It’s all a matter of learning how to see.”[1] Once you see clearly, what to do becomes readily apparent, and therein lies the good news. Last weekend, my family took the ferry into the city, and it just so happened our arrival coincided with the departure of the Ocean Cleanup vessel. I have been reading about this project for years, an attempt to set up booms in the middle of the Pacific Ocean gyre where an area three times the size of France is covered in plastic. Whereas simply sending boats to skim the surface would take something absurd like 70,000 years to remove all the debris, this project, which hopes to deploy 60 of these booms it calls “arrays,” if successful, purports to be able to get most of it in 5 years, removing it and recycling it. In a moment of wakefulness, the designer dreamt this when he was a teenager and he has brought it into being though he is still only 24. How could someone so young have such wisdom? Because it’s all around. He looked. He listened. He recognized, and he took action.
That boat launch was part of the events leading up to the Global Climate Summit of this past week. As part of it, I attended an interfaith worship service at Grace Cathedral on Wednesday. Members from many traditions around the world were there. Though long, the service was really quite simple. It began with indigenous people calling on the four directions and welcoming us to their land—welcoming us in Grace Cathedral. Then the Episcopal hosts with staff in hand, called a verge, escorted each faith delegation in—Jews, Christians, Buddhists, Muslims, Jains…and then came the trees, green costumed figures on stilts ushering all the religions around, and why not? The trees don’t care about our religious divisions or other human disputes, and they need protection from us all if they are going to be able to give us air. Then each group over the course of the next hours made pledges for how they would live more sustainably as institutions and as people.
There it was, not outside the window, not on the other side of even the finest stained-glass windows, but finally inside coming together not different traditions blurring into one, but out of difference offering mutual blessing and seeking wisdom together. The instinct and ability for survival is brilliantly creative and resourceful and in that we may find hope. Amen.
[1] Richard Rohr in The Sermon on the Mount. Audiobook.
The second reading features King Solomon speaking at the completion of the building of the temple. The temple, as you know, was seen not only as a monument or a gathering place for people, but the very the dwelling place for the living God.
1 Kings 8: 27-30, 41-43
27"But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built! 28Regard your servant's prayer and his plea, O LORD my God, heeding the cry and the prayer that your servant prays to you today; 29that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house, the place of which you said, 'My name shall be there,' that you may heed the prayer that your servant prays toward this place. 30Hear the plea of your servant and of your people Israel when they pray toward this place; O hear in heaven your dwelling place; heed and forgive."
41"Likewise when a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel, comes from a distant land because of your name 42 — for they shall hear of your great name, your mighty hand, and your outstretched arm — when a foreigner comes and prays toward this house, 43then hear in heaven your dwelling place, and do according to all that the foreigner calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel, and so that they may know that your name has been invoked on this house that I have built." THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
On the Beach
You might suppose I chose this passage because it has to do with completing buildings since we are about to renovate the church following a successful capital campaign. No, this is a lectionary passage. I’d just assume talk about finding God in nature as so many do—that’s a much easier sell—finding God in the forests or, since it’s California, finding God on the beach!
This is not an anti-Christian message, for listen to the full passage from which your bulletin quote comes, St. Catherine of Siena:
It could be said that God’s foot is so vast
that this entire earth is but a
field on His toe,
and all the forest in this world
came from the same root of just
a single hair
of His.
What then is not a sanctuary?
Where then can I not kneel
And pray at a shrine
Made holy by His
Presence? [1]
St. Catherine so eloquently captures the vastness of God, and the reality of all creation as a sanctuary for the sacred. Take the beautiful legend of Kevin, who I like to think of as the Celtic St. Francis: During the holy season of Lent that leads up to Easter, Kevin goes into the wilderness to enter into deep contemplation. When lifting his hands in prayer, in through the window of his prayer hut flies a blackbird who lands upon his outstretched palm. Kevin’s hand was so welcoming, the bird makes its nest upon it. Kevin holds still and steady long enough for the egg to hatch and a bird to take flight. It’s reminiscent of the Psalm we heard earlier, isn’t it, with the swallows finding a nest in the dwelling place of God. To this day, statues in Ireland feature Kevin always with a blackbird sitting in his hand.
Given the delightfulness of these expressions, what fun is it to talk about the building of a big temple? What use is it to us? Does King Solomon actually think he could capture God with a grand building? No. Solomon, known for his wisdom, says with his own hands reached out in grateful prayer, “Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!” Neither is Solomon’s temple a display of Solomon’s own grandeur. No, for Solomon, the temple was to be the strong place for God’s name to be placed and God’s ways to be practiced.
Let us not confuse what we mean when we say strength. When we picture Solomon’s temple, I think we often conceive a fortress. Churches over the eons have sometimes taken that shape, but the function of the temple was not solely to draw lines between insiders and outsiders. That would have been understandable for a minority people often under threat. Notice what happens in the second half of this passage, when Solomon prays to God that visitors, “foreigners” to be precise, will come “from a distant land because of your name—for they shall hear of your great name, your mighty hand, and your outstretched arm” –perhaps this is where Kevin learned the posture—Solomon continues, “when a foreigner comes and prays toward this house, then hear in heaven your dwelling place, and do according to all that the foreigner calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you (revere you)” (I Kings 8:41-43).
The significance of this gesture cannot be overstated. This was a people whose identity was rooted in bloodline. For them to welcome in the other, was to risk change to their very identity. It, of course, is rooted in Solomon’s earlier affirmation that God is bigger than any one household, that God must be at work elsewhere too, in other peoples too and that when others come they aren’t only coming to “get the goods,” but they also come bearing goodness, indelibly printed on them by the Creator.
For some, this kind of openness is a challenge. I suspect this is not the case for you. One of the things I treasure about you is your commitment to openness, what we might call the freedom side of faith, the freedom to explore, to ask questions, to practice and express the faith differently. If that’s so, what then is the challenge, the growth edge, for us?
The partner of freedom or openness is not closedness or closed-mindedness. The complement to freedom is form. Take our passage on a literal level. What makes the gesture of openness so powerful is that it emerges from a form, the temple. The temple is a literal form with distinct spaces, different functions for the spaces and so on. In the temple, people worship particular God. They have particular commitments about what’s important, about what stories and teachings are foundational, and consequently about how to live in the world.
I suggest the temple can serve also serve as a metaphor for our faith, as individuals and as a spiritual community, for our teachings and practices likewise provide us structure and guidance, telling us, “This is where we came from. This is who we are and therefore how we treat others and ourselves.” Form and structure, they go together. Too much form and we get oppression, rigidity, spiritual death. Unbridled, or better put, unthoughtful freedom and we get not necessarily anarchy (that’s awfully dramatic), but more a lack of substance, shared commitment, direction. Balance, as in so many things, is the key. It is the basis of any relationship. Take any marriage, any parental relationship, any friendship, they all contain a balance of freedom and form. It is also the basis of our relationship with God. Interestingly, in a time in which we have access to more and more information and access to other ways, the deepest spiritual people I have ever met, including, maybe especially those involved in interfaith work, are the ones who find themselves solidly placed within one tradition. It’s from that solid foundation that they can build a structure that can support open doors.
As we begin a new program year, I ask you, what part of your form needs work? Is it in studying Scripture or other sources of sacred wisdom, putting the same energy into that sometimes strange library of stories, poems, letters, and wisdom as we do other important things in life? Is it in the disciplines of prayer, which can be practiced in countless ways, and of which some bashfully admit they are not sure where to begin? There is no shame in that, only a time to try or reach out for direction. Is it in an act of serving or giving to something beyond yourself and noticing what in your soul is affirmed? As we begin another program year, and begin a literal building program, I wonder what you will do to avail yourselves of the opportunities to work on your or our faith.
Look at what establishing a good form did for Saints Kevin and Catherine. What gave the ability of that blackbird to nest, if not Kevin’s well-formed and deeply committed outreached hand? What gave Catherine the language to speak of God’s ever presence in the world, if not the language of sacredness?
One of the sadder recurring themes of the interfaith work I have done over the years is that the Christians, particularly the Protestants, seemed least well versed, least steeped in their own tradition. I’m not trying to blame or guilt individuals. This is not only about choosing sports over church; it’s also about the fact we don’t have the parochial schools some other groups do. Whatever the cause, weak tea is not very fulfilling and neither is it very good to share. This is one reason I’m so glad we’ve begun the Sacred Stories program here, a derivative of something called Godly Play that teaches biblical stories in an engaging way using simple figures, wooden pieces, and sand, not so the kids can so easily tell you what they learned that day, but so that the stories can get inside them and become a reservoir from which to draw throughout their lives. This is a perfect example of offering a powerful form while maintaining a spirit of openness. Listen to how delicately its philosophy balances form and freedom with these principles that are to be expressed implicitly to all who come in to the room where the class is held:
- We welcome you.
- We value you.
- We love you.
- We respect you.
- We honor you just the way you are.
- You are capable.
- You are our primary concern during this time.
- We trust you to make choices.
- This is a safe place to wonder and find meaning.
- The community is important and will be supported.
- We will set clear limits and expectations.
- This is a place of imagining.
- A different language is spoken here.
- The stories have value.
- We love the stories.
- You can use the stories to make meaning.
- We love God.
- God is present in this place.
Did you catch that? Plenty of room to explore while also establishing a foundation of who we are. Now, if only everything we built together signified that so clearly. I think there is a misconception that if we just watered down who we are to the least distinct most palatable version then we would likely to attract more people. First of all, I have no interest in attracting more people for the sake of our own ego or the sake of our budget. I am interested in attracting more people because of the prospect of being in community in Christ with more and more people who bring their own gifts to the table.
I am often asked what my vision is for Westminster. My vision is that as individuals and as a community of faith, we would be a refreshing expression of Christ. Many people know all too well what tired, irrelevant, or even abusive expressions of Christ look like. The name of Jesus is too often, but understandably, associated with hypocrisy, hatefulness, and judging people in this life while damning them in the next. Here we espouse that the true Jesus came to give life, to call the people to the integrity of their faith, to call the powerful to account(ability) and the downtrodden to new strength. The true Jesus came to forgive, reform, and set free now forevermore.
That’s a gift with which we’ve been entrusted and entrusted to share (with those who seek it). The data tells us that we are right now within walking distance of thousands of people who may be disenchanted with the religious communities they have found, but who are searching for it. They are searching for something authentic and for something sacred. Open doors are a great start, but we have an obligation to work on what’s inside, inside our community and inside ourselves. It would be arrogant to think we have anything of the sort to offer them without putting in the work of shaping the form of our outstretched hands. Let it be a year in which we shore up our foundations. It will be joyful work, and it will take us all to participate in the ways each of us can. Without you all, this is just a lecture series not a church. The work will produce something every bit as grand as Solomon’s temple, and I’m talking not talking about the building.
The church’s youth group took a trip to the shore—that’s what they call it back East. A parent leader brought their younger child along, who seemed content to play in the sand. Play is all it looked like at first, and then it became clear something else was taking shape. The child had been through a version of the Sacred Stories program and was proceeding to use makeshift figures in the sand to tell the Easter story of Jesus’ resurrection. Form and freedom. Being totally grounded in the midst of total openness. If we don’t give this to our children, to one another, to ourselves, how will they and we know how to understand, give voice to, and experience the God they meet in the church, in the streets, and even on the beach. Amen.
[1] St. Catherine of Siena, “The Sanctuary” in Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West ed. Daniel Ladinsky (New York: Penguin Compass, 2002), 205.
Ephesians 5:15-20
15Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, 16making the most of the time, because the days are evil. 17So do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is. 18Do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery; but be filled with the Spirit, 19as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, 20giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Her Strength. Now.
I wonder how many of you have followed the story of the mother orca whale carrying her dead calf. It is common practice for whales to lift their newborns to the surface so they can breathe, but this calf had died and yet the mother persisted. Over the last twenty years, three-fourths of the newborn orcas have not survived in the endangered Southern Resident orca population.[1] Some wondered if this mother didn't know, if she was confused or somehow deranged. It's hard for me to think any mother doesn't know. Others attributed it to some kind of mourning behavior. Orcas have been known to do this for as long as a week, but this mother did so for 17 days before finally letting go.
It's a story that touches the heart. I share it here because it really hit me as it was one of the first news stories I encountered coming off some time away on the East Coast. Part of the gift of being away is avoiding the news. Two weeks of vacation and a week of continuing education that was as refreshing as vacation left me feeling restored. Getting away for an extended amount of time allows you to truly let down, unwind the tightened places of body, soul, and mind. For me, that takes a while. I find I come back with a more settled and grounded disposition, less thrown or frazzled by the busyness that accompanies the fall. I don’t know how those who only slip away for a day here or there, or take their work with them wherever they go get a break long enough to let down. Moreover, what about those who are not afforded or cannot afford a break from their work. In some places of the world it’s the law, but here for many it’s a luxury. We tend to define strength by the ability to power through and not stop, but wouldn’t society be better if we all had this yearly reboot?
I've come to realize there is something else that happens when I go away for a significant amount of time and let down. Things come up. When you make room in your life, it is amazing what comes to the surface. My spiritual director helped me see this after going on pilgrimage once. Finding myself in a funk, she encouraged me to continue to make room in my day for whatever was trying to emerge to surface, but is normally drowned out by daily life.
This time, on our trip home air traffic control delayed the flight because of the smoke from the wildfires. I could feel myself tense up as I anticipated descending into the hazy skies of California. Whether it’s because we have a child with asthma or simply because we’re not used to them, having grown up in the Mid-West, the fires always unsettle me. Something was coming up in me and trying to get my attention. Maybe it’s just me—the firefighters we know seem to get excited at the prospect of being sent out to battle them, and yet even they have noticed the fires have gotten stronger.
We have been breaking records and scientists tell us that hotter and drier conditions have exacerbated "normal" wildfire patterns. Smoke from our fires has now been detected as far away as New York polluting air in states in between. At the same time, we are in touch with friends and family in Florida and so we have been following a similarly extended and intensified red tide season. There, toxic algae blooms have contaminated both air and water, leaving the beaches littered with the bodies of dead fish, dolphins, sea turtles, and manatees. As of last Thursday, 605 sea turtles and 100 manatees and washed up dead. Friends in Sarasota said you can smell the death the moment you open your door. Here again, warmer sea temperatures coupled with fertilizer run off have amplified this natural occurrence.
Could this be what Ephesians means by “evil days?” Surely, it was not predicting these particular circumstances, and yet this ancient letter knows a thing or two about troubled times. “The times” is a difficult subject to understand in Ephesians and is worth unpacking. Ephesians, like many New Testament writings is infused with the topic of what we refer to in Christianity as eschatology, matters of the end times and the beginning of a new reality. That’s tricky enough, but to complicate the waters even more, scholars tell us that in Ephesians we see streams of two approaches to eschatology, one that seems to think that with the return of Jesus a definite end was coming, followed by the ushering in of something new. This is called a “future eschatology” and is present in some of Paul’s earliest writings, such as 1 Thessalonians, where some Christians get the concept of the rapture.
The other kind of eschatology is known as “realized eschatology” and it understands Christ to have already ushered in a new reality. When Christ did not return, at least in the way they expected, these early followers evolved in their thinking. To them while the new reality was not perhaps fully complete, it was already underway, and we are living into even if we do not fully perceive it. This is characteristic of either Paul’s later writings or those written in his name that followed. Ephesians may have elements of each of these streams though it seems to lean more toward the realized eschatology, and therefore the question of how to live in this moment.
All of this is to emphasize that there was an urgency associated with the times. I believe that can be instructive to us because we too are in urgent times. In fact, sitting with my spiritual director this past month, the question arose as to whether we are carrying an appropriate level of urgency about our own times. I don’t mean anxiety. My guess is many of us are carrying around more than our fair share of that. I mean urgency, which is taking concern and translating it into constructive and productive action. Do we carry an appropriate level of urgency about whether and to what degree there will be clean air for our children to breathe, whether and to what degree there will be clean water for our children to drink, whether and to what degree we will be able to feed our world without spoiling the land and sea in the process?
I can remember the actual day I learned about climate change. Then we called it “The Greenhouse Effect.” I was a 5th grader and it was the 1987-88 school year. Not a day has gone by that it hasn’t occupied some part of my mind. Coming back from my time away, I realize more of my energy as a person of faith needs to go toward caring for what God has made, what God loves, and what God has freely shared. Otherwise, my claim to love God and what God loves has no integrity.
A number in this congregation share this concern and commitment. They have worked hard on it and I plan to come alongside them more fully. As I started to think about what this could look like, I started to explore natural partnerships. Doing so led me to California’s chapter of Interfaith Power & Light, an organization that has worked for a lot of good in a lot of places. As I browsed their web site, looking at their work, wondering how to kindle a new partnership, I found a link to member congregations. I hesitatingly clicked on the one labeled “Marin,” anticipating feeling guilty about finding others doing more. I was surprised to see Westminster Presbyterian in Tiburon listed! I probably knew we were members at one time and forgot, but it was a pleasant reminder that there are already relationships and tools in place, as dusty as some of them may be.
Moving forward can be hard. It can be easier to instead bury one’s head in the sand or drown out the noise and bad news on any number of issues. This is precisely what Ephesians is attempting to address. I know it reads like a Puritanical temperance rant: “Do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery” (Eph. 5:18). Who knows it might even lead to dancing! It is easy to dismiss this as stuffy moralizing, but that would be a mistake. What does drunkenness do, literally and figuratively, but allow us to numb ourselves, to be less attentive to what’s happening around us and within us. When people are drunk, they are loud; they stumble around why? Because they have lost touch with their surroundings. The opposite of drunkenness is being in touch with what is happening around and within. Sobriety is clarity. Sobriety is being of sound mind and judgment. Ephesians is trying to say that the moment is calling for clarity and wisdom, not numbing our minds from realities we may not want to face. Our time has a preciousness to it, something to which people in recovery can bear special witness.
I have noticed over the last year a number of my colleagues have given up drinking. I can’t help wondering if this is not only about personal challenges, but also a recognition of the times, that something greater happening now. Now is important. Now is powerful. So would say one of the preeminent spiritual writers of our time, Eckart Tolle, whose best-selling book The Power of Now has been transformative for many, including those I know personally. Part of what shields us from the now, says Tolle, is what he calls the “pain-body,” which he describes as “the accumulation of old emotional pain that almost all people carry in their energy field.”[2] The pain-body becomes debilitating when we ignore it or try and deaden it rather than simply give it its due attention, listen to what it is trying to say. When we attend to it, it loses its power over us and is dismissed. Another way of saying it is when you face that which is causing the suffering and start to work on it, the anxiety and suffering diminish. I wonder if communities or societies carry pain bodies too, and if faced and addressed, of they could find a new measure of power and vitality.
Interestingly, Tolle grounds his teaching in the temporal realm. It’s called The Power of Now for a reason, for in being stuck in the past or captive anxiously to the future, we create some of our own suffering. In other words, we can lose a lot when we lose the preciousness of the moment. Tolle speaks of the illusion of believing the next moment will always be better. It seems our culture is particularly susceptible to this, as we sacrifice scores of presents for some un-promised future, all the time chasing, and burning up our resources in the present, literally and metaphorically. Tolle is not telling us to forego responsible planning or engaging in meaningful reflection, but rather that fully inhabiting the moment, or as Ephesians puts, “making the most of the time,” this time, we are most likely to limit regrettable actions and be in the best position to make good decisions about the future. Whatever we can do to support our presence in the now, whether it’s slowing down, taking a break—you can’t be very present if you’re tired or strung out—or adopting simple practices that return us to the moment, will heighten our awareness of what is going on around us and within us and tell us what needs our attention. I ran across someone with a practice of taking one deep breath every time they passed under a doorway (breathe) to reset, to be called back into the moment. It can be that simple.
Let’s return to our mother orca whale. Might she be a model for us? Maybe her unwillingness to let her calf go was just the right thing for her to be doing. Her act was illogical by a future orientation, but for the moment, on some level, she knew it was what she needed to be doing, perhaps even if it killed her. “Don’t worry about tomorrow…tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today,” Jesus said in the “Sermon on the Mount” (Mt. 6:34). Stay with the troubles of today. Maybe our mother orca wasn’t deranged or confused that her calf was still alive. Rather, maybe she was enacting that her connection and commitment to her calf still lived, and only when she had expressed that to the full extent could she release it and be released by it. Wouldn’t you know that after 17 days when she finally did let go of this painful body, and she was seen healthy and playing in the water of San Juan Island last Saturday. Will we have her courage, her presence, and her strength now?
Amen.
[1] https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2018/08/12/orca-mom-releases-dead-calf-two-weeks-later/972143002/
[2] https://www.eckharttolletv.com/article/Awakening-Your-Spiritual-Lifes-Purpose/
Ephesians 4:25-5:2
25So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another. 26Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, 27and do not make room for the devil. 28Thieves must give up stealing; rather let them labor and work honestly with their own hands, so as to have something to share with the needy. 29Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear. 30And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with which you were marked with a seal for the day of redemption. 31Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, 32and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.
1Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, 2and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Your Neighbor
Have I ever shown my waterproof Bible? Don’t believe me? Here, watch…(pouring water) You probably wouldn’t guess it could withstand that, would you? A friend got it for me at a youth ministry conference. It’s clever and it misses the point that young people like all people don’t want gimmicks as much as they do authenticity, genuine interest, and actual relationship.
Real relationships matter, and whether or not they are harder to find these days, they are certainly found in different places. Modern communication has allowed us to be connected to those great distances away, which means we are often less connected to those nearby. We can be more selective about who we associate with which has its perks and its problems. When we hear Ephesians implore us to “speak the truth to our neighbors” the first question that comes to my mind is, “Do we have relationships with our neighbors?” Do we even know them? I bet I haven’t had a substantive conversation with a neighbor in years.
When I was in seminary, a class on theology and the ecological crisis assigned us to sit outside every day in the same place for ½ hour for a month to observe what was happening in the natural world around me. I chose the backyard of the house I was sharing. Inevitably, these ½ hour sessions ended with conversation across the fence with my neighbor as he was gardening. He too was a seminarian, but he was a class above me and I didn’t know him well. Over time, a friendship budded, and years later he stood by me at my wedding. What are we missing in not knowing our neighbors?
Part of what we are missing is the daily reminder that our neighbors are people, not objects, things easily captured by a convenient label, incapable of surprising us, moving, or changing. The Jewish philosopher Martin Buber reminds us that at the heart of relationship is the I-Thou as opposed to I-it. Relationship means relating to others not as objects, but as subjects, as beings. Ephesians is telling us to treat our neighbors as beings. Without relationship or at least some semblance of trust or connection, we have little hope of speaking the truth effectively. More to the point, we have little hope of hearing the truth. We have seen time and again that evidence alone isn’t convincing to many people, as we find ourselves in the midst of those who dismiss facts as if to say sarcastically, “What is truth?” which is precisely what Pontius Pilate said before he killed Jesus.
We have rightly and thankfully reached a day and age when we are more careful to we speak of truth with a capital “T”, for the church has wielded this as a sword at times. However, Ephesians does not allow us to abandon our commitment to the truth. It implores us to put aside falsehood, the masquerading of one thing as another to take advantage of the weak or the vulnerable, the desperate or the gullible.
Carefully to be sure, we are called to speak. Silence, which is a good place to begin, a good place to find grounding and perspective, a good place to ensure we are listening, ultimately has to be broken. To stay silent in the face of wrongdoing is to be complicit with wrongdoing. That kind of silence is deafening, for it allows falsehood to go unchallenged.
I once attended a board meeting for an organization whose mission I loved and whose people I loved even more. It was a source of inspiration for me. The meetings were always congenial, with widespread agreement…until one time. The substance of the disagreement is irrelevant for our purposes here; it’s the way it played out that matters. It got heated. It got personal. Ultimatums were thrown out, lines in the sand drawn. At one point, one had to remove himself from the room. Another key person threatened to leave the organization.
Truth be told, I’m not sure how well we handled it, but I am increasingly convinced we were called into that place of conflict, to wrestle with an issue. Conflict is not a sign of failure. How it is managed determines degrees of success or failure. We who make vows in the Presbyterian church promise to uphold the peace, unity, and purity of the church. As you’ll notice, these stand in tension. To only focus on peace forgets our commitment to purity, and by “purity,” we just mean doing the right thing. To be strident or aggressive in doing what we believe is right runs the risk of upsetting the peace or unity of the body. Certain moments call for more emphasis on one—tabling an issue because it has become so hot it is tearing the community apart, or, on the other hand, not being afraid to tackle a difficult issue knowing it might make some people unhappy. Wisdom is know in what measure to attend to each in any given moment.
These commitments to peace, unity, and purity is what was on my mind as I sat in on portions of a discussion of immigration we had during the 11:15 education hour last Sunday, part of what will be an ongoing conversation in the church, in which we hope you participate in the various forms and forums. The topic at this forum was sanctuary congregations, a term which can be confusing because it is being used now more broadly than before, when it referred specifically to hiding undocumented persons from federal law enforcement. It seems to me the moment demands we consider what we will do, if anything, and whether we will act as a congregation or will provide resources for people to act as individuals. To avoid the conversation altogether I fear is to too conveniently wrap ourselves in the security blanket of peace, but as they say there is no true peace without justice. That’s not a threat; it’s a description of reality. An unjust peace is a condition rooted in falsehood.
Now, I have a confession. I like my church how I like my board meetings—congenial, refreshing, pleasant, unconflicted, inspirational, a break from the rest of the world and an escape. That’s important and you all deserve it. Everyone deserves it, but it can’t be all of what church is. In the end, Jesus wasn’t comfortably affixed to flowers. He was nailed to a cross. Well, actually, at the end he was raised from the grave, which is how it feels when God pulls you through a painful place. Not all of Jesus’ life was crucifixion and neither should following Jesus be evaluated solely on the basis of how much one suffers. The church has gotten that wrong sometimes too. I, for one, am glad we are a part of a tradition that doesn’t display Jesus on the cross. He did go there, but he didn’t spend his life there. Similarly, we are not called to suffer all the time for Christ, but we should be aware that following Christ will lead us to some painful moments. There are times when we have to “go there.” Why? Not because we are masochists, but because we love. We love the subject. We love the other as ourselves and so we enter a difficult space with them.
I was just introduced to a song by the Irish singer-songwriter, Van Morrison, who used to call Marin home. It’s from back in 1967 and it describes a vivid scene. It is of a man at the bedside of his lover who is dying the gruesome death of tuberculosis. The title of the song is derived from the haunting line “I can almost smell your TB sheets,” referring to the blood-soaked sheets that would accompany tuberculosis. Incidentally, I don’t think it was a chart-topper. Morrison probably had more commercial success with “Brown-Eyed Girl.” But, why have I been so captivated by that song since I first heard it, if it doesn’t touch something that is deeply true, that life brings us into these terribly difficult moments and we are, in part, measured by how we are in them?
How shall we be in those moments? A colleague of mine once reminded me that every birth begins with a bowl of water and some blood on the floor. It can be a birth, if we can learn to midwife the discomfort into something that resembles new life, the birth of an identity. Ephesians is a bit of a midwifery guide: “Be angry.” Don’t deny your feelings even the angry ones, just “do not let the sun go down on your anger.” Don’t let it take root in you and sow hatred. Don’t hate anyone. Be conscious of how you speak. “Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear.” Imagine if we could speak in ways that gave grace to those who heard, including, maybe especially, those with whom we disagree. Buber tells a story on himself in which he argues the other party into silence at which point he knows not that he was won, but that he has lost.
“Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice.” That’s a full drawer! Don’t be misled by the imagery. This is not a once and for all putting away; it is a daily, incremental, little by little practice that comes though the discipline of prayer. “[B]e kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.” Remember that, grace has already been shown us. Might we show it too? When we do all of these things, we will be nothing short of “imitators of God,” living “in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us,” as a “fragrant offering…to God.” Can we strive to be a fragrant offering not just to the world, but to each other? (Otherwise, we stink). All of this is captured in the image of the women who bring fragrant oils to anoint the presumed rotting body of Jesus. We get to participate in resurrection.
As the great preacher Lauren Halsey reminds us, putting ourselves in the difficult place of encountering the other can, in the end, grow our understanding. Rather than tear us apart, connect us more deeply. You just might be surprised to find out that in faith, we can withstand it.
Just like this old book…which still reads.
Amen.
Ephesians 3:14-21 - For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of God’s glory, God may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through God’s Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to God who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to God be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.
A Dwelling Place
I want to start by sharing a joy from my family. My sister had a baby last week! I have a new nephew named Cooper. She also has a son, Austin, who will be 3 years old in a couple months. I think the question that caused sleepless nights for both my sister and her husband throughout the pregnancy was, how will Austin respond to his new sibling? Austin is a major creature of habit. He loves his routines! As an example, my dad was recently with Austin at the park, and one of the things Austin likes to do is play with an empty yogurt container in the water feature. My dad handed Austin an empty yogurt container, but he would not use it. The reason? It was not a strawberry yogurt container. Unbeknownst to my dad, Austin only plays with empty strawberry yogurt containers.
This is a boy of routine, and a new baby means routines are going to be massively interrupted. What will Austin do when the baby arrives? Well, here are the pictures of Austin meeting his baby brother for the first time last Tuesday. (He has big smiles, and is full of hugs and kisses.)
Now, time will tell how well the brothers will really get along, but what an initial welcome into the family. Hi little brother, I’m so happy you are here! Welcome to the world!
I was thinking about these pictures as I read Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. In his letter, Paul prays that Christ may dwell in their hearts. What a beautiful image that is, the idea that Christ dwells in our hearts. I love the thought that Christ is dwelling in me. That comforts and uplifts me. However, I realize that I have a role in this as well. Do I welcome Christ into the dwelling place of my heart? Or do I fight him kicking and screaming? This is where I return to the images of my two nephews. Cooper is a part of the family now – there is no turning back. But Austin had a choice of how to welcome his new brother. He could have welcomed him with a temper tantrum, but instead he welcomed him with hugs and kisses.
Do we welcome Christ into the dwelling place of our hearts with a temper tantrum, or with hugs and kisses? Presbyterian pastor Karen Chakoian describes it like this – “Having Christ dwell in our hearts is akin to having a new person move into your household. If they’re just visiting, it is all rather easy; you simply offer hospitality or try to practice good manners. But if someone moves in to stay, everything changes. At first you might try to hold on to your familiar patterns and routines, and the new member may work hard to accommodate you and stay out of the way. But eventually they make their mark. Conversations change. Relationships realign. Responsibilities shift. So it is when Christ moves into the hearts of Christians. This isn’t merely tweaking old patterns; everything changes.”[i]
So what does this look like, when Christ moves in? In the very same sentence, Paul gives us an idea of what it means for Christ to dwell in our hearts – as that dwelling happens, says Paul we are “being rooted and grounded in love.” That, too, is a beautiful image. Think for a moment, what your life would look like if it truly was rooted and grounded in love. That means it is not rooted and grounded in fear. It is not rooted and grounded in hate. Or in self-preservation, or in achievement, or in grief, or in shame. Certainly all of those things are a part of life, but when we welcome Christ into the dwelling place of our hearts, our lives become rooted and grounded in love. Love is at the center of our relationships. Love is at the center of our decisions. Love is at the center of our conversations. Love is at the center of our actions.
As I think back over the last few days, weeks, or months of my life, it becomes quickly clear to me that I have not necessarily been living as rooted and grounded in love as I would like. I have made decisions out of fear rather than love. I have acted out of self-preservation in ways that have not been loving to others. I have said things that have been more filled with hate than with love. And this shows me that I have not yet made my heart the dwelling place for Christ that it could be. I have not welcomed Christ into my heart in a way that truly roots and grounds my life in love.
I think of the first Harry Potter book, where it describes Harry living with his aunt and uncle – the Dursleys. They clearly aren’t happy about their nephew being a part of their household, and they certainly do not welcome him into their family. Harry has to wear ill-fitting, hand-me-down clothes from their son, and work basically as their servant. They lavish gifts on their son, but offer nothing to Harry. And perhaps worst of all, his bedroom is a little cupboard under the stairs. The Dursleys make no effort to welcome Harry. They make no effort to change their lives or behaviors because of his presence with him.
And that is too bad. By not welcoming him, they miss out on the joy and love that Harry could have brought to their lives. They miss out on the relationships that could have been formed.
I think that is one of the reasons Paul writes this prayer. He doesn’t want the Ephesians – or us – to miss out on living a life rooted and grounded in Christ’s love. He wants us to know the breadth, length, height, and depth of that love. He wants us to be filled with all the fullness of God. He has experienced the joy and the grace and the hope of Christ dwelling in his heart, and he wants the same for everyone else.
For me, making my heart a dwelling place for Christ has two pieces – first, the realization, recognition, and acceptance that Christ actually wants to dwell in me. In me! In you! In each one of us. We are each chosen by God.
Author Anne Lamott shares a story in her book Traveling Mercies about going through a very difficult time in her life, and choosing to self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. She says she reached a point where she “could no longer imaging how God could love me.”
She then writes about a night following a particularly hard day when, she says, “I got in bed, shaky and sad and too wild to have another drink or take a sleeping pill. I had a cigarette and turned off the light. After a while, as I lay there, I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner. The feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one was there – of course, there wasn’t. But after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond any doubt that it was Jesus. I felt him as surely as I feel my dog lying nearby as I write this … just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love, and I squinched my eyes shut, but that didn’t help because that’s not what I was seeing him with.
“This experience spooked me badly, but I thought it was just an apparition. But then everywhere I went, I had the feeling that a little cat was following me, wanting me to reach down and pick it up, wanting me to open the door and let it in. But I knew what would happen: you let a cat in one time, give it a little milk, and then it stays forever. So I tried to keep one step ahead of it, slamming my houseboat door when I entered or left.
“One week later, when I went back to church, the last song was so deep and raw and pure. I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in it bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling – and it washed over me. I began to cry and left before the benediction, and I raced home and felt the little cat running along at my heels, and I walked down the dock under a sky as blue as one of God’s own dreams, and I opened the door to my houseboat, and I stood there a minute, and then I hung my head and I took a long deep breath and said out loud, ‘All right. You can come in.’”[ii]
That is certainly one way to welcome Christ into our hearts and lives! I’m guessing not all of us have had quite that memorable of an experience, though some of you probably have. But this experience of welcoming Christ in to dwell in our hearts is not just a one-time moment. It is a process of recognizing and realizing that God loves us and wants to dwell in us just as we are. Lamott writes about her continuing struggle to understand her belovedness. A full three years after her conversion experience, on the morning of her baptism, she called her pastor and told him, “I really don’t think I’m ready because I’m not good enough yet. Also, I am insane. My heart is good, but my insides have gone bad.” Her pastor then tells her, “You’re putting the cart before the horse!”[iii]
Christ longs to dwell in our hearts not because we are good enough or have proven ourselves, but because we are God’s beloved children. This is such good news, it is difficult to comprehend. Paul acknowledges that as he prays for us to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge – he wants us to know the unknowable. The love of Christ is beyond our knowing and understanding. We are simply called to accept and receive that love which we can never fully know.
The second piece of making my heart a dwelling place for Christ is allowing myself to be changed by his love. Christ is not a visitor in my life, but a permanent resident. This is hard work, and certainly not instantaneous. It took Lamott two years following her conversion experience to learn to love herself enough to make the effort to get sober. I like to think I have been welcoming Christ into my heart my entire life, and still I struggle to remain rooted and grounded in love. It is not easy to see our lives changed by Christ. Sometimes we really want to relegate him to the cupboard under the stairs. But here we can draw inspiration from the Psalmist who reminds us, “God upholds all who are falling, and raises up all who are bowed down. God is kind in all the God’s doings. God is near to all who call.” May we make our hearts a dwelling place for Christ and live rooted and grounded in love. And when we stumble, God will uphold us.
Another Presbyterian pastor, Tom Are, tells a story from his high school years. He says, “I was driving home from my part-time job selling shoes at a local mall. It was spitting rain, as it had all day. The way home required a ten-minute trip on the interstate. As quickly as these things always happen, two cars in front of me collided, resulting in a collection of swerving and braking, and a few horns honking. I ended up number three in a four-car pileup that brought the interstate to a halt. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Soon we were surrounded by flashing blue lights and officers with notepads. These were the days before cell phones, so I asked a police officer if I could walk down the exit ramp to a gas station and call my mother. I walked to the gas station and put a dime in the pay phone. She answered.
“’Mom,’ I said. That is all I said. I do not know how moms can tell, but with no more than one word, they can tell that trouble has come. She said, ‘Tell me where you are; I will be right there.’ I do not know what I expected her to say. Perhaps she would tell me to be more careful. Perhaps she would remind me of what was going to happen to my auto insurance. Perhaps she would rehearse how the weather conditions meant that I should have been driving more carefully. But it was not time for those conversations. She simply said, ‘Tell me where you are; I will be right there.’”[iv] God upholds all who are falling. God is near to all who call.
One of our tried and true church songs for kids is “Jesus Loves Me.” “Jesus loves me, this I know.” Do you know it? Do you know the breadth, length, height, and depth of Christ’s love? Do you know that when you call, God will be right there? According to Paul, this kind of love surpasses knowledge. But, whether or not we understand this amazing, radical love, let us welcome Christ into the dwelling place of our hearts, and let us lead lives that are rooted and grounded in love.
[i] Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 3, pg. 280.
[ii] Traveling Mercies, pg. 42, 49-50.
[iii] Ibid, 52.
[iv] Feasting on the Word, pg. 275-276.
One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished praying, his disciples said to him, Lord teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples. He said to them, when you pray, say
Father,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
Forgive us our sins,
for we also forgive everyone who sins against us.
And lead us not into temptation.
Note: the Maori version of the Lord’s Prayer from the New Zealand Prayer Book was also read.
A Prayer for Every Day
Let’s talk about prayer. And life. And food. I don’t know if you pray or in what way. I’m often surprised, when speaking with groups or individuals about prayer, how many pray or meditate in a consciously prayerful way. The Wednesday class this month is engaged in a series on prayer “out of the box,” with the intent of discovering the varieties of prayer--spoken, unspoken, long, short, in all kinds of situations. Prayers can have words of course, whether many or few. Sometimes no words at all get expressed, just feelings or yearnings, tears or joy. As I speak about prayer, consider what kind of prayer works best or most speaks to your soul.
For millennia the Lord’s Prayer has been a template for how to pray. You’ve heard and said it a million times. Last spring the Wednesday class spent four sessions on it, and engaged in quite fascinating discussions. I’d like to focus on these few words: “give us this day our daily bread.” Or as the Maori say: “with the bread we need for today, feed us.” It’s preceded by “your kingdom come,” and followed by “forgive us our sins.” What are some things we can learn from these few words of Jesus?
First, spirituality is intimately concerned with everyday life. Theologian Ellsworth Kalas says that a central element of Jewish spiritual wisdom is practicality. Jesus’ prayer is nothing if not practical. “Give us this day our daily bread” focuses on food, a core element of life, in an era when scarcity was often the norm. Jesus himself was nurtured by the Psalms, which often give thanks to God for supplying material needs. In the 23rd Psalm, for example, in the midst of the “valley of the shadow” we find these words, “you set a table before me.” Kalas points out that arguably 90% of life deals with trivialities--the granular, the humdrum, the little daily details, the concrete realities. We drive along the freeway of life making minor adjustments with the steering wheel, while keeping an eye on other drivers and looking at the ever-changing situation up ahead. We take our place among social groups at work, at church, or online or with friends or even at home, noting who speaks about what, and how, and considering whether and how to speak. In this and other arenas we make moment-to-moment about how to conduct ourselves. We have ongoing and ever changing needs. If spirituality and prayer does not deal with this 90%, Professor Kalas says, then what are we about?
In his book Sapiens, Yuval Harari says that from the Agricultural Revolution 10,000 years ago until modern times, scarcity for most of humankind has been the norm. The promise of increased abundance didn’t translate to actual abundance for the average person. Harari says that only recently has relative abundance begun to be true for most of humanity.
When we have relative abundance of food we go for more. For many centuries those with means held banquets as a way of showing off their well-being. French cuisine developed because of the desire by the aristocracy and the kings for new dishes to display at court. Historians know that much of European exploration in the 15th century was to gain direct access to spices from India and what is now Indonesia--spices that made food more interesting. Today think about all the cuisines available in the Bay Area. We define ourselves by what kind of food we eat. The farmers market is a great place to see the great array of foods that interest us. Or turn on a TV cooking show. The late Anthony Bourdain was beloved because he went everywhere and ate anything, with gusto. I need to be careful not to go on too long here, otherwise we’ll all just adjourn and have coffee.
So food is important even when there is enough. And there are times when it may be less available--and that’s not trivial. Ever wondered where your next meal was coming from; a time when it DID matter? A hot day when a drink of water is mighty welcome? That feeling when your blood sugar level drops? My wife can tell when we are hunting up a restaurant in a foreign city and its taking a too long and my blood sugar sags: I get cranky. Bring on the bread! And thank You God. But most of the time, thankfully, food and drink are there when we need them. We may pray less to God about our daily sustenance as a result. Jesus invites us to remember what we do have, and give thanks explicitly as well as implicitly.
So, practicality in prayer...food and being thankful. Another teaching is that prayer is about more than you or me; it’s about us. Jesus says “we.” There’s hidden hunger all around us of course: as much as one in four children in California are food insecure and need that meal at school. You may know the estimate that as much as 2 billion of the world’s population are chronically hungry. Our hot lunch program is a weekly reminder that right here in Marin people are worried about getting their daily bread. Or that person on the street corner with a sign. Jesus uses the word “our,” “our daily bread.” He emphasizes that we are embedded in a human community, all of whom need sustenance. Wellbeing is not just you and me or our families and friends, but extends to the society around us. As the poet John Donne says, we are not islands, each separated and alone, but are part of what he calls “the main.” So, practice praying and caring about the sustenance of others even as or if you may not feel a need to pray for your own.
Third, it’s OK at ask. We live in a time of human mastery, in which some folks feel it’s inappropriate to ask the Divine for anything. We have brains and hands and hearts, let us get on with making the world a better place including providing food and other necessaries to ourselves and others without bothering God. The Bible does say “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” But Jesus also teaches us in this prayer to ask: We are in relationship with God. God is not far but near; we can express whatever, including our needs, to God. Not our wants, our needs.
How might we keep this prayer relevant when we are not hungry or worried about our next meal? What can be the renewed meaning of “bread” for us? Jesus teaches that it’s not only OK to ask, but it’s OK to seek what provides deep security. Theologian Kalas suggests that a source of relevance is that we think of this as “the Prayer for Security.” Your security, my security.
Consider all we’ve done in so-called advanced societies to make ourselves feel more secure. We’ve accepted the rule of law—well mostly. We have things like medical coverage for very poor people, unemployment benefits, food stamps for the hungry--at least sort of. We have government agencies tasked with keeping our food supply safe, or seeing that our enemies do not subvert our freedom. We have police armed and patrolling so that we do not have to do so ourselves. And a military tasked with protecting us from foreign enemies. We recycle so as to put less in landfill and reduce plastic in the ocean. Yes I’m aware that all these areas are being disputed and views vary. In these and a lot of other ways we at least arguably strive for greater safety and security.
Now, a question: Given all of this societal effort, does not security seem to be elusive? How much do you worry about your safety or those whom you love or even those elsewhere when you hear about being in unsafe conditions? Recently when my wife and I went abroad, the phrase we heard most from friends was “travel safe.” Our society lives under a nagging low-level threat from terrorism and gun violence. We watch our for our children’s safety. In the midst of these concerns, Jesus puts his finger on where deepest security comes from: relationship. In the midst of our world as it is, in all its glory and difficulty, God is still present. In the details of life, in community, our church, family and friendships, in our soul-deep desire for secure relationship, in our need for enough, God is present. Thus this prayer “give us this day our daily bread” becomes more meaningful. Bread being the symbol of that which sustains us in our lives and keeps us fundamentally secure. Our security doesn’t really begin with actual bread, it begins with an orderly and sustaining world and planet, a Spirit that is intertwined with my life, your life, that lives in and around us.
In these few words, Jesus teaches us: Turn to God; ask God for that sense of fundamental connectedness and security that is otherwise so elusive. Requesting our Creator that we have the means and the sustenance to sustain our being is entirely right.
The Lords Prayer would not be a great prayer if it didn’t concern itself with the concrete concerns of every day. Life is great and beautiful and noble and wrenching and it is made up of thousands of common ordinary every day details. Life is driving in freeway traffic, a ringing telephone, a wrong number, email you need to send, spam to deal with, making plans for the weekend, health issues, concerns about security. Life is everything in which you are immersed. In the midst of that everything, do what you can. And at any time ask for what you need. Share your concern and your desire with our compassionate and present God.
Let me close by reading again the Maori version of the Lord’s Prayer.
Eternal Spirit,
Earth-maker, Pain bearer, Life-giver,
Source of all that is and that shall be,
Father and Mother of us all,
Loving God, in whom is heaven:
The hallowing of your name echo through the universe;
The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world;
Your heavenly will be done by all created beings;
Your commonwealth of peace and freedom
sustain our hope and come on earth.
With the bread we need for today, feed us.
In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us.
In times of temptation and test, strengthen us.
From trial too great to endure, spare us.
From the grip of all that is evil, free us.
For you reign in the glory of the power that is love,
now and forever.
Amen.
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
2I know a person in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven — whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows. 3And I know that such a person — whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows — 4was caught up into Paradise and heard things that are not to be told, that no mortal is permitted to repeat. 5On behalf of such a one I will boast, but on my own behalf I will not boast, except of my weaknesses. 6But if I wish to boast, I will not be a fool, for I will be speaking the truth. But I refrain from it, so that no one may think better of me than what is seen in me or heard from me, 7even considering the exceptional character of the revelations. Therefore, to keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given to me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated. 8Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, 9but he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. 10Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Weak
As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, recently my wife and I saw the film Won’t You Be My Neighbor. If you liked it, by the way, I heartily recommend another film titled, Mr. Rogers and Me. Rogers’ style of engaging with children through public television is well known even though his show has been off the air for years, but did you know how it all started? Early on, he delayed seminary—he was eventually ordained as a Presbyterian ministry—to work in this new medium called television because he thought it could be a powerful tool to build a relationship with children. He was disturbed that children’s programming available at the time, dominated by people throwing pies in each other’s faces, and laughing at people tripping down stairs. All of it he found demeaning. An important opportunity was being missed.
Mr. Rogers’ work began with utilizing free footage, but there was a weakness in this approach…literally. The film was often very thin and apt to break. They had to fill in the gaps with live scenes which they did largely through the use of puppets, and thus characters such as Daniel Striped Tiger who eventually populated the Neighborhood of Make Believe, the imaginary world connected to Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, were born.
It began with another weakness, Rogers’ own. He was a sickly child. He caught everything and thus spent a lot of time alone in bed. By necessity he learned to entertain himself, honing the art of storytelling.
Weakness, it’s where a greater strength enters in. That’s how we tend to preach this beautiful passage from Paul. We quote singer songwriter Leonard Cohen and say the cracks are where the light gets in, or we stay with Paul’s words which reminds us that God’s grace is sufficient, “for power is made perfect in weakness.”
The lesson is always the same, that weakness becomes the occasion for another kind of strength and there is much that is right and good about this:
- Our weakness can lead us to reach out for help, and we are reminded not only on our dependence on the Creator, but on creation, and our fellow creatures.
- Weakness can humble us and keep us from over assessing and over expressing our power.
- Weakness, or the failures to which we attribute to weakness, can cause us to reflect critically so we can grow and improve, strengthen if you will.
There is good news in Paul’s testimony about weakness, for it gives hope to all who feel weak. That weakness may provide room for God to enter in and do something beautiful, something meaningful, something stronger than the greatest strength you ever imagined.
It’s a wonderful message…and I have to admit there is also something that always bothers me it, at least when it is so casually thrown about. I don’t mind when people testify to the ways in which their weaknesses became openings for God to enter in. What a wonderful experience that must be. This is what Paul seems to be doing, describing what he calls a God-given thorn in the flesh. For Paul to testify about his own pain, and God’s appearance in it and working through it is fine, even inspirational. Paul is a powerful person—educated, male, an expert in Jewish law, and Roman citizen. Most importantly it’s his experience. For him to say, “I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, calamaties,” that’s one thing. Where it can go sideways is when we tell someone who is not powerful to relish in their weakness. There are many people whose weakness has left them feeling abandoned. Let us not allow our experiences of grace excuse or even justify conditions that keep some people weak and others strong. It’s awfully convenient, particularly for those in power, to tell others how great weakness is.
Grace is the gift, not weakness.
Paul is not a theologian of weakness; he is a theologian of gifts, God-given strengths. All throughout his writings, and those written in his name, are passages about the presence of spiritual gifts, diverse and varied gifts given to people. His guiding metaphor is of the body, each part with their particular ability and role. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the assessment tool “Strength Finders.” We have at least one certified expert in it in the congregation. As the name suggests, it’s a tool that helps people identify their strengths. It’s based on the premise that we actually spend far too much time working on our weaknesses, on which it is really difficult to make progress, when we could and should be leaning into our strengths. To me that’s good theology, because it’s a theology of gifts. It’s very Pauline. Among other things, it recognizes that the others are needed to round out the body, whether the body is a family, a workplace, a neighborhood, board, or community. We come together to complement each other.
Do we remember this in our faith lives? As you heard earlier, we just returned from a week at family camp at Zephyr Point, a Presbyterian retreat center on Lake Tahoe. It was a wonderful time. Among other things, the adults enjoyed an inspirational speaker who was living out his faith in very powerful even dangerous ways. He’d been to Pakistan, to Israel-Palestine, faced arrests and all kinds of threats. He’d experienced ostracism from members in his family who understood the call of Christianity differently. His talks really motivated people to get active in their faith.
There was something else, however, unintended of course. I got the sense from some discussion that not everyone was sure they could live out their faith that way and therefore wondered what work was theirs to do. It all begged the question of when someone is off getting arrested, who is at home taking care of the children, or what to do if you couldn’t risk your job to go to the border in protest because you had a family, maybe an extended family, to support. There has to be a place for everyone, within their skill set, season of life, and resources. It’s good to be stretched, and it’s good to remember you can be faithful right where you are with what you have. Both are true.
Hafiz, the great Sufi Muslim has this beautiful image. He says, “I am a hole in a flute that the Christ’s breath moves through. Listen to this music.” What is a flute, but an arrangement of strengths and weaknesses, solid pieces and holes, each necessary for the breath to flow through and make music. The holes must be of a certain size, a certain distance apart, to make the music, and so the question becomes not simply can we recognize our weaknesses as an opening—that’s well and good—but can we shape ourselves in such a way as to be an instrument for the Christ breath to flow through and make music? In this sense, both our weakness and our strengths become occasions for God to flow through and make music.
Mr. Rogers would have understood this. He studied music and composition in college. He would have understood, emptiness and fullness, note and rest, the give of a piano string and the strike of a hammer. I described his beginning to be one of weakness, and certainly his whole life was marked by gentleness, but that shouldn’t be taken for a lack of strength. He showed not only an incredible work ethic, attention to detail, and dedication to what he knew he was called to do, but also an enormous amount of moral courage. We forget that. There was a time when some whites didn’t think black children and white children should be swimming together and you can see footage of excess pool chemicals being dumped in pools to clear the African Americans out. What did Mr. Rogers do, but have an African American character—who he made a police officer, mind you, very intentionally confronting African Americans’ experience of police too—he had this man come by on a supposedly hot day, when Mr. Rogers was cooling his feet in a plastic kiddie pool. He invited the man to do the same, symbolically “swimming” together. It didn’t stop there. When the man was finished and started to dry off, Mr. Rogers offers to help and before you know it, if you have eyes to see, you recognize Mr. Rogers washing the feet of a black man—the Christ breath flowing through.
The very first week of Mr. Rogers, in 1968, Mr. Rogers penned an episode that had the puppet King Friday not like all the change that was happening around him. Upset at the change makers and how the way he was used to slipping away, what did he do? King Friday ordered a wall to be built around the kingdom. The people on the other side began floating messages of love and coexistence over the barrier—The Christ breath flowing through. The first week of the show. Somebody was teaching King Friday about Sunday.
If you know the show, you’ll remember that Mr. Rogers’ jingle was about neighborliness, the prophetic nature of which sinks in more all the time. He had two main messages: I like you just the way you are, and I want you to be my neighbor. Think of that. You don’t have to change to be my neighbor. I will relate to you as you are. It’s not about condoning everyone’s behavior. It’s about recognizing that relationship precedes transformation, and least the most likely and productive kinds of transformation. People grow the best when in loving, caring relationships. Neighborliness is not just the stuff of some children’s show theme song, it may be the defining theme and virtue of the Bible, if you listen to Walter Brueggemann, the preeminent Christian Old Testament Scholar. Brueggemann writes,
This vision of God is not a vision of accumulation and monopoly so that those who have the most when they die win. This vision of God's future is not about angels who have gone to heaven floating around in the sky with their loved ones. This vision, rather, is about God's kingdom coming on earth as it already is in heaven. God's rule where the practices of justice and mercy and kindness and peaceableness are every day the order of the day. It is a vision of the world as a peaceable neighborliness in which no one is under threat, no one is at risk, no one is in danger, because all are safe, all are valued, all are honored, all are cared for. And this community of peaceableness will come only when the vicious cycles of violent accumulation are broken.[1]
The question for us is can we muster enough strength and enough weakness to say to the other, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” Amen.
[1] Walter Brueggemann in Inscribing the Textby Anna Carter Florence.
Mark 4:35-41
35On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” 36And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. 37A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. 38But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” 39He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. 40He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” 41And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Fear vs. Faith
Why are you afraid? This is Jesus’ question. I have probably said in here before that the most common commandment in the Bible is not, “Love God,” or “Love your neighbor;” it is “Do not be afraid.” My experience is that it is a commandment easier given than received. Why are you afraid? Shall we count the reasons? Sit with someone from the community, as I have recently, who has just found out they will soon lose their spouse to disease, their spouse who is the wage-earner in their family, leaving her behind to take care of two children, and you will have the answer to that question. I spent a summer working in a university financial aid office and I’ll never forget the quivering voice of a woman said to me over the phone, “My husband used to handle all of this,” her husband who had died tragically. She had missed the deadline for the application for student aid, and once you miss that deadline there is nothing anyone can do. My wife and I saw the recent documentary about Mr. Rogers and I was reminded just how big the world is when you are a little person, how scary it is to navigate the everyday maneuvers we take for granted when we’re older. Put yourself back in middle school for a moment (if you dare!). Do you remember what it was like to walk across the room in front of your peers and expose yourself to 1,000 different judgments about what you’re wearing, about the body beneath your clothes and so many other things? We all have watched in horror as families fleeing terror come in search of asylum only to be detained, separated, drugged. My guess is you don’t need me to supply you with reasons to be afraid.
For the disciples, the answer is obvious, a storm is not only brewing, it has begun swamping the boat. Why would Jesus ask such a question? Is this a spiritual test? You can accept that interpretation. Many do, but I prefer a savior that doesn’t play mind games. What if there’s more going on here? What if Jesus isn’t testing their loyalty or faith as much as he is simply showing them honestly the storms they will face in the course of following him. It’s long stayed with me something our youth director, Jeff Shankle, once said, and I may have quoted it here before: whenever more and more people want to join in Jesus’ movement, when the crowds come, Jesus makes it harder not easier to follow. Is he an elitist, exclusionary, or does he simply want to open their eyes early to the storms they will face in the course of being faithful?
I’ve just begun Dan Rather’s What Unites Us: Reflections on Patriotism, and in it he tells a story of covering the Civil Rights movement early in his career. In covering activist Medgar Evers, Rather struck up a friendship with his subject. Rather’s pain then was personal when he received the call that Evers was murdered upon arriving home one day with his wife and children watching, watching on a day mind you when the usual law enforcement protection was mysteriously absent. His eyes were opened early.
Rather learned even younger that doing what was right sometimes meant doing what was scary. He spoke of his father taking him to a precinct meeting in his Texas town as a teenager in 1946. Usually an uncontroversial affair—everyone was from the same political party—something happened that night that hadn’t happened before. Four African Americans showed up, which was, of course, their right as citizens. At the precinct meeting, the process was that you voiced your support for something by standing at the appropriate time. Rather’s father leaned over to him, and alluding to the African Americans said, “When they get up, we get up.” They did and were the only white people to do so…”[1]
Sometimes the best way to move through our fears is to confront them face to face, for often the anticipation is worse than the actual experience or encounter. The first family funeral I remember attending was during my freshman year in high school. It was for my Uncle Bill, the man for whom in part our son Liam is named, Liam’s full name being William. After the graveside service, we were sitting in the car, tears still streaming down my cheek, and out of somewhere I just blurted out, “I’m not so afraid to die anymore.” Have you ever had such an experience? Where did that come from? Similarly, I remember sitting with Cena Bessolo, who was a regular at our Wednesday class. When she was dying, she spoke to me with a deep calm about what had been described to her and she was now experiencing as “the clear light of death,” when you’re face to face with dying and a certain serenity and fearlessness sets in. That clear light of death grants you great clarity, focus, and courage. You’ve let go and thus nothing can be taken away.
In his book, Resurrecting Jesus, spiritual teacher Adyshanti tells a story about the sacking of a town and a samurai warrior coming upon a Zen master sitting in the garden. The samurai raises his sword and says, “Do you not know that I could kill you right now? I could lop off your head.” The Zen master responds, “Do you not know that I could allow you to lop off my head right now? The samurai had never met anyone who didn't fear their own death raises his sword and says, “Look at how weak you are” to which the Zen master responds, “That is hell.” The samurai, astonished, confused even, puts the sword down and the Zen master responds, “and that is heaven.”
Jesus needs to know his followers can remain calm in the midst of the storm. A word about storms, about water—in the Bible they often are used to represent chaos. How does creation begin? God in the form of wind or divine breath sweeps down over the watery chaos, drawing forth order and life. Jesus, in his attempt to breathe a new creation, knows his followers will need to be able to stay above the chaos. This is from where we get this beautiful story in the Gospel of Matthew in which Jesus invites Peter to walk on the water with him. Peter’s eager attempt starts to sink, showing us just how difficult this is, yet Jesus does not let him drown, reaching out.
Jesus’ own hand is not the only help he gives his followers. He quite literally supplies them with a boatload of help, each other. One of the greatest shortcomings of Western Christianity is that almost everything has been reduced to a personal endeavor, an individual journey. Neither the biblical witness nor lived experience bears out the notion you can do it alone. I blame this on the clumsiness of the English language, which does not distinguish between the second person singular “you” and the plural, which is why it is helpful to go to seminary in the south, where in translating you can say “you” and “y’all.” In the Bible, it is almost always “you” a plural.
Forget individuals, try raising children with just a nuclear family, without hiring aspects of it out. You can’t do it, and yet we try and do virtually everything as individuals in our society. How much have we hindered our lives by relegating so much to the private realm, and how much richer might life be if we did more of it together? The famous hymn-writer John Bell talks about how when you join the Scottish Iona Community, you covenant to do things more in faithful community. In fact, each year, you share your finances with a small group where everybody considers together where and how you should spend your money, holding one another accountable to the gospel. Groups are mixed, with people making barely enough to survive the month matched with those who are by any standards wealthy. Wouldn’t you know the people who do this report it to be a blessing, not a curse.
Aside from money, we can support each other in our discipleship in all sorts of ways. Last week I went to spend a day with our middle school youth on their mission trip to Santa Cruz. By the way, our youth program is in very good hands. If you have not found a way in which you can be involved in our your ministry, I urge you to be in prayer about it. There’s a role for everyone to play, maybe not the same role, but a role. That was actually a recurring theme at the site where I worked on the mission trip. I was assigned to The Homeless Garden project, a 3/12 acre organic farm that provides job training and paid work to people who have experienced homelessness, as well as fresh healthy produce to those who need it most. They even supply gorgeous home-grown flowers to area hospices. Nothing is wasted.
Our day started with circle time. We walked in half-way through, when they were finishing up a teaching a teaching on being open-hearted—imagine how difficult it must be to be open-hearted when life has kicked you around so much. After we introduced ourselves, someone said it was time to do our stretches. I thought that sounded natural enough as we were about to do about 5 hours of farm work, yet there was no leader. We were to go around the circle and have everyone offer a stretch for the group. It was uncomfortable as a newcomer and I was glad to be at the end order, but then it struck me about half-way around the circle, as so many of The Homeless Garden Project’s practices did, this was meant to underscore that everybody was necessary to the health of the entire body. Everybody had something to contribute, some way of helping everyone else endure. Talk about a group of people who had survived storms, who knew something about taking on water. Jesus may have brought his disciples out on a boat into a storm, but he brought them together.
I could stop there, but I don’t believe this story is only about facing one’s fears, or recognizing the importance of community, as good as those lessons are. This story is also, perhaps first and foremost, about the power of Christ. Remember in the story, Jesus offers a powerful rebuke. It’s not of the disciples, though we often remember it that way. It is of the chaos itself. This is what prompts the disciples to ask, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” a question to which they know the answer before they finish asking it.
The breath of peace that Christ speaks is stronger than any storm, no matter how perilous a condition the ship seems to be in at the moment. In the middle of a storm, it is hard to believe in the calm that will follow, hard to trust. Yet, that is precisely what Christians are called to do, to hold onto the faith that we know what and who wins at the end of all of this.
I am in the middle of a documentary called, Beyond Our Differences, which features religious and human rights leaders from all over the world. There’s a poignant scene with Archbishop Desmond Tutu, great leader in the anti-Apartheid movement, great lover and follower of Jesus, reminding us adamantly that faith is about trusting that despite all appearances to the contrary there is a moral arc to the universe. We know where this goes. The Christian faith is a life lived leaning in conformity with that arc. Trusting in it is what gives us the strength to go on when it seems impossible to do so.
How likely did it seem to black South Africans in the middle of Apartheid that that storm would ever end? Apartheid, like slavery in this country, by the way, was also erroneously justified with Romans 13, this notion of obeying the authorities, of course totally taken out of context and perverted. This is, by the way, is part of the reason why progressive Christians need to remember to focus on their Christianity as much as their progressivism and part up their Bibles less someone pervert their Holy Scripture for misguided even evil purposes without an articulate and biblical counter.
The end of Apartheid seemed fated now, the partial victory of Civil Rights seems inevitable to us now, the fall of the Berlin Wall, but what about in the face of armed guards, man-made storms of firehoses? The calm after the storm always feels certain after the storm. What about in the midst of it? Faith is not the lie that there is nothing to fear. Faith is the assurance that there is more to trust.
Amen.
[1] Dan Rather and Elliot Kirschner, What Unites Us: Reflections on Patriotism, (Chapel Hill: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2017), 23.
A word before the second reading. Topics of a certain weight deserve some advance notice, and so I mention to you now that later in the sermon I will touch upon suicide. I mean to do so in a way that’s supportive, and I simply mention it to you now to give you a moment to be prepared if this is a particularly difficult subject for you…
1 Samuel 15:34-35
15:34Then Samuel went to Ramah; and Saul went up to his house in Gibeah of Saul. 35Samuel did not see Saul again until the day of his death, but Samuel grieved over Saul. And the LORD was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Three Words from God
That second reading was to be much longer, but I just couldn’t make it past that stunning last sentence: “And the LORD was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel” (1 Sam. 25). God was sorry!? This flies in the face of so much of what we grow up hearing about God—namely that God is perfect, all-controlling, unchanging. Of course, that version of the God we were taught doesn’t seem to square with human experience, unless we turn to contorted explanations of tragedy and injustice: We say there is a bigger plan we cannot fully see, that there is a reward awaiting those who are good. I think there’s some truth in this, though to people who suffer this can sound patronizing or cruel, hardly helpful.
What if I told you that this perfect God does not square with Holy Scripture, if you understand perfect as unchanging. This can blow the mind of a settled Christian. Ultimately, I think that’s for the better, but it makes it no less jarring. Don’t take my word for it, look up Genesis 18, when Abraham argues God down from exacting wrath or Exodus 32 when Moses did similarly. I once heard a rabbi describe God as someone you could watch grow up throughout the Hebrew Bible, changing, maturing, even having regrets. “And the LORD was sorry that the Lord had made Saul king over Israel.” Maybe therein lies God’s perfection, in the ability to reflect, to listen, to admit mistake, to learn, and therefore to change.
God, we tell each other, listens. In our prayers during the 8:30 service the petitioner always ends, “God in your grace,” to which we all respond, “You hear our prayers.” It’s a reminder that our prayers do go somewhere or to someone. It’s a reminder that our faith is not a solitary endeavor; it’s an active relationship. As with any relationship, it requires participation to the best of our ability if it is to bear fruit. It involves risk. Things don’t always go as we would like. Perhaps the reason the psalmist so fervently prays for protection is because he or she knows the protection doesn’t always come.
I don’t say this to tear down God. Quite the contrary, by offering a more honest, a more biblical rendering of God, I aim to tear down the curtain that sometimes divides us from God, the one that says God’s in charge and therefore nothing bad will happen. Soon that form of faith becomes apathy and un-involvement. Maybe God is in charge, but we definitively have a role to play. As Walter Brueggemann, the great Old Testament scholar, says sometimes in Scripture the people have to go so far as to wake God up, to appeal to God’s ego or honor into order to get God to live up to God’s end of the bargain! It may seem a ridiculous notion to us (or an less than comforting one), but it underscores that our participation matters.
This is less about downgrading God then upgrading the status of our relationship with God. It is a partnership that we have with God. With all due respect to the doctrine of sovereignty, God does not function as a dictator. Shane Claiborne evangelical and “Red Letter Christian” recounts a comic strip in which one person asks another why God allows all this poverty, war, and suffering to exist. The second says to the first, “Well, why don’t you ask?” The first simply shakes his head and says, “I’m scared God will ask me the same question.”[1]
The question becomes more vital, then, not just what are we willing to do, but how much are we willing that connection, to actively work with God, Spirit—choose your word. Like any relationship, each side will bless the other—think of that, what a thought that we have the ability to bless God, and we do! And, the actions or inactions of each will disappoint the other, and I think we know that to be true too. The question is how committed we are to the relationship. Do you know how I know God is committed to the relationship? Because God doesn’t say, “I told you so!” with respect to giving the people a king, though God could have. Real relationship isn’t about blame. God says, “I’m sorry.” It’s the language of compassion. Anyone who won’t say they are sorry isn’t committed to you, because they don’t care enough to tend the relationship.
God is sorry because the world God so loves hurts. And this opens the door for us to hear that God might be sorry for other things too. Otherwise we are the ones who must always be sorry, sorry for not being good enough, or strong enough, or righteous enough. There is plenty of room for confession—for truth telling about ourselves and our communities—for repentance—for turning and getting back on a right path—for improving ourselves and our societies, but perhaps the church’s only gift to the world cannot be to tell everyone how bad they are. It must also have something to offer in how to cope with the suffering that life presents.
Which brings us to the topic at hand, suicide, an issue that has touched or will touch probably everyone in this room. I have known a number of people who have taken their own life, and it’s not because of the job I do. As you know by now, I spent my college summers as a camp counselor. Between two summers once I lost 3 kids to suicide. I was working with 11 and 12 year olds, all wealthy white boys. IF we think they have no pain, we’ve totally lost touch.
The church’s first word in this used to be sin, calling the act itself of taking one’s life a mortal sin. This misguided teaching was, I suppose, meant to encourage people to uphold the sanctity of life, though I don’t think we do that by threatening people with eternal damnation. While we’ve thankfully gotten past this, most of us, what lingers is a sense that those who are left behind have somehow sinned. The church doesn’t say that, and many wouldn’t articulate it that way, but it comes out when people voice those understandable but impossible questions, “Why didn’t I see this coming? Why wasn’t I able to stop it?” On one level or another, we hear blame, which isn’t the voice of God, when instead we should hear compassion. What if instead of hearing God as planting those questions in us, we were able to hear God saying instead, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
We are coming off two high-profile suicides, designer Kate Spade and chef and TV icon Anthony Bourdain. I mention because they give us the occasion for talking about suicide, because suicide rates spike in the aftermath of celebrity suicides, and because on some level we feel connected to these kinds of people and therefore it touches us when they are taken from us by a pain we didn’t fully recognize was there. Please don’t take their air time here as incentive for seeking similar air time through such an act. If their level of pain is yours, you need help, and I beg you to see one of us after the service. I will help you; I won’t preach about you.
I cannot pretend to know as much about Spade as Bourdain, though the poignancy of creating beauty even in the midst of pain is not lost on me.
As for Bourdain, it is hard for some of us who watched him seem to suck the marrow not only out of some exotic dish, but out of life itself, to understand how the life could be so sucked out of him to the extent he could no longer bear it.
I think Bourdain’s life is instructive, not for how he ended it, but for how he endeavored to live it. If you haven’t seen the show, “Parts Unknown,” it features Bourdain, former high-end chef and sort of rock star of the culinary scene in New York, traveling to all parts of the world, not to eat in the finest of dining establishments, but to experience the tastes of street food, and the company of the people who prepare it and who eat it. There’s something magical that happens between when people come together over food—all kinds of barriers are broken.
Eating and drinking are such vulnerable things. In a literal sense, when we do these things, we open a passageway from our inside to the outside world. To be painfully obvious, we need to eat and drink to live, and so when we break bread with another, we are trusting each other with our vulnerabilities, acknowledging our common creatureliness. It is why eating and drinking rituals are at the center of every religious tradition. Of all the tributes to Bourdain since his death last week, the one that has touched me the most is the one that said, “He taught us that other people are not to be feared.” In this day and age, could there be any more prophetic message, this era in which people are profiting by making us afraid of others? Bourdain would sit with anyone, people from very different nationalities, different cultures, different religions, with very different beliefs or practices, the difference in cuisine becoming symbol for so many of the differences we carry, and yet his willingness, eager, joyful willingness, to take what was theirs and take it inside his body was an embodied sign of trust. It was an invitation to relationship, or better yet it was the acceptance of a relationship request. These meals weave themselves together to tell a very different story about the people of the world, about strangers, about foreigners.
What was amazing was Bourdain never seemed to carry any judgment into these encounters, content to have the experience and hear what someone else had to say. He appeared genuinely interested to hear their stories, their experiences and take them at face value. In these senses, his way of being was very reminiscent of Christ, who was himself judged for those with whom he ate, those whose circumstances he chose to understand and as a result whose choices he often forgave, and whose partnership in trying to be healers in the world he always accepted. Isn’t that what our faith should look like? Our faith is not in that which cannot be changed, but in the One who is perfected through relationship and change, through reflection and growth, through at the core of it all, compassion.
I gather that God, like all those who loved her, is then sorry Kate Spade hurt so much she took her own life and sorry Bourdain did too.
I suppose if I had asked you at the outset what the three most powerful words God says to us are many would have said, “I love you,” but maybe on some days it’s “I am sorry,” and to make up for lost time and lost occasions, here are a few more, take it as a prayer from God to you:
I’m sorry that you have lost your loved one, and that I didn’t do more and as a result you feel as though you should have. I’m sorry for when you lost your favorite toy as a child and you didn’t feel as though your parent did enough to find it. I’m sorry that you didn’t get into the school you wanted a little later, that you lost that job. I’m so sorry about the time your pet died. It’s not silly. I’m sorry your friend betrayed you, people in power abused it. I’m sorry for that time when you got up there to give it your best and you sat down feeling embarrassed and that you had failed. I’m sorry that your kids turned to drugs, struggled with mental illness, struggled in general, or didn’t launch the way you had envisioned. I’m sorry you weren’t treated equally because of who I made you to be, who you love. I’m sorry for the gangs which rule the streets in South America, and the children are in cages in the United States of America. I’m sorry that your job takes you away from your children, and you feel so helpless about it. I’m sorry he or she isn’t what you had hoped for. I’m sorry that you don’t have the she or he or they in your life, if you’d like one. I’m sorry that you’re afraid and for the good reasons you have for it.
And, not but, and those three other more familiar words I want you to know I love you. I am growing too, and I am sending you my angels, indeed in many cases I already have. Look around you, you can catch glimpses of them from time to time. Some are sitting by you right now. Some of you are them. In this world too hard to understand there is a way. I have shown you it in Jesus. He came that I might be in closer reach, that you might learn from him and work for good in this world. Jesus, my child, died young. You, my child, don’t have to. You were meant to have life and have it abundantly, so have it, have it and share it, work that others might have it too. I am here, keep calling, keep calling, keep calling….Amen.
[1] Shane Claiborne, The Irresistible Revolution: Life as an Ordinary Radical, 65.
2 Corinthians 4:5-12
5For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. 6For it is the God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
7But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. 8We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; 10always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies. 11For while we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh. 12So death is at work in us, but life in you. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD. Amen.
Rowdy Vessels
Seasons of traveling soccer and I can still name the towns in central and southern Indiana where I played growing up. For some reason I can only remember one team name, the Rowdies from Noblesville. Noblesville may be been an unfamiliar name to you a few weeks ago. Then one week after the shooting in a Santa Fe school, Noblesville was home to a school shooting.
Since I had a child later than most, it’s conceivable I played against some of the parents of those kids from Noblesville West middle school.
Add this shooting to the frustratingly long list of shootings and add them all to the list of intractable issues on which it seems difficult to make progress: Refugees fleeing death at home being denied entry to safer places, migrants in similar positions being separated from their children at the border, the persistent march toward the wasting of the earth, mass incarceration, unhealed racism, sexual abuse, and I haven’t even touched on many of the personal issues that understandably may occupy most of your mind and energy in the course of your everyday life. The list surely isn’t exhaustive, though it is exhausting.
It’s easy to feel powerless in the face of what seems unchangeable and tragedy that seems inevitable. One of the most disturbing comments after the Santa Fe school shooting was made by student Paige Curry when she was asked by a reporter if she was surprised this happened in her school. Her response was, “No…It’s been happening everywhere, I’ve always kind of felt that eventually it would happen here, too.”[1] Nelson Mandela famously said, “There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children.”[2] We have not treated them well, when they tell us that when they go to school they expect to be shot. My son will go to kindergarten this fall, and I wonder how soon he will experience his first “active shooter drill,” in which I’m now told kids are taught to throw staplers and books at the shooter to create enough distraction to allow more kids to get away.
There are some who would like us to raise Teflon. The Apostle Paul would beg to differ. He provides a far more fragile and accurate, and beautiful for that matter, image for human life. Paul says that we are “clay jars,” and that sounds about right. The imagery is often assumed to refer to ceramic lamps, which carry the light of Christ. That may not be the only image at work here. Biblical archeologist Mark Wilson argues that the clay pots to which Paul refers may instead have been treasure hoards, pots filled with coins. Too much treasure has been spilled.
Here’s what’s stunning about so much of this violence, so much of it emanates from guns unsecured in the home. In one study where there was data available about where the guns used in school shootings came from, some 75% came from the home. [3] There are those who have begun to talk about these incidents as “family fire,” borrowing from the military concept of “friendly fire.” Friendly fire is when you accidentally kill or wound some of your own. They call it doing the enemy’s work for them. As one person put it, when there’s a friendly fire incident in the military, so much as it is possible everything stops and every link in the chain is evaluated so changes can be made to prevent it from happening again. With family fire, we curiously seem to change nothing, maybe in a spiritual sense doing the “enemy’s” work for him.
If we think it won’t happen here, I fear we’re simply living in denial. Someone came up to me after the early service this morning who said they were an ER physician at Columbine. A year later as they were speaking about the experience someone came up to them and said it was nice they were speaking, but, “it would never happen again.” Look at the demographics of the schools where these shootings have occurred and then look at Marin. Many of these communities look a lot like ours. As our youth director has said to me, if it’s going to happen around here, it’s probably going to happen here. The good news is, we can stop it, or we can drastically reduce the odds. We can end family fire, drastically reducing the availability of weapons to those who should not have them for purpose that have no place.
You see Jesus has an important teaching for us, that we need to be shrewd, creative, like a fox. While the legislative battles remain deadlocked, we can work around the obstacles, being creative and finding ground. We’re told that there is no common ground, but there is actually a significant amount of agreement on this on a number of fronts. What if we as a church got creative and changed the conversation? My guess is Marin gunowners, and we have them here, don’t like to reveal themselves for fear of chastisement. What if we gave them a safe space, where they could share why they have a gun, whether they’re hunters, they shoot for sport, or for some other reason. What if we promised not to challenge them, or judge them, or even respond, but rather promised just to listen. Maybe some of us would learn something new and have some stereotypes broken. Then together, we could all celebrate a covenant and pledge that if we have guns in the home we will secure them under lock and key. I know we are a divided people – some people wanted to “Lock her up!” and now some want to “Lock him up!” What if we focused on the guns and said we should “Lock them up!” That’s a chant on which we can agree, and it will save lives. Someone else from the first service, a gun owner already said they would come forward and share and someone else still said they’d provide food and help raise money to purchase locks!
This is a real possibility and it’s our responsibility if we are to worship a God of life. One of the rooms we hope to get out of this capital campaign and renovation is a much-needed classroom for a new children’s program we’re starting, Sacred Stories. In this program, we invite the children into the biblical story and make them feel save in God’s care. How can we tell them about God’s safety here, however, if we don’t take the steps to make them safe out there?
Paul writes that we carry the death of Jesus around in our bodies, and we feel that, don’t we? The scars of our world are not distant, though maybe closer to some than others. Paul also says that we the life of Jesus should be visible in us too, the light of Christ, the treasure of Christ. We are not meant to be pots on a shelf, gathering up dust. Maybe we are meant to be rowdy vessels, shaking things up, creating a little holy unrest and carrying the life of Christ into the world. This is a resurrection life, a life that came back from the dead. In raising money, we are not trying to build a museum to someone whose dead and gone, but to someone who was dead and came back and promises to come back again!
Oh, I know we sophisticated folk scoff at traditions that hold to the promise of the second coming of Christ, but it is one of the tenets of the faith, however mysteriously it will look or we understand it. We are taught to pray for it. Aside from the final greeting, the very last words of the Bible are, “Come, Lord Jesus!” (Rev. 22:20). It’s not a prayer about escaping the world, getting to heaven; it’s a prayer for God to reenter the world again in a special way and make things right, bringing heaven right here.
So when is that going to happen? As we’ll sing in our closing hymn, “soon and very soon.” It’s not a description of linear time; it’s a conviction, “soon and very soon!” We don’t just wait for it to happen, we help make the way for it to happen! When are things are finally going to turn? Soon and very soon!
How can we feel helpless when we have the strongest most creative force the universe has ever known, the very force that created the universe? As Christians we proclaim that the universe was created out of an overflowing of love.[4] The royal wedding, which I know you watched, was good for more than just silly hats. In that church there was testimony to the strength of what we all carry around in these clay pots. Bishop Michael Curry reminded us, “There’s power in love. Don’t underestimate it. Don’t even over-sentimentalize it. There’s power, power in love.”
That kind of power is what fuels us to say:
-Soon and very soon we will we stop the senseless killing because we are slaves to dollars rather than public servants. When? Soon and very soon!
-Soon and very soon we will realize that forcing people into the desert to cross our border so they die or separating children from parents isn’t the way of the cross or the family of faith. Those are Democratic and Republican polices respectively, so on this issue, to borrow a phrase from Brian McLaren, these are two wings of the wrong bird. When will we take flight on different wings? Soon and very soon!
-Soon and very soon we will stop cooking this earth, as we realize God’s got something cooking for us in the way of more faithful relationship with the land, the sea, and the air, knowing the poor will pay the largest price if we don’t? When? Soon and very soon!
-Soon and very soon, we will open our eyes fully to the plight of those who are not white, and the poor who are, all those who have been exploited and abused, those who have been and are disproportionately imprisoned, who cannot find work, whose first question when they get sick is not will I get better but can I afford to go to the doctor? When? Soon and very soon.
-Soon and very soon we won’t simply sit their with jaws on the floor at the stories of Me Too women and some men too. We will pick our jaws off the ground and systematically change the way it is in the workplace and so many places. When? Soon and very soon!
Soon and very very soon, you’ll be invited to this table where we break bread and pour the cup, where we remember what Jesus did and what God promises to do! When? How about now??
So, come, bring your treasures and your light, you’re about to see the king and the kingdom come. Amen.
[1] https://www.cnn.com/2018/05/18/us/student-on-texas-school-shooting/index.html
[2] http://www.nelsonmandelachildrensfund.com/news/nelson-mandela-quotes-about-children
[3] file:///C:/Users/rob/AppData/Local/Microsoft/Windows/Temporary%20Internet%20Files/Content.Outlook/6PMOZ5P1/Most%20Guns%20Used%20in%20School%20Shootings%20Come%20From%20Home%20-%20WSJ.pdf
[4] See Jonathan Edwards (yes, that Jonathan Edwards) on God’s “disposition in general, or a disposition in the fullness of the divinity of the divinity to flow out and diffuse itself.”
Isaiah 6:1-8
1In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3And one called to another and said:
“Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts;
the whole earth is full of his glory.”
4The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. 5And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”
6Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 8Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!” THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Equipped & Clipped
Every time I hear that children’s song, “The Wheels on the Bus” I am instantly transported back to a vacation my family took to the beach. I can still recall the exact rental car we drove, the feel of towels we’d pinned to the seats to protect them, the sand shuffling floor beneath our sandals, and the smell of sunblock and warm ocean air. Some memories are vivid, multisensory.
Today’s passage belongs to what’s known as the “memoir section” of Isaiah,[1] and in it he places us right in the scene with six-winged seraphs, smoke and song, and the hem of the robe of the Lord filling the temple. This is no beach vacation. This is a call story, when someone somehow hears the voice of God, the leading of the Spirit, though that may happen in all sorts of settings. Perhaps it’s happened to you.
When we retell Isaiah’s story, we tend to focus on his faithful response, “Here I am; send me!” We encourage people to likewise answer that call and yet in doing so we often leave out a critical and empowering part. Isaiah doesn’t just sense a call, drop everything, and then go. He hears the call, expresses what he needs, God equips him, and then he goes. Today I am not as interested in the particularity of his need, his sense of unworthiness, his “unclean lips.” That’s enough for a whole sermon series. Today, I am more focused on the fact that God meets Isaiah where he needs it, touching a coal to his lips. There’s no account that it hurts Isaiah—he’s neither punished nor judged for his need.
We should be careful here. I don’t like the notion that God only gives us what we can handle. That’s flawed theology. I love, however, the notion that when God calls us to our vocation, to our work—I don’t mean what we do for money—when God calls us to our work, God equips us with the tools, partners, and creativity we need to offer what the world needs and our soul loves to give. It is the polar opposite orientation from than the scarcity model which dominates our society, that drives our unsustainable economy and frankly our unsustainable daily lives, telling us constantly that we are not enough that we do not have enough. If that system worked, we wouldn’t be so riddled with inequality, anxiety, and sheer exhaustion. In God’s economy, by contrast, people have what they need and in response you freely give to bless the world.
It can be hard to know what your vocation is, your work, your calling. One way to discover it is first look at your gifts and passions and then work backwards. I heard an interview with a man named Ben Lecomte this week, a good swimmer who decided to use his gift of swimming to benefit the world. Good swimmer may be an understatement because he will soon embark on a swim…from Tokyo to San Francisco, across the Pacific. He’s already did the Atlantic years ago. It’s not only a feat of endurance, it is a chance to bring attention to a research project in which scientists alongside him will be taking measurements of microplastics and contaminants such as radioactive cesium in the ocean. [2] Why not just used boats and skip the swim? As the Rev. Jan Reynolds said recently in an organizing committee meeting, there is something powerful and prophetic about where you put your body in raising awareness, in making a statement, in standing up for God’s reign.
That’s an extreme example, but there are opportunities all around us, if we trust our gifts and are a little creative about applying them. Take Erin Elliot, for example, member of this congregation. Part of Erin’s work is teaching yoga. For much of the year, she has offered classes here at the church on a donation basis, helping us connect our breath to our bodies. I see it as embodied prayer. Erin has not only shared her gift of teaching with the congregation, she donated half the proceeds to the church, first to the Legacy Fund, our endowment, and now this spring to the capital campaign. Taking our gifts, doing the work we love, and using it to bless the world, that’s calling.
Thinking of the capital campaign, I promised last week I would talk about Westminster, a Westminster Presbyterian in Minneapolis which has just successfully completed a $80 million campaign. It’s nice to put things into perspective. They’re 6 or 7 times our size, yet their goal was over 28 times ours. I’m not interested in talking about dollar amounts as much as how that church has creatively responded to their complex setting in these complex times to be faithful with what they have. As with all urban churches, for Westminster access to their building is critical, and a couple years ago Westminster’s sweetheart parking deal with the city was about to expire. Properties adjacent to the building became available and leaders in the congregation immediately stepped up to initiate a process to acquire them, but it came with a challenge, a human one, a gospel one, not only a financial one. One of these properties was run by a slum lord, and as run down as it was the church recognized it was home to 60 families. The law would have required the church to provide only 30 days eviction notice. That’s law; it’s not gospel. The gospel compelled the church to promise to work with each family individually to find a suitable relocation. It took 6 months, but they were able to place families in more desirable situations, ones than the families previously couldn’t get into. In addition, the church raised enough money to give the families considerable cash payouts to jump start their new lives.
That’s not all. Between this campaign and their previous campaign, held in the early 2000s, (most churches do these campaigns regularly) Westminster will have built over 160 affordable housing units in Minneapolis. They are able to do this because they always do what they call a “double tithe,” dedicating 20% of any fund raising for mission, serving others. They see their space not just as their space, but a gift that can be shared as well. As you may know, Minneapolis is home to a large Somali population. What you may not know—I didn’t—is that there are disproportionate levels of autism in this population. Services for them were all out in the suburbs, not easily accessible by public transportation. Now, they reside in the heart of the city, at Westminster, where the church also leases at an affordable rate, space for senior services and a counseling center.
This is creative response to God’s calling, one that trusts God has and will equip the called for the calling. As Paul puts it in Romans, you were not given “a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear,” you are led by the Spirit of God, a liberating spirit, a generous spirit. You are not on your own; you have been adopted as God’s own children (Rom. 8:14-15).
The equipment for the calling can take a while to materialize. Trusting in the calling takes some perseverance. Lisa Ann McKenzie is a barber, and she faced a challenge in cutting one of her client’s hair. His name was Jordie, and the challenge was no fault of his own. Ten years old, Jordie has autism and so the sounds and the stimulation of the scissors on his hair were upsetting in a way many of us can probably only imagine. They tried walking around. They tried lying on the floor. She even went to his house, but every time they got a few clips in Jordie would get so agitated McKenzie had to stop.
She felt like a failure. That didn’t deter her. She had this sense she was meant to cut this child’s hair. Calling. McKenzie started to invite Jordie and his family in after hours, to see if a calmer environment might help, for which her boss chastised her—not everyone is going to cooperate with calling. Undeterred, McKenzie left the shop and opened one of her own, stepping out in faith. Every two weeks for eight months she tried to cut Jordie’s hair with little luck. She never charged them the full price because they could never accomplish a full cut. Finally, almost without thinking, in yet another attempt to calm Jordie down, McKenzie started singing nursery rhymes and children’s songs. She had no idea Jordie was into them, but he just looked at her mesmerized, totally calm, and allowed her to cut his hair, receiving his first full haircut ever. She listened contentedly as McKenzie clipped and sang, “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round…” Now, McKenzie is known for working well with children who live with autism, and she even devotes entire days in her shop just for them.
Don’t miss the calling because you don’t trust you are equipped to answer it, because we don’t believe we are equipped. Friends, the Spirit is moving, round and round, round and round…all through the town. Amen.
[1] The New Interpreter’s Bible, 99.
[2] To read more about this swim and Lecomte, see https://www.newsdeeply.com/oceans/articles/2018/04/23/the-man-swimming-across-the-pacific-ocean-for-science
1The hand of the Lord came upon me, and the Lord brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2The Lord led me all round them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. 3The Lord said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” 4Then the Lord said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. 5Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. 6I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.“
7So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. 8I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. 9Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” 10I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Hold On
Hold on, it’s Pentecost, when the Spirit comes through like a rush of wind. It’s also the day we celebrate our graduates, which must feel like a whirlwind to some of you. I imagine to some of you it seems like yesterday that these or other graduates in your life were clinging to the legs of their parents riding around on top of their shoes with each adult step. Now they are ready to walk across a stage all on their own.
Graduation is such an exciting time. I have come to love the genre of the commencement address. There is David Foster Wallace’s famous “This is Water” given at Kenyon College. There’s Barbara Bush’s address at Wellesley pushes the feminist envelope to make room for all choices about what it means to be a woman. Then, there’s my personal favorite, Alan Alda’s speech given to graduating medical students at Columbia in 1979. Alda, who was not a doctor, but played one on TV, has a surprisingly timely critique around gender equality himself. You can find lists of the most famous addresses, from Ellen Degeneres to Steve Jobs, J.K. Rowling to Stephen Colbert, Bono, Jeff Bezos, Michelle Obama. The list goes on and on…
Many commencement addresses are wonderful…and many of them trouble me, or at least contain a troubling thread. We say to our young, “You are the future,” when they, in fact, are part of the present, just as we all are part of the present. Nothing is promised for the future and living a life that defers actualization is no way to live. To hand over the entire future to a single generation, to pass the world on to them in one fell swoop, well what a loaded gift. Here you go; it’s kind of broken, but it’s yours now!
We tell them they can save it. They can save the world. What a setup, an unfair burden. Here we are Christians, so we can trust that the world has already been saved. We can release ourselves from any messianic complexes we carry, the desire to be savior. We’d be better to learn to follow the one we have. A lot of damage has been done by people trying to be great; what about striving instead to be good? Jesus’ life was largely comprised of small moments that became great because of the sacred presence he brought to them. He was not afraid to be touched by people, affected by peoples’ stories and suffering. He was not afraid to reach out to those others deemed untouchable. Jesus didn’t go around talking about his greatness; he spent his time telling the truth, about the sacredness of all things and all people. He told the truth about and to systems—religious, political, and economic—that preyed upon the vulnerable. He was about goodness, not greatness. That’s our work, not our job. We tell our graduates to go and get the right job, yet our work is much deeper than what’s tied to our paycheck, if we have one.
And our work isn’t first about doing. Did you notice how Jesus sends out his disciples, his students, when their early training is complete, after their graduation of sorts? You can read about it in Luke, the first part of Acts, which you heard earlier. He sends them out two by two, never alone, and not to bring the kingdom of God, the reign of God, but to experience it, to experience first-hand hospitality. He wants them to know it is already at work in the world, to know how to recognize it and participate in it, lest they make the mistake of thinking they need to, or even can, import it.
I would want to say to graduates, “You are a part of something beautiful and diverse and there is a special place in it for exactly what you have and who are, knowing that you will continue to grow.” I would draw on the Apostle Paul who reminds us that we are members of a shared body, in need of each other and each another’s gifts in order to function well. I would draw on who may be our patron saint John Muir, who reminds us of our fundamental connectedness saying, “When we try pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.”[1]
I would ask our graduates if we can come together to recognize this. It’s been done before. Today is Pentecost, when we remember a sacred moment that it happened. Just when the world felt as though it was coming apart yet again, it came together. People from across the globe, from different nations, carrying different customs, certainly speaking different languages, all came together, and the miracle that took place, symbolized in wind and tongues of fire, was that the people were able to understand each other. They understood one another without forcing one another to change or to speak the same language. Pentecost is often seen as the birthday of the church and isn’t it a gift that our birthright is not the ability to conquer; it is the ability to connect. That is a gift worth honoring.
I would ask our graduates if that feels like our world, a connected body, or does our world feel broken, severed, disjointed? Are we one living body or are we a pile of old bones. Of course, in any given moment and setting we are combinations of both, but if you lean toward the latter, then listen to the prophet Ezekiel who said, “prophecy to the bones…prophecy to the breath,” which is the wind, which is God, say to God, come upon that which is dead and bring it back to life. Can these bones live? If we say so, literally, if we say so. In a few weeks I’m preaching at Zephyr Point, a Presbyterian Conference Center in Tahoe. The passage I’ve been given is where Jesus’ disciples are not welcomed. The disciples in their eagerness ask Jesus, “Lord, do you want us to call down fire from heaven and consume them?” No, children, don’t speak death. Speak words of life. Prophecy to the breath that you want to call forth life. No more consuming each other.
To learn to do this, to practice this, one needs community. It can’t be done alone, and so I would say to those graduating today, please don’t let yourself graduate from the need for a faith community. Yes, explore. Yes, question. Yes, branch out…but remember where you’re rooted and graft yourself onto a vine that bears fruit by finding a faith community that helps you navigate this complicated world in these complex times. You’re going to need the connection, and you will be the connection that someone else needs. That’s what it means to be human.
Now, I’ve played a trick on you with the bulletin cover, and those complimentary words about how Westminster is a church living faithfully in a complex world. I believe that deeply about you, but they were actually uttered about a Westminster Presbyterian in Minneapolis (we’re all connected!). Next week I am going to tell you about how this church has endeavored to live faithfully in its complex setting. This week I simply want to tell you a little about its pastor, Tim Hart-Andersen, who used to pastor the Old First Church in San Francisco. I want to tell you about his first memories of church because it provides a powerful image for us.
Tim’s father was a pastor, a giant man, 6’6”, (about like me) with size 17 shoes. At the end of the service, when his father would come down to give the benediction and blessing, Tim, maybe 3 or 4 years old and his sibling, would get out of their seat, come forward, crawl under his father’s robe and plant himself on the platforms of those size 17 shoes, wrapping their arms around his legs. There they would stay during the blessing and as his dad recessed down the aisle and greeted members after church.
My word for the graduates for now and for all times –of course, you are never too young to make your own bold steps and do something good for the world. And, you are never too old to lift up the hem of the robe, to crawl inside to find that firm footing, wrap your arms around and hold on for dear life, for no matter your age, no matter how far you wander, you are never ever ever all on your own. Amen.
[1] https://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/writings/misquotes.aspx
Acts 1: 15-26
15 In those days Peter stood up among the believers (together the crowd numbered about one hundred and twenty people) and said, 16‘Friends, the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit through David foretold concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus— 17for he was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry.’ 18(Now this man acquired a field with the reward of his wickedness; and falling headlong, he burst open in the middle and all his bowels gushed out. 19This became known to all the residents of Jerusalem, so that the field was called in their language Hakeldama, that is, Field of Blood.) 20‘For it is written in the book of Psalms,
“Let his homestead become desolate, and let there be no one to live in it”; and “Let another take his position of overseer.”
21So one of the men who have accompanied us throughout the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, 22beginning from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us—one of these must become a witness with us to his resurrection.’ 23So they proposed two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias.24Then they prayed and said, ‘Lord, you know everyone’s heart. Show us which one of these two you have chosen 25to take the place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside to go to his own place.’ 26And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was added to the eleven apostles. THE WORD OF THE LORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
The Whole Story
Wow, I go away for a week of vacation followed by a weeklong preaching seminar, and I return to a passage about Judas, the one who famously betrayed Jesus with a kiss. So much for easing back into things!
Why the gory details of the Judas story? It doesn’t seem suitable for church, and so we cover our eyes when we picture this scene. The lectionary—the three-year cycle of Biblical readings used to guide worship—has the apparent good sense to omit verses 18-20, the part about Judas’ entrails spilling out. My apologies if you had Mother’s Day brunch plans. As I’ve told you before, whenever the lectionary cuts something out, my eyes go immediately there. To be fair, the lectionary treats each Sunday as a mini Easter, celebratory in tone. It assumes we are reading Scripture all week long and encountering the more difficult passages then. Still, I think this omission has more to do with discomfort with the truth than anything else.
The truth is an interesting topic. When someone swears to tell the truth in this country, they swear, among other things, to tell the whole truth. That is much harder than simply not lying. The whole truth can reveal painful realities. Many years ago, a friend of mine was in her first year of teaching elementary school and was preparing a lesson plan in advance of Columbus Day. As she described the crafts and activities she was putting together, it was clear what she was going to teach was more the celebratory, but factually inaccurate, version of that story. In this telling, Columbus is nothing short of a hero. Omitted was the fact Columbus never set foot on what would become the United states, and even if he had people he wouldn’t be “discovering” anything because people had lived there for many generations. Where he did land, what would become the Bahamas, he enslaved and mutilated people. By Columbus’ time it was already widely known that the world was round. In the end, Columbus was arrested by Spain.[1] My friend essentially said, when I challenged her as gently as I could, that they could learn the truth later. Sure, we should teach in a way that is age-appropriate; that doesn’t mean teaching what has to be untaught later. I don’t mean to pile on to a young teacher. Her story reveals to us how hard it is to struggle to correct an age-old celebrated story.
It’s deep in us, this tendency to tell only part of the story or a version of the story we like. Before long, we we’ve woven, and woven into the fabric of our identity, an entirely new story altogether. What gets cut out, however, is really important. We’ve been doing a bi-weekly Bible Study on the Gospel of Mark (every 1st and 3rd Tuesday at 6:00 pm in the library by the way). The other night, we explored a disputed word which, coincidentally, as in the Judas passage, refers to the entrails, the bowels, though thankfully not in a spilling out sense. In the ancient world, the seat of emotion was not the heart, but the gut. In some manuscripts, and likely in your English translations, the word that word we were discussing appears as “compassion.” Upon encountering a leper, Jesus is moved with compassion. Other manuscripts, however, read, “anger.” Jesus was moved with anger.
In biblical studies, one method used to determine which translation is the original is to privilege the more difficult version, though that, of course is subjective (more on that in a moment). The logic is simple—the church had incentive to make Jesus more, not less, palatable, by changing words, softening the story. In doing so, we become so committed to a sort of passive “nice” Jesus that we choose to accept an altered Jesus over the actual one. Not only do we confuse our values with gospel ones, we miss the beauty in we’ve decided prematurely is ugly. Take anger. We largely regard that as unbecoming of a spiritual leader. Yet, as we were talking at my preachers’ gathering last week, anger can be righteous, justified, even downright divine. Anger doesn’t always have to be anger against; sometimes anger is anger with. If I were a leper, I might be heartened by a Jesus who was angry with me at the tragedy my condition and even more at the societal treatment I received as the result of my condition. Lepers were ostracized, isolated. They were the walking dead.
On the flight to this preachers’ gathering, I watched a documentary called Mr. Rogers and Me, about that public television children’s program star, in anticipation of a new documentary coming out in June. In it, a story is told about the young Fred Rogers, 8 years old at the time. Seeing himself as fat and shy, and one day Rogers was followed home by bullies. As he sped up, they sped up. When he later shared his distress with trusted adults, they told him: “Just act like it doesn’t bother you and they will go away.” Even at that age, Rogers knew this was deeply wrong. The person telling the story said that was the day “Mr.” Rogers was born because it was the moment he became clear that peoples’ feelings needed to be expressed, and he himself learned to speak nonviolently about his own anger, and he gave countless others the space and tools to do the same.
It’s tempting to exclude the gore of the Judas story, but we mustn’t. Betrayal and its consequences are gruesome. Judas was a trusted follower of Jesus, so much so he was put in charge of the money. Betrayal is by definition an inside job, making Jesus’ crucifixion all the more painful. If much of the Jesus story is beautiful, this episode is terribly ugly, and yet only when we refrain from looking away do we see what people are capable of doing. Only when people recognize what they are capable of can they fully realize what else they are capable of too.
A new memorial has opened recently. It’s not the kind that celebrates some glorious victory or standing achievement. It’s a memorial in Alabama that deals with lynching. This is heavy stuff. You may have seen images. There’s an indoor display in which huge steel beams are suspended from a tall ceiling. Rectangular and rusting, these uniform beams struck me as powerfully symbolic, bearing no distinction or features of a human. They just hang there, just as so many African Americans, without identity or rightful place in our collective memory, hanged from trees up until more recently than any of us would like to think. Do you know when the last lynching was in the U.S.? 1981.[2] They used to sell postcards that pictured lynchings. I read a story just a month ago about an American high school that had only recently painted over a mural in its gym that featured lynching scenes.
It turns out my interpretation of the hanging beams of steel was only partially right. They do not represent individuals; they represent counties, and each is engraved with a list of names of those known to have been lynched there. It’s overwhelming, yet its function is not only to hang that over our heads; it’s to lift our eyes and our consciousness to the truth, the whole truth.
Incidentally, there are other displays elsewhere on the property actual statues and these are all too real, very human in their features and their expressions. It’s incredibly painful and it bears vivid witness to that pain, pain of people who did have faces, names, stories, and they have a rightful place in our larger story.
In a less dramatic example, the other week I found myself offering a defense of sorts of our Book of Confessions, a set of documents many probably don’t even know we have. I recognize the resistance to a collection of creeds. I share some of the discomfort it conjures in folks who don’t want to be told what to believe. And yet, one of the things I appreciate about our Book of Confessions is that it catalogs the evolution of the church’s thinking over time, without erasing unseemly episodes. For all that can be criticized about the church, it doesn’t simply erase or replace its old thoughts, its old confessions. The church as embodied in the Book of Confessions adds new statements, new voices, to the collection, sometimes corrective ones, hopefully telling more and more of the story.
The treasure of the Judas story, even in its gore, is that it forces us to look, to take note, and hopefully to learn.
If this all sounds depressing, too much for a day such as this, I want you to remember something. With whom did Jesus gather on the night he was betrayed? Not 11 disciples, all 12. Scripture says Jesus knew what was coming and yet he had Judas there because on some level he knew he needed to commune with that side of humanity. Even if on a time table beyond what we can comprehend, Jesus does not seem to give up easily on the possibility of redemption. As followers of Jesus we are called to remember that too. The Jesus movement that remained, as Acts recounts, also knows when it is time to move on. They do appoint a replacement for Judas. Both working for redemption and moving on are faithful responses to this episode, and both require seeing as fully as possible.
Sometimes we avoid wanting to see the whole picture because we fear we might have to change our minds. We live in a culture where the stakes are so high of admitting we were wrong, or saw in a way that was incomplete, that we narrow our vision or cover our eyes altogether. But, there is another way, a way that says to see more fully is always better, in fact it is how we see the hidden one, God herself. Meister Eckhart, the great Christian mystic of the Middle Ages, writes this:
A man
born blind can easily
deny the magnificence of a vast landscape.
He can easily deny all the wonders that he cannot touch, smell, taste, or hear.
But one day the wind will show its kindness
and remove the tiny patches that
cover your eyes,
and you will see God more clearly
than you have ever seen
Yourself.[3]**
What could be more suitable for church than seeing God more clearly, even if it means looking through the gut of Judas?
Amen.
[1] https://www.biography.com/news/christopher-columbus-day-facts
[2] https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=95672737
[3] Meister Eckhart, The Wind Will Show its Kindness
John 15:8-17 – My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in God’s love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete. This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.
Come to the Table
Many of you have heard me talk before about the church camp I went to as a child – Camp Caz. Several years ago, when I was a teenager, a new cabin was built at Camp Caz. My church raised quite a bit of money to help fund the cabin, so we were given the honor of getting to name the cabin. All of the other cabins had been named for people who were influential in the founding of Camp Caz – Grey, Reynolds, Swanson, Sherman. I thought certainly we should name the cabin Nelson. Not after me, mind you, but after my dad, who was the pastor of our church at the time. However, this decision was not up to me. This was a church decision … we needed a committee! There were surveys and interviews, and even a contest at one point, and then the time came for the name to be revealed. What would it be? The new name of the cabin was … Koinonia. You can imagine the puzzled looks on peoples’ faces when that name was revealed. Who is Mr. or Mrs. Koinonia? I certainly had never met them before!
It was quickly explained to the befuddled crowd that the Koinonia cabin was not, in fact, named for a person. Koinonia is a Greek word that means, in a simple translation, community. But it means more than community. There is a spiritual connotation to Koinonia – it describes when people are gathered together in mutual love and respect, in fellowship, in communion. This kind of community – this Koinonia – was often present at Camp Caz, and the committee wanted to honor this way of being together when naming the cabin.
I think about Koinonia when I hear this passage from John’s Gospel, because that is the kind of community that Jesus describes. The actual word “Koinonia” does not appear in the New Testament until the book of Acts, when the first Christian community is described – but Jesus is certainly laying the groundwork in the passage we heard this morning. Abide in my love, love one another as I have loved you, go and bear fruit that will last – that all describes Koinonia, living and loving together in fellowship and community.
But Koinonia didn’t just happen in Biblical times, and it doesn’t just happen at summer camp. For example, I have heard stories of Koinonia every week for the last 26 weeks as we have hosted guests from the REST program here at Westminster every Sunday night. Each Sunday, about 40 men who are experiencing homelessness have come here to eat dinner and to spend the night. I have been told that one of the many issues people who are homeless face is invisibility. People tend to walk right by, or look right past someone who is experiencing homelessness, as if there is not even a person – a human being – right in front of them. REST could have been a nameless, faceless undertaking. Provide some food, provide a floor – in and out every week. But, from the very beginning when the REST program started 10 years ago, we knew that was not how Jesus was calling us to be and to act in the world. Jesus calls us into loving relationship with each other. Jesus calls us to bear fruit, to be a living example of God’s love in the world. Jesus calls us into Koinonia.
And that is exactly what happened in our REST program. When our guests arrive each week, they are given name tags. Because they are not invisible. They are beloved children of God with names and faces and stories. Those who volunteer each week are encouraged to not simply stand behind the buffet line wordlessly scooping food onto plates. They are encouraged to talk with our guests, to sit at table with them, to hear their stories and share their own. That is Koinonia. Soul sharing with each other.
This past Sunday, our own Michael Hatfield and Barbara Kessell played music while our guests dined. Michael reflected on this time saying, “Barbara and I have played many, many places for Bread & Roses (a local non-profit organization) - drug rehab centers, places for kids, senior centers - but this event on Sunday night was holy, and Westminster became a sanctuary.” That is Koinonia. Holy community created when we come to the table together.
Unfortunately, the REST program has come to an end. There are many people working on next steps – trying to make sure that come winter, these men will have a warm place to stay and food to eat. Even more importantly, there are many people working on next steps for permanent housing, so our guests do not have to go from shelter to shelter anymore. It will be a long road, and the way ahead is not yet clear. In this process of deciding next steps for shelter and permanent housing, it is my hope and prayer that we do not lose the Koinonia – the loving, heartfelt fellowship and community that has occurred every Sunday night. Though the logistics of finding housing are so important, also important is the love we have for one another, the ways that we abide together in God’s love with our REST guests.
Joan Brown has been here most Sunday nights, and on Mondays she sends out an email with a recap of what happened the night before. This past Monday, after the final REST gathering, she ended her email by saying, “My biggest concern is how we stay connected to our guests as we move forward.” That is Koinonia. The connection we have with one another.
There are so many of you that have helped to make the REST program the beautiful Koinonia that it has been for the last 10 years. From cooking to volunteering to organizing to buying supplies to cleaning. So much time and effort and love to make sure we are truly following Jesus’ commandment to love one another. If you have been involved in REST in any way, would you please stand? Thank you. Thank you for showing us what Koinonia looks like.
This is also what Koinonia looks like. (indicate Communion table) Coming to the table to share in the Lord’s Supper together. What makes it Koinonia rather than just an ordinary meal? Lots of things, but I think the most important is that everyone is welcome here at the table. No one is turned away. Whatever your background, wherever you live, whatever your story, you are welcome to come to the table. If you have participated in Communion here at Westminster before, you have heard that invitation. Likely, if you have participated in Communion at any Protestant church, you have heard that invitation. I know that I have been changed by that invitation – that invitation to come to the table just as I am. I am loved unconditionally at this table. I am set free at this table.
Our REST guests were welcome at the table when they were here on Sunday nights. The tables in Findlay Hall didn’t look like this table, but they were certainly tables of Koinonia – of community, of fellowship, of communion. Our REST guests would be welcome at this table on Sunday mornings. At least I hope and pray that we as a community would let them – and anyone – know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are welcome. I wonder, though, how often those experiencing homelessness hear the invitation to come to the table. To come just as you are. I’m guessing not that often. I’m guessing they are more frequently avoided than invited.
How might we better extend that invitation to the table for those who are not sitting in this room right now? For that is what Jesus calls us to do. To go and bear fruit. To go and share God’s love with others. Not just with our friends. Not just with those who make us comfortable. With everyone. Come to the table.
1 John 4:7-21
7 Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. 8 Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. 9 God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. 10 In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. 11 Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. 12 No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.
13 By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. 14 And we have seen and do testify that the Father has sent his Son as the Savior of the world. 15 God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. 16 So we have known and believe the love that God has for us.
God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. 17 Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. 18 There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. 19 We lovebecause he first loved us. 20 Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sisterwhom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. 21 The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sistersalso.
Bad Chicken…Mess You Up!
There seems to be some confusion in the texts we’re reading today. King David writing in the Psalms says we should be afraid of God’s judgments but John tells us that God is love. So, I suppose that means that God is love and we should fear God fear with boldness kind of thing… hmm.
This sounds pretty confusing but fortunately for you I’ve got a lot of notes and have spent a lot of time thinking about this conundrum.
I’ve noticed that there are people who don’t seem to be afraid anymore. They’re speaking truth to power through movements like #MeToo. They’re seeking justice without any regard for people in power and I’m noticing that we seem to think that’s a good thing. Well, I do to.
But I’m also noticing that all of us are afraid of people’s opinions about us. What do we call that? Insecurities. That’s what we call it. And we all have them to varying degrees. Every one of us has something we’re at least a little afraid of how others might judge us.
“They don’t think I’m successful, or smart, or pretty, or funny.” Or for some of us that insecurity has changed because people used to think you were pretty, or smart, or funny. “They don’t think I’m successful anymore.” Maybe something happened that caused you to lose some of your fortune. “They don’t think I’m smart anymore.” “They used to think I was funny.”
So, we’re living in an age where we’re afraid of nothing and afraid of everything. What’s the motivation here? Hmm. Can you see how I got all these notes?
Let me try something here:
I played quarterback in high school and there was one particular play that I’d looked forward to my entire career. “Split Right 28 Sweep Special.” If you knew the playbook for the J.R. Tucker football team, circa 1996 or so, you’d know what each of those words meant. “Split Right 28 Sweep Special.” “Split Right” tells our wide receivers where they should line up. You see we have two of them. One is called a flanker and the other is called a split end. So, when they hear ““Split Right 28 Sweep Special,” they know that means that the split end is going to line up on the right.
“Split Right 28 Sweep Special.” Split Right 28 tells you who’s going to get the ball. You see I’m number 1… (I like to pause and think about that for a moment, that I’m number 1) and the tailback is number 2 and the fullback is number 3. So, my being number 1 has nothing to do with talent level or importance. But when we hear “Split Right 28 Sweep Special,” we know that the tailback is going to get the ball because its 28 sweep special.
The number 8 in that “Split Right 28 Sweep Special” tells you where number 20 is going to take the ball. The odd numbers go to the left progressing outwards, 1, 3, 5, 7, and the even numbers go the right progressing outwards, 2, 4, 6, 8. We’re going to give the ball to number 20 and he’s going to run to the number 8 hole on the right.
Lastly is the word sweep. “Split Right 28 Sweep Special.” That word sweep tells our lineman (those guys who are all bigger and stronger than me who are supposed to protect me from all the other guys who are bigger and stronger than me) which way they should run when we start the play. And since it’s a sweep that means that two of them are going to run to that 8-hole and try to clear a path for number 20.
So, everybody gets lined up properly and the ball gets hiked and we start the play. I toss the ball to number 20 who runs toward the 8-hole on the right with 2 big, strong, guys clearing a path for him… but remember… this play is special. And what makes it special? The running back, my friend Belewa Hendy throws the ball the other way down the field to yours truly.
And there I am running down the field with nobody around me. It’s a trick play and we tricked them good. I’m finally getting my moment. The Friday night lights are shining down on us. We’re about to beat our rival, Douglas Southall Freeman. My friends and family are cheering. And finally, I get to be the one who gets to run into the end zone for a touchdown. Until…
I drop the pass.
I immediately dropped to my knees and patted my thighs out of frustration. I’m telling you that I would’ve completely laid face down on the field and wept had there not be a timer that says you need to get off the field for the next play.
My only saving grace was that the play worked so well (up until the part where I was supposed to catch the ball) that I thought, “Surely, Coach Curle will call this play again and give me another chance.”
You know, they never called that play again. Never again. They had been burned, disappointed, maybe even embarrassed that they’d tried a trick play and it didn’t work out.
You know what I find interesting? We do that all the time. We get burned by something or disappointed and we start to close ourselves off.
We pray that God would heal someone or do something miraculous, but it doesn’t work or at least not in the timeframe we wanted. So, we stop praying like that. We keep ourselves from believing that something miraculous could happen and we temper our faith.
We open up at church or with close friends and someone was judgmental or critical. Maybe we even have our heart broken by someone and so we put up walls to protect us from being hurt like that again. But we also lose the opportunity to have people serve as a source of affirmation and joy in our lives.
We know these people who’ve had these incredible transcendent experiences where they hear God, so we try everything. We pray, read, meditate, fast, go on pilgrimages, do yoga, sit in silence… we try it all, but we never feel like we have the same experience, so we just stop participating in all of it. Or we do it to simply go through the motions. We don’t really expect God to speak to us.
Yes, we’re protecting ourselves from that discomfort we once felt but we’re also closing ourselves off from the joy, wonder, and mystery we could experience if it were to go well.
We fear that our current experience is the only one possible. Even worse we begin to warn others not to get their hopes up. We warn them by telling them about every piece of bad chicken we’ve ever eaten by telling them, “Hey, bad chicken! Mess you up!”
So, let me look at these notes again and see if we can find some sort of solution here.
How about this? Since its pretty normal to protect ourselves from discomfort what I should really do is try to please everybody. Because if I really want to love everybody that means I need to keep them all happy. Right?
For example, when the National Student Walkouts occurred recently I believed that our church had to do something to support our young people as they advocated for their right to life in response to the gun violence that’s been happening in our schools. So, we drafted a letter on official church letter head, had it approved unanimously by your Session, your governing board, and signed by your senior pastor and clerk of Session. In that letter we stated that those walkouts would be considered official religious activities by Westminster Presbyterian Church in accordance with these references to Scripture and these references to Christian history and tradition. Please excuse our students during these walkouts in accordance with state law and they will make up any lost work in a timeframe that is convenient to you.
Now this church here, all of you, were very excited about that. And I was so proud of it that I went and told some other people in ministry about it and they said, “What are you doing?” “You can’t do that.” “You’re picking sides in this debate and alienating people.” “You’re being too political.”
So, you know what I should’ve done? I should’ve just done nothing because you would’ve never noticed, and they would still like me.
Or we’re always doing work for those who are afflicted in our modern times whether its immigration or poverty. But people point out to me that if we keep helping them then they’ll never be incentivized to better their life on their own. So, I think we should just stop helping them and that way we keep our time and money (it’ll be more convenient) and we won’t offend anybody either.
Sound good? I’ll just try to make sure everybody likes me?
Well if that theory doesn’t work then fortunately I have some more notes! So, let’s try this theory out.
If I shouldn’t be afraid of others judgment, then I should be afraid of God’s judgment! After all, that’s how King David felt. And it makes sense you know. I’m a flawed human being. I can always give more, pray more, serve more. Sometimes I don’t have a good heart and my intentions aren’t in the right place. And God being so holy and perfect is going to naturally judge me and probably not very impressed.
So, what I should do is fear God judging me.
How does that sound? Still no good?
Okay then, forget all these notes. Since you seem to know so much why don’t you help me out. After all, I’m just a lowly youth guy. What do I know? I don’t wear those fancy robes or cool collars. I don’t have a bunch of titles before and after my name. What do I know? So why don’t you help me out.
First off, what you’re telling me is, in my pursuit of holiness and loving others, I shouldn’t be afraid of other people judging me. But doesn’t it hurt you when people say mean things about you? I mean, what about when its your closest friends or family? Your children or parents or people you admire. Doesn’t that hurt when you get judged by them?
Ah, I get it. We only accept the kind of love that we think we deserve. And so, if we can somehow raise the amount that we think we deserve then we can also raise the amount we can be loved. And really, who could possibly love us more that our Creator God who is love?
But, if God has the capacity to love me beyond comprehension shouldn’t I be afraid that God’s love can be taken from me? Shouldn’t I be afraid of God judging me? I mean haven’t you ever felt judged by people in the church?
I can remember times where people stood up in the pulpit and said things like, “You need to get right with God” because we’d done or said something. Sometimes you can’t even control that thing that’s being called out. So, shouldn’t I be afraid that God might take that love away from me?
Ah, I get it. I see where you’re going here. There’s a difference between the people who say those things and God, even if they’re religious, or Christian, or considered leaders. These are only people and we mess things up sometimes. Yes, even those of us in a church.
And that makes sense because it seems to me that our understanding of God’s love progresses and improves over time just as our understanding of lots of things changes with the times. King David wrote that he was afraid of God’s judgment 1000 years before John wrote that God is love. And John even got to walk and talk with Jesus Christ Himself and see how Jesus served and loved even the most unlikeliest among us.
So, what you’re really telling me is that I should focus on John’s letter that “God is love.” And I shouldn’t be afraid of not living up to other people’s standards and expectations. And I shouldn’t be afraid of God not loving me for some reason.
Whew, you really know how to make a guy feel better. Thanks for helping me with this sermon!
But I just want to make sure now; because if I go from here and tell other people what you told me, that, “I don’t need to be afraid of living up to other people’s standards.” And, “I don’t need to be afraid of God’s judgment,” then some people aren’t going to like that very much. They might push harder, or they might say that I better be afraid of God’s wrath or judgment.
So, I just want to make sure that I’ve got this right before I leave here and make a fool of myself. You better not be setting me up!
Okay then. I’m going to do what you said. I’m going to pursue a life of holiness and service to others and I’m not going to be afraid of their criticisms when I don’t measure up. And I’m not going to be worried that God won’t like me. I’m going to believe that God is love and that God will love me no matter what.
But you…
You also must not be afraid of living up to everybody else’s standards for your life. In your pursuit of holiness, you must not be afraid their judgment. And you must not be afraid of God’s judgement because God is the judge we should all want! God is love! And when you love others God abides in you. God abides in you! God’s perfect love lives inside of you and that love casts out all fear.
So, don’t be afraid of your sisters or brothers or God even if you’ve been disappointed or burned. Instead, remember the commandment that Jesus gave us: Go and love your sisters and brothers… all of them… no matter what.
Amen.
No sermon text. This week’s sermon was “The Story of the Good Shepherd” from our new Sunday School program, Our Sacred Stories.
1 John 3:1-3
1See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. 2Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. 3And all who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
That is What We Are
My wife tells of a pastor who always ended baptisms by holding up the child and pronouncing, “See what love the Father has for us that we would be called children of God; and that is what we are.” In baptism we are not merely conferring a blessing; we are telling a beautiful story about the person, about who they are, and where they fit. The importance of being rooted in a good story cannot be overestimated, for the stories we believe about ourselves, we believe about one another, and others believe about us determine much of our lives.
Guy Doud of Brainerd Minnesota was named national teacher of the year in 1986. Reflecting on his work, he tells a story about one of his students, a reserve football player on the high school team:
I'm sitting in school after the bell has rung. It's about 5:15. [I'm] anxious to get home … And I look up at my door and there's Chris, No. 85. My first year as a teacher and here stands No. 85 with his football jersey on. "Hey, Chris, what are you still doing here?" "Oh, I had to pick up some books."
And he kind of stood there and shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot. He says, "You know, tonight is Parents' Night." He says, "At half time they have all the senior football players go out in the field and then they invite their parents to come down on the field and stand behind them. And well, I don't know if you know this or not, but you know, my folks are divorced. My dad lives in California and my mom, well, she's out of town.
"And the coach said that if our parents couldn't be with us, that we should ask somebody that, well, we respect. And I was gonna ask you sooner, but, hey, if you can't be at the game, that's okay." I said, "Well, I'm gonna be at the game." I said, "I'd be very, very proud to stand up with you."
Then he sat down on the edge of the desk and he says, "You know, I haven't gotten into the game yet this year." I said, "Oh." I said, "What was it a couple of weeks ago they introduced you?" He said, "Yeah, I was Scout Team Player of the Week." I said, "Yeah, what does that mean, anyhow?" He said, "Well, we run the opposition's offense and our defense beats up on us." I said, "Oh." I said, "Well, I'm sure you'll get into the game tonight."
And I went to that game, sat up there in the stands, cheered, kept watching No. 85, who was cheerin', patting people on the butt as they came back in from the field, but who, as of yet, hadn't gotten into the game. Half time expired and I went out and was introduced and stood behind No. 85. And I remember, as I stood there, I prayed that should I ever have children someday, I just prayed that they'd never have to have substitute parents.
And the third quarter started. We had about a 17-point lead. No. 85 still hadn't gotten into the game. We were still playing our good players, our best players, our starting players on both defense, offense, defense offense. They were going both ways. Some 80 guys dressed for the football game and we had about 14 or 15 who were playing. Now, hey, I'm not questioning anybody's coaching decisions, but by the fourth quarter, I was standing up, "Put No. 85 into the game!"
And as the clock ran down and we won by 20 points and No. 85 hadn't made it into the game, I might as well have been his parent, 'cause I sat there with big tears in my eyes.
And on Monday I didn't know what I was gonna say to Chris and here I am out on hall duty and here he comes. I said, "Well, you guys sure whipped 'em." He says, "Yeah." He says, "You know, I didn't think I was that bad, if you put me in the game with two minutes left, that I would have blown a 20-point lead."[1]
This is the story Chris had come to believe about himself, that he must have been so bad, his team would have given up 20 points in 2 minutes, a virtual impossibility in football (unless you’re the Atlanta Falcons).
There’s another painful storyline in there as well, highlighted by Dowd’s remark about substitute parents. It’s a complex comment because in fact those who step in to take on parental roles or indeed become parents for those in need are some of the most important people there are, true angels in our midst. Yet, I think I know what Doud meant. He was pointing to the disappointments we can have with our family relationships, and I think that’s something to which many can relate. For some, the language of God as Father is helpful here. I remember hearing from a woman who endured very strained relationships with her family of origin. She took great comfort from creating what she described as a heavenly family. For others, the notion of God as Father is troubling for any number of reasons. We recognize that all our images, all our terms for God are incomplete and so we take hold of the ones that help and we freely release those that do not.
This passage, though, isn’t only about who God is; it’s about who we are and who we can become. Remember it promises that we will be like Christ (1 John 3:2). Sometimes while depicting a Jesus who is beyond reproach, we have inadvertently constructed one who is also beyond approach, and I believe nothing would make him sadder. He is so enlightened that we could never be like him, we think, and so we allow the one who came to empower us leaves us feeling helpless and uninspired to inherit our own light. The witness of the text, however is that we shall be like him and this is what Doud, an avowed Christian, understood. It animated him to be like Christ right where he was. One of his practices was to enter the classroom when his students weren’t there and sit in each of their desks to pray for them, moving around the room, one desk at a time.
Jesus goes to great lengths to show us how like us he is, even in his most Godlike moments. In the account of the resurrection appearance we heard earlier he says to his disciples, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself” (Luke 24:39). He is showing them the scars from the crucifixion. “Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have” (v. 39). Then, he asks them for something to eat. It might sound to us a strange event, but the request underlines his humaneness. In the Bible, angels don’t eat, ghosts don’t eat. He is like us.
And we can be like him. We can remember our intimate connection to the divine, which as Jesus’ own life attests does not free us from suffering, but somehow grounds us in the promise that something can be born out of our suffering. Isn’t it interesting that in the risen Jesus’ encounter with the people, the point of connection is the scars? Jesus knows they will be able to relate to that. Who doesn’t have scars? In fact, maybe the one thing we share in common is suffering. Sure we experience it in different ways and in different measures, many of us do not know the kind of suffering children in Syria do, and yet what connects us to every being including them is the experience of some kind of suffering. That becomes a point of connection, a site for compassion, and therefore the seedbed of possibility. To be like Christ is not to develop a Teflon skin; it is to acknowledge one’s wounds and seek their healing. Notice, Jesus does not show up with gaping wounds. That can be dangerous.
Henry Nouwen, the renowned priest and author, wrote in the closing words of his famous book The Wounded Healer that the wound is where God can enter in, where God initiates a new creation.[2] The point here is neither to glorify or seek out suffering as some perverse spiritualities have done, but rather to recognize its invitation for healing. Every few months for a couple of years now we have been holding small healing services at 11:00, and these have proven powerful to those who have attended. It’s not the kind of thing you see with televangelism; it’s quite subdued, peaceful, nurturing. Next week, we will bring a time for healing to each of our morning worship services. It will be a chance for people to come forward, to anoint themselves with oil, to receive a laying on of hands and a blessing, and for the rest of the congregation to hold them in prayer.
In preparation, I invite you to think about where you might desire healing. Think of healing broadly, just as our wounds are broad and diverse in nature. Some wounds are physical, some emotional, some are spiritual, some are relational or communal; God knows some of our wounds are societal. Take this invitation seriously. This is important work. Sometimes high-functioning people resist it under the guise of not wanting to waste time or be self-absorbed, but the world does not need the productivity of people with untended wounds. It may only be when we have experienced some form of healing ourselves that we can truly go out into the world as healers.
Another story about a schoolkid, a 6th grader to be exact. He was big and kind of awkward, not very athletic, so you can imagine how nervous he was when his new phys ed teacher Mr. Card shook his hand and said, “I’ve heard about you.” “Uh-oh” thought the student, wondering what embarrassment awaited. Gym class is and endless reservoir of suffering for some. The new gym teacher wasn’t going to allow that. Mr. Card was positive. Mr. Card believed in the student. Maybe he hadn’t heard the story that this kid had come to believe about himself, that he was worthless, that didn’t fit in, that he was incapable. When it was time to play football, Mr. Card—he was always the quarterback—said to student, “I want you to go out for a pass…” He had only ever been asked to block. “You block,” they always said to him, “You block,” but not Mr. Card. Mr. Card said go out for a pass, so he took off, Mr. Card launched the ball…and the student caught it! That student, of course, was the 6th grade Guy Doud.”[3]
The story Mr. Card was trying to tell Doud about himself was different than the one the world had told him 1,000 times, and that became the story that the future Mr. Doud would go on to tell in word and deed to thousands of his own students, students like no. 85. It’s a story in which you can be forever rooted no matter where you are planted:
See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. Amen.
[1] First heard on audio from unknown source. Found transcript at https://www.focusonthefamily.com/media/daily-broadcast/teacher-of-the-year-pt1
[2] Henry J. M. Nouwen, The Wounded Healer (New York: Doubleday, 1979), 96.
[3] First heard on audio from unknown source. Found transcript at https://www.focusonthefamily.com/media/daily-broadcast/teacher-of-the-year-pt1
Acts 10:34-43 - Then Peter began to speak to them: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears God and does what is right is acceptable to God. You know the message God sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ—he is Lord of all. That message spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John announced: how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him. We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead. All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.”
You are the Material
Groucho Marx once said that he sent a club he belonged to a message saying, “Please accept my resignation. I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.” That is kind of what happened to the Christian community following the resurrection of Jesus. Prior to his death and resurrection, the followers of Jesus had been small in number. Really just his close associates, those he had personal contact with, pretty much all Jewish – not many Gentiles in the bunch. But, following his resurrection, when word began to spread about Jesus Christ, the Risen One, more and more people joined the movement. Through the resurrection, God invited all people into the way of Jesus Christ. Through the resurrection, as Peter reminds us in this scripture passage, Jesus Christ is Lord of all. God shows no partiality.
Though this was good news for many, I’m guessing it was a little difficult to handle for others. First, this was a drastic new way of living and being for the Jews and the Gentiles – two groups of people who were about as different as different could be. Could it be possible that people from each group could follow Jesus together? Could it be possible that God would love them the same? Immediately following the passage we heard today, Peter begins to baptize some of the Gentiles, welcoming them as followers of Jesus. This upsets some of the Jews who have been following Jesus, thinking that they belonged to an exclusive club. But Peter responds to them saying, “If then God gave them the same gift that God gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?”
Two groups of people, who never thought they would or could get along with each other, coming together after Jesus’ resurrection to follow him. For God shows no partiality, preaching peace by Jesus Christ. Who are we that we should hinder God?
Not only does this resurrection message of God’s love for all stretch our comfort zones of who is included and who is not, but it also makes us confront our own self-acceptance and sense of self-worth. God shows no partiality, which means each one of us is included in God’s abundant love. Each one of us is given the promise of new life. Sometimes that is a difficult message to hear.
During the season of Lent, SFTS, the seminary in San Anselmo, sent out a daily devotion by email. A week ago, on Easter Sunday, the devotion was written by Marcia McFee, their visiting professor of worship. She wrote, “Listening and taking in what we hear can be tricky. Perhaps something someone says feels so impossible that understanding it is completely out of the realm of our imagination. It makes me wonder what I have yet to take in and own, deeply in my very being. What have I heard in the listening that still has yet to truly register? This Easter, what promises do we need to remember and believe about the possibility of new life? What must we repeat until we truly get it?” She then offers a series of resurrection statements.
“You are created in the image of the Divine.” “You are a beloved child of God.” “You are loved without condition.” “You have a place at the table.” “I am with you always.” “New life is possible.” “Death is not the last word.” McFee continues, “Grief can cloud the vision of resurrection. New life might not make any sense while we are immersed in the depths of despair. Sometimes we need to be reminded. So I invite you to say those affirmations to yourself. And if it feels hard to hear the first time, say it again and again.
That is the promise of resurrection. That is the promise of this Easter season. God shows no partiality. Jesus Christ is Lord of all. This is Good News! It is a wonderful and inspiring message! And it is also a challenge. This Good News means that we are called to love ourselves just as God loves us. It also means that we are called to love others just as God loves them.
Both of these can be difficult. Where do we even start? In her memoir titled Practicing Resurrection, Nora Gallagher writes about a time while studying for the ministry when she served as a intern at a local church. One of her tasks was to work with a group of congregants to plan a Lenten series. She arrived at their first meeting together and writes, “They looked at me and I looked back at them. None of us knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing there. And from two of them, there was a look of … respect? As if I were … holy? Or at least holier than they. I wanted to scream. I wanted to say, ‘This afternoon I threw the finger at a driver who cut me off on the freeway.’ I wanted to say, ‘I’ve forgotten how to pray. The ministry study year has taken up so much time, I don’t have time to pray.’ But they didn’t want or need to hear any of this. As I sat down, what a friend said moved through my mind. ‘You are the material,’ my friend Christina had said. ‘They will use you.’”[i]
Certainly, I’m not the one God loves – I am full of flaws. Certainly, I’m not the one promised new life through the resurrection – I haven’t earned that. Certainly, I’m not the one who can offer a word of hope and healing to another. Yes, yes you are. You are the material. God will use you.
I love that Gallagher’s book is called “Practicing” Resurrection. For resurrection is something that needs to be practiced. It is not something that always comes naturally. When we are struggling, the signs of new life might not always be obvious. When we are depressed, we may not always trust in God’s abundant love. When we are in opposition to someone else, we may not want to acknowledge that God loves them too. But we practice. We help each other. We repeat again those phrases from Marcia McFee.
“You are created in the image of the Divine.” “You are a beloved child of God.” “You are loved without condition.” “You have a place at the table.” “I am with you always.” “New life is possible.” “Death is not the last word.”
We tell them to ourselves. We embody them. We live them. And then, as McFee writes at the very end of her devotion, we “do ‘just as Jesus told us’ and take these messages to others. Especially those who are still standing in the tomb, wondering where love has gone.”
That’s the other part of Peter’s message that we heard today. Having experienced the Good News of the resurrection, we are called (actually Peter uses the word “commanded”) to preach and to testify to others. Who, me? I don’t have anything to say! I don’t have anything to share! Yes, yes you do. You are the material. God will use you.
Throughout the Psalms, including the one we heard today, the Psalmist sings about how he will share the good news of God’s love. “My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, I will praise your mighty deeds,” says the Psalmist. This is exactly what Peter is asking us to do. Just one week ago we celebrated the resurrection, and what it means in our lives. Christ is risen, death does not have the final word, love for all wins. Have you shared this good news in the past week? With the Psalmist, have you proclaimed how God’s love is alive in your life?
Gallagher writes about practicing resurrection. Parker Palmer, in the quote on the front of your bulletin, speaks of “choosing” resurrection. For it is a choice. We could choose to continue harmful habits. We could choose not to forgive. We could choose not to love. Now, this doesn’t affect God’s choice. God has already chosen each one of us. God shows no partiality. God has chosen love. God has chosen resurrection. It is now up to us to choose how we respond to this amazing gift. It is up to us to choose how we share this gift with others.
Sitting here in worship, the Easter glow of last Sunday still lingering, that choice seems obvious. Of course we choose resurrection! Of course we choose new life! But, the choice is not always that obvious. Choosing resurrection means choosing love for all … even our enemies. It means receiving God’s love us, even when we feel unworthy. It means sitting at the table with those we can’t stand. It means trusting that we are the material and that God will use us.
Jonathan Chapman, a pastor acquaintance of mine, said that he preached his shortest sermon ever last week on Easter. It was a grand total of 158 words. Here’s part of what he said, "Some years are harder than others. They’re years you just can’t wait to be done with—years you are glad to never see again. Maybe it’s the year you lost a loved one or faced an unimaginable tragedy or just didn’t know what to do. Maybe it’s the year you felt buried in the tomb. Maybe you didn’t have a year like that. But maybe you have. So today, for those you who’ve had that year, I offer my shortest and truest sermon about the Resurrection: It worked. Praise God. It worked then. It works now. And it will work for you."
I guess sometimes you don’t need more than 158 words. The resurrection worked. It worked then. It works now. And it will work for you. I would add one thing, though. It works, but it isn’t easy. It works, but we need to choose it. We need to practice it. We need to do the hard work that makes resurrection a reality not only in our lives, but in the lives of others as well. And then, let us share. Let us testify to the Good News of the resurrection. Christ is risen … he is risen indeed!
Let us pray. This is a prayer from the Iona community.
“Lord Jesus, here are your disciples – your wounded hands and feet in the world today are ours. At times we have been the frightened ones, staying at a distance, worried about our safety or our reputations. But you come close to us, bringing peace and challenge, unlocking our potential and setting us free.
At times we have been the doubting ones, when creeds conflict or certainty has evaded us. But you come close and allow us to speak our minds, accepting us and setting us free.
At times we have been the confused ones, feeling far from you with questions that don’t have answers. So, in the evening of your resurrection we listen for your voice.
The risen Christ says to us: ‘Peace be with you. As God has sent me, so I am sending you.’
Through our fear, through our doubt, through our confusion, may we continue Jesus’ work as we travel many roads, liberated and united by the love of the resurrected one. Amen.”[ii]
[i] Practicing Resurrection, by Nora Gallagher, pp. 133-134.
[ii] Stages on the Way, by Wild Goose Worship Group, pp. 198-199.
Mark 9:2-9
2 Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, 3and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. 4And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. 5Then Peter said to Jesus, ‘Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’ 6He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. 7Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!’ 8Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.
9 As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
First Follower
Do you know that saying, “You can’t have your cake and eat it too”? I never thought that made sense. Don’t you have to have your cake in order to eat it? It was resolved for me this year when I learned that the original phrase was, “You can’t eat your cake and have it too.” Any time the world becomes a little less bewildering I count as a win.
I’d like to eat my cake, have it, and eat some more and, while I’m thinking wishfully, I’d like not to gain weight in doing so. This is how life is—we’d like to have the good without all the accompanying bad would we not? I’d like to have a little fame and glory without all the scrutiny, much less the sacrifice. Today’s story of Jesus is one often told exclusively in terms of glory. Christians call it “The Transfiguration,” when Jesus ascends to the mountaintop is identified with Moses and Elijah, and beams with a blinding heavenly light. From the clouds comes the pronouncement: “This is my Son, the Beloved” (Mk. 9:7). It is the second such pronouncement about Jesus in Mark’s Gospel. Glory.
What a scene to behold. Peter, James, and John join Jesus on the mountaintop where they witness his glory firsthand. This is where we usually leave it, showering Jesus with praise over the pronouncement of his identity and power, not just as God’s son, but as one coronated, chosen to usher in the kingdom and over everything, including death itself on Easter. Glory Hallelujah.
What about when Jesus came down from the mountain? For that matter, what about all the roads he traveled to climb up it? Jesus faced plenty of treacherous roads, opposition, mockery, and violence. He lost relationships, a home, and eventually his life. It’s good those details weren’t cut out of the gospels just because they are unpleasant. There is something important, even refreshing, about simply being told the truth in a world where everyone is spinning something. I went to the doctor for my physical last summer. As instructed, I brought in a list of little nagging things that were bothering me. After I shared them my doctor looked at me and said, “You know, once you hit 30, your body just start declining.” Oh, she went on. “Think of your life as a dimmer switch and you’re just getting dimmer and dimmer and eventually you’ll go out.”
I left the doctor’s office feeling great. No, I’m not kidding. In a world that’s always trying to sell us a fountain of youth, to be told the truth, if not tactfully, felt honest and honoring of me. As a result, I found it surprisingly uplifting. Wouldn’t you know, the things that were nagging became less of a big deal, less of an aberration of how it was supposed to be, and more of just how it is. The first step in the spiritual journey is recognizing how it is, how it really is. Similarly, when I entered the ordination process, my denominational liaison said to me something to the effect of, “You know there’s no glory in this work, only suffering.” I’ll never forget it, “only suffering.” On many days, I experience that as hyperbole, but over time I’ve come to appreciate his words. In a field that can be filled with platitudes, he was trying to level with me, tell me there were going to be real challenges and those challenges shouldn’t be seen as evidence it was the wrong path. No Christian path, professional or otherwise, is easy. Jeff Shankle, whose title is youth director, but whose function is far greater, is a marvelous Bible teacher. I’ve heard him say, “You know every time crowds form around Jesus, wanting to be a part of it, Jesus makes it harder, not easier, but harder for them to follow him.” I suspect Jesus wanted to dispel any illusions that this was going to be all about glory.
We simply don’t live on the mountaintop all, or even much, of the time. Rather, we find ourselves making our way down rough trails, uncertain paths, valleys, and wilderness where it’s tough to see a way forward. Because of this, we rightly celebrate those who make it to the mountaintop and show us all a vision of where we could go and who we could be. Now that we are in Black History Month, we hear of Martin Luther King’s mountaintop, and we remember others to celebrate, but how quickly we forget about all the valleys, all the opposition and much worse that he and others endured on the way up and on the way down from the mountaintop. Sure, we love King’s Dream now, but he received widespread criticism then for his anti-Vietnam speech. We revere Muhammed Ali now as a hero, but his opposition to that same war earned him scorn then.
Returning to today, many of us have watched with bated breath and sickened stomachs some of the proceedings of the trial of Dr. Larry Nassar, the doctor from Michigan State and USA gymnastics who sexually assaulted hundreds of young girls. Seeing those girls, now women, line up one after the other and share their stories, confront their abuser, has been overwhelming. Oh, I simply cannot imagine what it’s like to be that vulnerable after being so violated. That courage is simply beyond what any words I can find.
Imagine how it was for the first to speak out, Rachael Denhollander. No glory there. I should be careful about saying, “the first” because it seems many spoke and were not heard. There was no glory for them, simply shame added upon shame, the shame of not having their voice or experiences validated on top of the shame of the abuse itself. As for Denhollander, she risked everything in coming forward, and she lost much too.
As a pastor, there was one thing Denhollander said that was particularly hard to hear. As Christianity Today reported, in her impact statement Denhollander said, “My advocacy for sexual assault victims…cost me my church.”[1] When she advocated within the evangelical community for victims of assault who had been ignored by church leaders, the pushback came, the opposition came, and worse. They attacked her and they accused her rather than listening to her and the evidence she brought to them, “mountains” of evidence in her words. No glory on that mountain.
Sometimes the church lets its people down not by directly defying them in this way, but in speaking in a way that sends an unintentional but potentially hurtful message. For example, one could go back and look at that community prayer we just read and wonder, in light of the Larry Nassar example, “Did I sin by not speaking up after being abused?” “Have I fallen short by not forgiving my abuser?” No. If you are someone who suffered under someone in this manner, let me be clear that God’s first and last word to you is love, compassion, and a cry for justice. No one should ever have forgiveness forced upon them. I don’t want anyone to leave this church today feeling doubly victimized.
Those who speak out and stand up for what’s right take enormous risk and often suffer pretty painful consequences. Most of us, God-willing, will never have to be martyred, like Dr. King was, or publicly defy a sexual predator—though the statistics on how many have faced this are more than sobering, and we all have our own suffering. For many of us, it’s the small ways in which we can speak out and stand up that will measure our climb to and from the mountaintop (and our character). Some months ago, we must have been talking about racism or sexism, and the lector for the service offered a poignant prayer—that we might learn to stand up not just in the big moments, but also the small ones, in casual conversations, around the water cooler, with friends and acquaintances. He prayed we might not join in or even quietly assent to jokes, characterizations, words about others that denigrated, stereotyped, and held up prejudices.
For someone like me, who would prefer to avoid conflict, that’s not easy. It’s easier to let it go. “God loves me and understands, and forgives,” I think. I do believe those things, and I also believe God loves me into courage in uncomfortable situations. For every micro-aggression that erodes at the dignity of another other, there is the equal opportunity for micro-healing, micro-fortifying of truth, and micro-justice. There’s not much glory in it, but it is how most of the progress gets made.
Part of what public figures who take great stands at great risk do is provide cover for the rest of us join in. They’ve taken the hardest step. We just have to take the next one, to become what’s been referred to in other realms as a “first-follower.” It’s not as dramatic as being a lone prophet, and it still involves risk, but it is critical if the singular righteous act will gain momentum. First followers help turn a powerful moment into a movement. We spend a lot of time on heroes and innovators; first followers are just as important because they enable the masses to join in.
One could say the job of the Christian is always to be a first-follower because we stand under the cover of Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, who in his teaching and in his being showed us, and shows us, how to live. We don’t ever then step out alone, even though sometimes we think that’s our calling. The great Older Testament Scholar Walter Brueggemann is often asked about prophetic preaching. “How can we preach prophetically in the church today, when people don’t want to hear it?” preachers ask. Brueggemann responds that Christians don’t always have to be prophets; most of the time they simply have to stand behind and stand with the prophets God has given us, behind God’s word passed down to us. There may not be as much glory in it, but there is plenty of goodness.
Being a first-follower of God gives enormous direction and strength. Denhollander reflected on how her Christian faith enabled her to speak up. She said,
In terms of how my faith played a part in making that decision, God is the God of justice, these things are evil, and it is biblical, right, and godly to pursue justice. I had to make a decision to do what was right no matter what the cost was. I felt I was the best one in a position to do that. At the time I went forward to Indy Star, I didn’t know that there were any others at all. About two weeks after I went forward to them, someone else did contact them. But that person did not feel ready to speak publicly yet, and I completely respected that decision. I felt that because of my worldview and because of the support system that I had, I was the one positioned to bear that cost and that it would be worth it regardless of the outcome.[2]
In Jesus Christ, we have someone who has already stood out on our behalf, taken risk, showed us the way and suffered, suffered under Pontius Pilate as the creed goes, was dead and was buried…but on the third day Jesus rose again from the dead.
We are a resurrection people. The kind of love beneath which we stand cannot be killed, at least for long. It gets back up even when it has been through hell, so the creed goes. We are about to enter Lent this week, a time that mirrors not Jesus’ time of glory on the mountaintop, but his time of challenge in the wilderness, when he faced his demons. It can be a powerful time for reflection, examination, and prayer. It is often paired with the notion of stripping away what is extraneous, what is comfortable not for the glorification of suffering, but for the purpose of training for endurance of suffering, and for the ability to again experience sweetness and glory in ways grand and granular.
Colleagues of mine once gave up sweet things for Lent, not sweets, but anything that tasted sweet, even fruit. The point was that when Easter came they wanted their first bite of something sweet to be overwhelming, a symbol of the overwhelming and sustaining sweetness of life in Christ, the kind of sweetness that allows us to endure the bitter times. I’m not sure what it was they first ate. Perhaps it was cake. Having had an authentic Lenten journey, I trust they would have enjoyed it knowing you can’t eat your cake and have it too. Amen.
[1] http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2018/january-web-only/rachael-denhollander-larry-nassar-forgiveness-gospel.html?utm_content=buffercd655&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer
[2] Ibid.
Mark 1:29-39
29As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. 30Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. 31He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.
32That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. 33And the whole city was gathered around the door. 34And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.
35In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. 36And Simon and his companions hunted for him. 37When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” 38He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” 39And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
When Things Fall Apart
My high school swim coach used to joke about the simple answer his grandmother would give him about life’s overwhelming challenges. He said he could be in college feeling totally overwhelmed, stressed out, like he was falling apart over a nuclear physics exam the next day and she would said to him, “Well, be sure to have a good meal.”
I wonder when you last felt overwhelmed, like things were falling apart. One of you sent me an article from the New York Times by Duke Divinity School Professor Kate Bowler. In it, Bowler, who is living with colon cancer, describes her new normal of living in three-month increments between scans. If the tumor has shrunk, she gets another three months to repeat the cycle again. [1] Within a day, I read an eerily similar description of the same cycles of cancer scans from conservative political commentator Erick Erickson, what he calls three-month “windows of normalcy.”[2] We share these experiences.
Things small and large can throw us off, make us feel as though we’re coming apart. It doesn’t take much to throw me off - getting a late start to the day, receiving a frustrated communication, watching the Warriors play Utah last week…and the Nuggets?! We can all build the list – trouble in a relationship, the loss of a job or sense of fulfillment in a job, the loss of a child, or loss of any loved one; life stage changes such as retirement or becoming an empty nester; getting a college rejection letter. A man showed up at the church this week in desperate need of food, but he couldn’t walk up to the office to get the Safeway cards the deacons provide us, so I brought it down to his car. When I leaned in the window, I could tell this was not only his vehicle; it was his home. And, not only did he have trouble walking, he was also was missing an arm. Amazing how some people don’t fall completely apart. Maybe he had.
While we can be quick to gloss over it, things came apart for Jesus too. We’re so used to the Jesus story that we talk as if the cross was some delightful end to a painless plan. I suspect Jesus was regularly overwhelmed by those coming to him in need. He’s always going off to pray for a reason, escaping the crowds. Look at the ridiculous predicament in which we find him in Mark 1. The moment he leaves the synagogue where he has been teaching, he is in the home curing Simon’s mother-in-law. Word gets out and Scripture says that by night “at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door.” That’s hysterical; they brought all who were sick or possessed…the whole city!
In its economy of words, the Bible doesn’t show us the inner workings of Jesus, and we don’t get to see how he’s able to act the way he does. It’s one of the ways our stories, as written, can leave us feeling helpless. Thankfully, an outside perspective from time to time can open things up, shedding light on how one comes to interact with the world like Jesus did. I’m nearing the end of a book by Buddhist teacher and writer Pema Chodron called When Things Fall Apart. Chodron writes in great detail about how we can respond when something difficult comes our way. She says we essentially have two choices: We can close by pushing back, pulling back, shutting down, or running away. These are important skills to remain safe at key moments, but it’s no way to go through the world. Our other choice is to open up by recognizing our grounding, getting curious, and staying with what is making us unsettled. Essentially, in the face of challenge we can shrink or we can expand.
The great ones expand. Jesus exemplifies this. He is so tapped into the Spirit that he has a reservoir from which to draw when need comes his way. Recall the Psalm you heard earlier:
Praise the Lord!
…God is gracious
…The Lord builds up
….gathers the outcasts
…heals the brokenhearted,
…binds up their wounds
…numbers the stars…gives to them their names
…God gives food to the animals…the young ravens when they cry
Psalms would have been Jesus’ prayer book. He was so close to the wellspring they provided, and able to draw upon it, that when people watched him they were convinced he must be the Son of God. Even the demons recognize him as a “Spirit-empowered being,” as one commentator puts it.[3] Jesus was so Spirit-empowered that Mark, the leanest of all the gospels with only 16 chapters, still finds room for 200 verses about his miracles.[4]
How does someone heal a whole city of people? One at a time, addressing what’s before him, not what’s in line. Then, remembering why he is there, Jesus isn’t afraid to move on. Even while more seek him out, he says, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do” (Mk 1:38). Jesus shows us how to be compassionate to what’s before him without being swallowed up by the need, tapped dry, or sidetracked.
The way we’ve told Jesus’ story has had the unfortunate consequence of making people feel as though they are supposed to be as good as Jesus was right away. We should remember that the vast majority of Jesus’ life remains a total mystery. We don’t get to see all the practice that must have gone into him becoming recognizable as even a relative of God. Again stepping outside helps us look back in. Chodron doesn’t tell us we need to be a savior—and as Christians we already have one—we just need to aim for manageable increments of expanding consciousness. If we are lonely or restless, she says, “and for 1.6 seconds we sit with that restlessness when yesterday we couldn’t sit for even one, that’s the journey of the warrior.”[5] Confronting your discomfort for .6 seconds more today doesn’t make you a failure, but a warrior. I like that.
Jesus and The Buddha would agree on one thing (I think they agree on many things) and that is that suffering happens. To measure life by the ability to escape it is to guarantee failure. Chodron’s book is When Things Fall Apart, much like Rabbi Kushner’s book is When Bad Things Happen to Good People. It’s inevitable, so let’s not waste our energy being anxious about it. Instead, let us learn to set a table for it.
That’s precisely what Jesus did when everything was falling apart for him. When they came for him he opened, he expanded. He brought his companions together, broke bread and in doing so gave himself to them and to us himself as sustenance. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but it might be a test. So, on this communion Sunday, let us begin with a good meal. Amen.
[1] https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/26/opinion/sunday/cancer-what-to-say.html
[2] https://www.nytimes.com/2017/09/30/opinion/erick-erickson-common-ground.html
[3] Daniel J. Harrington, Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of Mark, p. 82.
[4] Ibid., 85.
[5] Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times, audiobook.
Mark 1:21-28
21They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. 22They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. 23Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, 24and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”
25But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” 26And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him.
27They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching — with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.”28At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Construction Equipment
One of my delights since turning in my dissertation has been the chance to again read fiction in my spare time. My wife Sherri recently shared with me a charming book she was reading by Alexander McCall Smith. There is a particularly funny and heartwarming scene about a third of the way into the story. The protagonist, Paul, is a food-writer whose girlfriend of four years Becky has left him for her personal trainer. Paul, working on a book on Italian cuisine, travels on assignment to finish his work. When he arrives, he learns there has been a mix-up and he is without a rental car. Through a strange turn of events, he ends up calling in a favor to someone he met on the plane. Paul and his benefactor end up in another rental lot where there is one vehicle left. I say “vehicle,” because all Paul can rent on this busy holiday weekend is a bulldozer.
Today, we will commission our capital campaign team, charged with helping us raise money to support a much-needed renovation to our main building. I suppose this conjures up images of bulldozers and other construction equipment. More important is to picture the ministries that happen in this space, and the ministries that will be sustained and grown with the help of a sensible and inspired renovation. Let’s say a word about how we got here. A number of years ago, we recognized mounting deferred maintenance on the main building, the older portion of our facility that preceded the construction of this sanctuary. An assessment revealed we likely have between $500,000 and $700,000 worth of such repairs to make. In addition to simply maintaining what we have, there are important safety upgrades to be made. You are sitting in the portion of the building with up to date earthquake protection. The children of the church right now are not. That’s got to be addressed.
And, there are additional questions. Does the current facility meet our ministry needs? The answer to that is an unequivocal “no.” Weekly, we are held back by the limitations of our building, because we simply don’t have room. Because of the way our space is apportioned one gathering of 25 can shut down use of the building for any other group of that size, so it’s not about a massive expansion so much as more efficient use of what we have and a little additional space. You all love to serve meals to those in need; we’d like to do meals for one another, but if you’ve been in our kitchen, you know it is woefully inadequate. Our offices, where we conduct confidential counseling are totally inaccessible to those with mobility issues, and the list goes on. Here we’ve spoken only about our current needs; imagine the needs of this congregation as it grows.
The time is now for a clear vision and foresight for who God is calling us to be and what we need in order to support this calling. Thus, today we are commissioning a team to lead us on a campaign we’re calling Westminster 2020: Forward in Faith. You will hear a lot about this campaign in the coming weeks and months. Open the letters and communications you get from the team. Most of them will not be asking you for money. They will be informing you, involving you, and inviting you into this process together. They will involve more than architectural plans; they will involve Bible study and prayer. You’ll hear plenty about the plans in the coming weeks. In the meantime, I like to think about project as accomplishing three simple goals: increased safety, utility, and ministry capacity. We’re fulfilling our responsibility to maintain what has been generously given to us and improve upon it.
I know building projects in churches evoke strong feelings. Many are very excited. Last year’s feasibility study made that loud and clear. Some have questions. Good! This is why we take our time with this process. Some may feel unsure about the church putting money into a building. I get it. I remember a time when I was younger in which our home congregation was looking at a renovation to address similar much-needed maintenance and capacity issues. I said to my mother, “I don’t know why we need to raise all this money for a building. We could meet in a barn. It doesn’t matter.” My mother, far wiser than I, lovingly, but sternly, shook me from my naivete. It’s just not that simple she explained. She was right.
All the things we care about – feeding the hungry, organizing to make a difference in the community, enjoying our community right here through small groups and classes, worshiping together, caring for one another – all of that goes away if we don’t tend our space, our facility, a gift we’ve been given by those who came before. This is not about spending money on ourselves. It’s about investing in what we do here which blesses every circle in which every one of us moves in our daily lives not to mention the community directly impacted by our ministries. We can choose not to invest in it, but that would be to simply kicking the problem down the road for someone else to deal with, and that’s not you. You are better than that, more forward-thinking than that, more responsible than that, more faithful than that. We can be afraid of this, but as Peter Gomes reminds us, our fear is simply a sign of the limits of our imagination, and you all are an imaginative people.
Let’s not think so much of buildings right now. Let’s think of why we’re here, Jesus. Where do we meet him in as he begins his ministry in Mark? He’s in the synagogue teaching. We love to talk about Jesus as an iconoclast, out on the road, a rebel against corrupt institutions. To be sure, Jesus was unafraid to critique what was broken about institutions, but Jesus loved his tradition, his “church.” He wanted to preserve what was good and improve upon what wasn’t living up to the best of the tradition’s ideals. It’s no coincidence that his ministry begins in the synagogue, for it signals a recognition that that space was a vessel which carried the sacred stories of God down from generation to generation. The synagogue gathered the faithful together for mutual support, spiritual practice, the preserving of shared values and identity. Our church is that vessel for us. It is not the end of our work. It is the beginning. It is what holds us and makes a place for our work to happen. Think of it not as a destination, but as a hub, an epicenter, a place where people flow through, encounter something vital and carry it out into the world.
Two things strike me about Jesus’ moment in the synagogue. First, he teaches, “as one having authority” (Mk 1:22). The gift of the church is that it is the one institution, the one gathering of people, the one movement, that holds Jesus unequivocally as the authority. Is there anything more important? In a world filled with greed, Jesus offers us sharing. In a world that favors bullying, Jesus offers compassion. In a world that favors idolatry and the worship of money and material things, Jesus offers us faith in what is actually sacred, and models for us servant leadership, humility, and the crossing of all boundaries to remind us that we are one. In a world of twisted values, Jesus shows us how God values us, how God values others, and how God values this incredible world. Is that not worth our investment?
Secondly, something important happens when Jesus is interrupted by someone in the synagogue with an unclean spirit. In our Wednesday class we have just finished a series on prophets, and one of the characteristics we’ve identified is that while being vessels for Spirit, prophets are tapped in to the world, and they respond to it faithfully. Jesus’s ministry isn’t only about ideas; it’s about action. When Jesus’ teaching in the synagogue is interrupted by one who cries out with unclean spirits, Jesus hears his cries and Jesus responds. Jesus sends those spirits away so that the man can have his own voice back. Amazing, that in just a few lines of the gospel Jesus is described as teaching with authority and restoring voice to the voiceless. Where does it happen? It happens in the synagogue. It happens here too. These buildings matter.
The crying in particular stays with me. To offer an obvious statement, there’s a lot to cry about in life, but it seems to me there are fewer and fewer places to cry. Appearances must be upheld. A certain image of strength must be exerted. In Alexander McCall Smith’s book, which is incidentally called My Italian Bulldozer, a heartwarming scene exemplifies both this resistance to tears and our need for them. Paul has rolled into a small village for lunch. His approach has caused quite a scene, more excitement than this forgotten village has probably had for some time. He enjoys his meal and the conversation with the curious villagers at this odd celebrity. As he leaves, the woman who owns the restaurant starts to follow him out and presses a small cake wrapped in cloth into Paul’s hand, “For your journey, in case you should feel hungry.”[1]
“You’ve been so kind to me,” he said, and then he begins to weep. The passage reads:
He felt the tears welling up and knew that he could not stop them. There was no reason for him to cry—but often our tears have no particular justification; they are tears for something larger about the world than any private sorrow. So now he wept for the whole notion that there should be a tiny village that nobody visited, and that there should be people there who would be kind to a stranger. He wept for the bigger, louder world that shouted such places down; for the loss of the small and the particular, the local and the familiar. He wept for people who had restaurants in which few people ate their lunch, for people who grew olive trees that failed to give a crop, for people who thought that Rome did not really care about them. He wept too because he had not really wept over the loss of Becky to the personal trainer, and now at last he could do that.”[2]
One of the great privileges of my job is that I get to sit where I can see you cry. There is nothing more sacred than to be trusted with your tears. It is safe to cry here. Here, we remember that Jesus attended to the cries of the world and hear we practice doing so too.
In the course of his journey, Paul changes, grows, opens his heart, and the vehicle for his change, literally and figuratively is the bulldozer. Because of the bulldozer, he has to move more slowly. Because of the bulldozer he sees things from a higher vantage point, allowing him to catch glimpses over the fences of the village homes and over the horizon. Because of the bulldozer he experiences the strength to move obstacles in the way, and let his own heart be moved in the process.
In the bigger louder world, this place, this church is the small and the particular, this is our local and familiar. This is the church of Jesus Christ, and there are a lot of people speeding by who need it desperately. So, let’s get some construction equipment in here and see what, with God’s help, we can build together. Amen.
[1] Alexander McCall Smith, My Italian Bulldozer, 62-63.
[2] Ibid.
Jonah 3:1-5, 10
The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, “Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.” So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the Lord. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days’ walk across. Jonah began to go into the city, going a day’s walk. And he cried out, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that God had said he would bring upon them; and God did not do it.
Abounding in Steadfast Love
I read just those verses from the story of Jonah, because that is what the lectionary for today suggests. However, as I was thinking about what to say about those specific verses this morning, I realized that it is rather impossible to talk about Jonah without talking about the whole story. Think about any of your favorite stories. What good is the middle without the beginning and the end? So today, I want to spend some time with the entire story of Jonah. To see what the Spirit might be saying to us through this very interesting story.
I think too often, the story of Jonah gets relegated to Sunday School. Let’s leave that story about a strangely large fish for the kids. In a way, this story is so silly that it does seem more appropriate for the children. I even chose a VeggieTales quote for the front of the bulletin this morning to emphasize the silly and exaggerated nature of this story. But, just because this story is a satire, using humor and exaggeration to make its point, doesn’t mean it is just for kids. In fact, there are many lessons we can learn from this story about a reluctant prophet and a big fish.
So, the story begins with God calling Jonah to go to Ninevah, and to cry out against it, for God is upset with their wickedness. There is no doubt that Ninevah was a wicked city. Author Anne Lamott describes Ninevah like this, “Ninevah is any big city, hypercompetitive, full of corruption and cruelty. It would later be the capital of Assyria, and the Ninevites were like Klingons, violent warriors who were Israel’s enemy. Jonah, like all Israelites, felt about them the way Ronald Reagan felt about the Russians, that they were the Evil Empire. And Jonah is furious that God is making him go there to preach, instead of someplace nice.”[i]
This is not a good place. Jonah doesn’t want to go. So, he defies God and goes in the opposite direction. The story tells us he set out to flee from the presence of God. All of this happens in the first two sentences of the story. Already, we know that this is going to be a crazy story. First, Jonah seems more like the anti-prophet than a prophet. A prophet’s job was to obey the word of God. To do what God asks. Even when it is difficult. Perhaps especially when it is difficult. Yet Jonah runs away. Now, I would say, in doing so, he certainly makes himself very relatable for the rest of us! How often I have wanted to run from God when I sense God calling me to something challenging. How often have I wanted to say to God, “Are you sure you want me to do this? Couldn’t you call on someone else?” I can sure understand Jonah wanting to run away. But, does he really think he will be able to flee from God? Have any of us ever been able to flee from God? The story continues.
Jonah boards a ship to Tarshish, away from the presence of the Lord. I don’t know why Jonah thinks God won’t be in Tarshish, but at least it is really far away from Ninevah. However, God causes a storm, and boat threatens to break apart. The sailors are very scared, but Jonah is down below, sleeping. Maybe if he cannot actually flee from God, he can at least ignore God for the time being. But the captain wakes up Jonah, asking him to call on his God to stop the storm. Jonah is not going to give into the God that he is trying to flee, however, so he tells the sailors to throw him overboard. They don’t want to do that, but eventually realize it may be their only hope of survival, so over Jonah goes. It seems as if he would rather drown in the sea than to do what God asks of him.
But, there will be no escaping from God. God sends a giant fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah sits in the belly of the fish for three days and three nights. Yes, really, a big fish. And then, to make it even better, the fish then “spews” Jonah onto the dry land. Let’s be clear, Jonah is vomited from the fish’s belly onto the land. I like to think that God has a bit of humor here – “You think you can run from me? Not so fast. I’m going to turn you into fish vomit.” But, humor and satire aside, the point is clear. Nowhere can we go where God will not find us.
Now we have arrived at the part of the story we heard already. God tells Jonah a second time to go to Ninevah and proclaim God’s message. Basically to tell an evil people that God is upset with them. This time he goes, but if you ask me, his message is still a little half-hearted. Only 8 words in the English translation … 5 in the original Hebrew. “Forty days more, and Ninevah shall be overthrown.” That’s it. Surely Jonah could have given a little more effort than that. Clearly he is still not thrilled to be there. But, amazingly, the people listen. Not only do they listen, but they change their ways. They repent, they proclaim a fast, they put on sackcloth. Sackcloth was a very coarse, woven fabric, that was often worn in those times as a symbol of mourning or repentance. It was a very public sign of repentance and humility before God.
Living into the exaggerated nature of this story, the Ninevites even put sackcloth on their animals. “Human beings and animals shall be covered with sackcloth, and they shall cry mightily to God.” I love the image of the livestock wearing these garments of repentance.
God sees that they have turned from their evil ways, and God’s changes God’s mind. God does not bring calamity upon the Ninevites.
That would be a wonderful end to most stories. The evil people repent, and God looks upon them with mercy and love. But this is not most stories. This is the satire of the anti-prophet Jonah. The story continues, and we find out that Jonah is mad at God. “That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning: for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.” And there it is. Through Jonah’s whiny fit with God, we see the issue. Jonah hated the Ninevites. He wanted them punished. But, he knew that God would forgive them. He knew that God would show them mercy. He knew that God is abounding in steadfast love, and Jonah did not want any of that love to go to the Ninevites.
It would be easy to pass some judgement on Jonah for this choice. Come on, Jonah, God calls us to love everyone! God calls us to forgive. But, that sure is difficult sometimes. When I think of some people who have wronged me, I sure want them to get what is coming to them. There are times when I would love to see God do a little bit of smiting. I want my enemies to pay for their wickedness!
But, I have to realize, that is about me, not about God. For, as both the Psalmist and Jonah remind us, our God is abounding in steadfast love. Our God not only offers mercy and forgiveness again and again, but calls us to do the same. I can begin to understand now why Jonah tried to run to Tarshish, and offered to be thrown to the bottom of the sea. That certainly seems easier than showing love to the Ninevites, of all people. Sometimes I just want my enemies to stay my enemies.
Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz Weber puts it like this, “Maybe our need for enemies is so that we can neatly avoid the ways in which we too are enemies – enemies of grace, enemies of forgiveness, enemies of those we harm. And when God does not act as we think God should…perhaps we are even enemies toward God.”[ii]
None of us is perfect, but perhaps instead of pointing the finger at someone else, we might examine ourselves first. Instead of hoping for punishment for another, perhaps we might look at ways in which we can abound in steadfast love. There is a line towards the end of the most recent Star Wars movie that has stuck with me, “That’s how we’re going to win. Not fighting what we hate, but saving what we love.” I’m sure the scriptwriter was no doubt inspired by the story of Jonah!
There is an odd ending to the story, in which God makes a bush grow, but then attacks the bush with a worm so it dies. Jonah is upset that the bush has died, because he has lost his shade. God takes that moment to make a point – If Jonah is concerned about a random bush, “… should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?”
How, Jonah, can you be concerned about this bush, but not the thousands of people and animals in the city of Ninevah? What if you were to work to save what is good and loving in that city, rather than fighting what you hate? I had a conversation with a church member recently who was talking about how she had been finding herself thinking ill of more and more people recently. But, then she paused, and turned her attention to these people with love rather than hate. She remembered that each of these were beloved children of God. That they had parents and siblings and children, just like she did. And that made them just a little bit easier to love.
Now, I’m not saying that we should excuse bad behavior. There are consequences for bad behavior. Jonah tried to run away from God and got vomited up by a fish. Abounding in steadfast love includes holding people accountable. Abounding in steadfast love includes standing up for justice. But we are called to do this in ways that promote mercy and healing, rather than hatred and division.
This weekend is the anniversary of last year’s Women’s March. In fact, there were some anniversary marches happening this weekend. I know that people participated in the march for a wide variety of reasons, but the “official” mission statement of the march (from their website) is this – “The mission of Women’s March is to harness the political power of diverse women and their communities to create transformative social change. Women’s March is a women-led movement providing intersectional education on a diverse range of issues and creating entry points for new grassroots activists & organizers to engage in their local communities ... Women’s March is committed to dismantling systems of oppression through nonviolent resistance and building inclusive structures guided by self-determination, dignity and respect.”
Guided by dignity and respect. Not guided by a hatred of the enemy. Not guided by a desire to punish the “other,” whoever that other may be. I have to say that, though I agree with many of the ideals of the Women’s March, I was disappointed by a lot of the signs that I saw at various marches last year. Signs that were very derogatory, filled with insults, laced with hate-filled language. Dignity and respect were not necessarily on full display. How do we save what we love instead of fighting what we hate? Rather than wishing ill on our enemies, how do we offer mercy and love in a way that can still create the change we want to see?
Perhaps that VeggieTales children’s song might indeed be our guide. “Compassion and mercy from me to you and you to me, exactly what God wants to see.” May we all be abounding in steadfast love.
[i] Anne Lamott, Hallelujah Anyway, 17-18.
[ii] http://www.patheos.com/blogs/nadiabolzweber/2015/02/enemies-retribution-and-women-giving-birth-a-sermon-on-jonah/#BiKj1GOBCUlEbx7e.99
1 Corinthians 6:12-20
12“All things are lawful for me,” but not all things are beneficial. “All things are lawful for me,” but I will not be dominated by anything. 13“Food is meant for the stomach and the stomach for food,” and God will destroy both one and the other. The body is meant not for fornication but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body. 14And God raised the Lord and will also raise us by his power. 15Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Should I therefore take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute? Never! 16Do you not know that whoever is united to a prostitute becomes one body with her? For it is said, “The two shall be one flesh.” 17But anyone united to the Lord becomes one spirit with him. 18Shun fornication! Every sin that a person commits is outside the body; but the fornicator sins against the body itself. 19Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God, and that you are not your own? 20For you were bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
What to Do with Freedom
How do you decide what to do? In anything, particularly moral decisions? It’s such a basic question that it’s difficult to answer. Where do you turn? Research tells us that mainline Protestants turn to Scripture less than their evangelical counterparts. Perhaps they read and value the Bible less. Perhaps they see the Bible differently, not so easily used as an instruction manual. Where then do we turn? Some general sense of secular ethics? What parents or other impactful mentors taught?
My guess is if I put before us the following sentence: I always try to do what is _____ many of us would complete that sentence with the word, “right.” But, where do we turn to know what is right, because right is sometimes hard to pin down? It’s an abstract concept. This is not simple relativism hijacking the pulpit. Scripture gives various renderings of what right and wrong look like. The Bible is full of divergent perspectives, even downright contradictions, so determining what is right wrong maybe less clear and less helpful than we think.
Think of some of the controversial issues of our era, which are steeped in right/wrong language: We hear “Abortion is wrong”, or “It is only right to let a woman control her own body.” I have strong feelings about that issue, as I’m guessing many of you do, yet how often are our conversations with those with whom we differ productive? LGBTQ questions, more resolved here evoke a similar intractability in other parts of the country and world. Again, the battle is waged in terms of right and wrong, with religion as weaponry. The debate over whether marijuana is okay seems to be over, but does that mean we are finished with the discussion?
I’m going to say two things that may strike you as strange side by side: 1) These are issues with which the Bible can help us immensely, and 2) I don’t think talking about them in terms of right or wrong is the most helpful or even most faithful way of doing so. Right and wrong may be the wrong question, even for religion. Religion comes from the Latin “Religiare,” which means “to knit together.” It is meant to be an entirely practical and helpful endeavor, of knitting together a set of practices and teachings that help us navigate life with one another before our God. When we get into pious debates about right and wrong, we tend to lose sight of the real beings who will benefit or who will suffer as a result of the outcome and, in the end, are more torn apart than knit together.
Look at how Paul asks a different question in today’s passage from I Corinthians. First, a word about Paul. Many people don’t like him. I’d say they struggle with him, but it’s worse; they’ve given up on the struggle. I have no problem with people not liking Paul, but I have a big problem with people not understanding him. Some will characterize him as exclusive, when he spent his entire ministry and gave his life for the singular issue of making the movement more inclusive. Some decry his chauvinism or affinity for patriarchy, when in fact the morality codes he offered were quite progressive, requiring far more mutuality than those that dominated the Roman context in which he lived. Some dismiss him as legalistic. A legal expert, Paul was anything but inflexible and an unthinking rule-follower. Dislike him if you must, but do the work to understand him first.
Paul pushes the Corinthians into asking more useful, questions. Paul quotes the Corinthians saying, “All things are lawful for me” (I Cor. 6:12). This is one of their maxims. They understand their life in Christ to mean they are no longer under the law in the same way. The problem for Paul was that apparently this is where the Corinthians left it. Freedom in Christ meant only freedom from, permission to do and be anything they wanted. Paul doesn’t negate their freedom; to “All things are lawful,” he adds expands upon it, “but not all things are beneficial.” In one phrase Paul shifts the entire discussion from what’s right and wrong, what’s allowed and disallowed (by law), to what is actually beneficial to individuals and the community. In Christ, we are free from what is not useful and freed for what is useful to ourselves and others. That is a markedly different standard.
When I was a graduate student in rhetoric, we were in a seminar and I made some comment about something (obviously very memorable) in which I described something as “good” or “bad,” and one of my colleagues who I couldn’t stand, we’ll call her Lucy…fer…I mean Linda, called me out on it. “Why use moral terms there? Why get bogged down into good and bad?” Over the years, Linda single handedly built up my ocular muscles because of how much she made me roll my eyes. It was only years later, upon looking back, safely removed from our personality differences, that I realized Linda was almost always right, almost always helpful. What she was lifting up as a more helpful standard than contested definitions of right and wrong was what was useful, and for whom. How does this action or statement actually affect real people and things?
You could say Linda was channeling Paul. Paul asks the Corinthians to consider what is useful, what is helpful, as they navigated their life and the issues he was dealing with were real—well-to-do people getting drunk by consuming all the wine at communion feasts (they were feasts back then) before the workers got off for the day and were able to join the celebration; sexual relationships and power, whether within families or with temple prostitutes, a fixture of the Roman imperial cult; how different people with different abilities and persuasions could be brought together into some cohesive whole in common life with the use of a powerful body metaphor. It’s not so much about pietistic concept of what’s “right” and “wrong,” but what helps and what hurts people, real people.
How many conversations end prematurely and unproductively because people are more committed to lining up on what they know is the “right” side than they are to asking how actual people will be hurt or helped by the outcome? Returning to our example issues, has there been any more polarized debate than abortion? We’ve been told: 1) it’s either right or wrong, and 2) we must be on one side or the other, when my experience is that many people have more nuanced opinions than that, and can articulate more complex ways of thinking than that, but are afraid to for how they’ll be maligned. I read this week a quote in which someone said their favorite definition of heresy is an inability to handle complexity. In an ironic twist, religion becomes one of the main purveyors of heresy.
Paul’s dictum to consider what’s beneficial or useful helps us here because it shifts us to consider our common ground. The common ground I have experienced on abortion is nobody I have ever met wants there to be more abortions in the world. No one. Nor does anyone want more unwanted pregnancies, uncared for or endangered children, or families not in a position to care, nor victims of abuse to have no options and the list goes on. When we get stuck at, “It’s right,” or “It’s wrong,” we never get to address how to mitigate all those things we agree nobody wants because we’ve been told we vehemently disagree. When we consider what actions will truly help people, and avoiding hurting others, the conversation changes. I don’t have the time to summarize it here, but Wendell Berry writes one of the most thoughtful commentaries on abortion in an appropriately long article from March of 2013 in the Christian Century. He concludes two things you might find strange when placed side by side: 1) He opposes abortion, except when it is to save a mother’s life, and 2) He is in favor of it being entirely legal. With his firm convictions in hand, he says, “I can imagine circumstances in which I would willingly aid and comfort a girl or a woman getting an abortion.”[1]
But I hesitate even to tell you his opinion, because his opinion isn’t the point, the point is that he gives one model of shifting the conversation from strident moralism, to one of practical questions about how people can best help its people. What changed the conversation for many in terms of sexual orientation was simply knowing someone who was gay, and thinking about what passing rules that hurt them, or discriminating against them, would do to some, a real person, they knew, respected, cared about. It’s a way of approaching life that would very much resonate with Paul, with Jesus, and in light of this weekend, with Martin Luther King for that matter. All the time, they measured the human toll of our actions.
And now that we have been granted new freedom with marijuana, and I hope we can stand with Paul, and Jesus here too. I, for one, am totally in favor of legalization. I don’t anticipate or expect all of you to be. I see the war on drugs, particularly that drug, to be an abject failure, an enormous waste of resources that could go to treatment among other things, and, quite frankly, a way to disenfranchise black and brown persons. Read the history of how there was an intentional shift from using the term “cannabis” to “marijuana” to make it sound more Hispanic and therefore more objectionable. Like Paul, however, I don’t believe something’s legality is the final question we should be asking. I fear we’ve spent all our energy asking whether marijuana should be legal and precious little on whether and how it will be useful, and for whom, and for whom it will be profoundly not useful and harmful.
As Christians, we are called to ask those questions, for ourselves and for our community. For those who are sick or in chronic pain, could cannabis be helpful, I think the answer is yes. Is there a legitimate discussion about whether there is a pleasure derived from substances; I think yes there is a conversation to be had. Living in the heart of wine country, we are probably long overdue for that discussion. As someone in the congregation said to me about this very issue a couple weeks ago, this is not Europe, where people have a glass of wine with a meal, we are not good at moderation. We are a culture of excess.
Who is helpfully asking the question of how to maximize any usefulness and mitigate any harmfulness? I can’t tell you how many places we’ve been with our 5-year-old, either public places or private parties, where the adults, supervising children, are smoking dope or are several drinks in. I don’t care if you drink. I don’t really care if you smoke if you can handle it, but have we really considered the consequences for those who cannot, and how many who think they can but cannot? Have we adequately prepared for the inevitable consequences for mental health, the toll on individuals and families, and the public and private costs of our decision, a decision of which I was, and am, in favor?
I’m not for waging another legal battle; I am for helping us, having us help on another, have these conversations for ourselves and our community so that we don’t stop, like the Corinthians did, only with what is lawful, so that we can begin to talk about how to behave in ways that are useful, beneficial to our own bodies and one another. Just by luck, we’re going to continue the conversation about today’s sermon in the library after worship—I hope to do that periodically—and maybe that’s a place to start. Let it not be the end.
Let us pray, God, you have given us immeasurable freedom in Christ, the blessing of forgiveness and the chance to start again, the blessing of eternal life, and on top of that, for many of us, many material blessings. Give us the wisdom to see that not only as freedom from rules, obligations, and responsibilities, but also as freedom for—for healthy relationship; for the honoring of bodies, our own and others’; for serving God and loving our neighbors as ourselves. Amen.
[1] Wendell Berry, “Caught in the Middle: ON Abortion and Homosexuality,” Christian Century, March 20, 2013.
Mark 1:4-11
4John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
9In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
The Edge of Faith
Today, I’m going to talk about spatial dynamics in Scripture and a miracle that happened right here. With which would you rather start? Spatial dynamics it is!
Bear with me.
The Biblical story is a series of grand movements, of locations and dislocations. Last night we celebrated Epiphany, the magi, traveling across the globe to visit this mysterious star child. Sometimes called kings, the magi left their power centers to reveal the true center of world in a child born of modest means, who would grow up to be a worker from a small town who spent his life largely wandering around the countryside teaching, healing, and staring down demons. He had seemingly few possessions, perhaps not even a home. God enters the world on the edge of society.
Mark, likely the oldest of the gospels, includes no birth story. It introduces us to Jesus as an adult getting baptized in a stream from someone who has just emerged from the wilderness eating bugs. Talk about the edge! Jesus’ first act is to do nothing, instead to be baptized, and when he is he sees the “Spirit descending like a dove on him” (Mk. 1:10). Notice, in Mark, unlike elsewhere, Jesus sees the Spirit descending like a dove. There’s no indication anyone else does. Miracles are not always for everyone to see, much less believe. In this moment God proclaims from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (1:11).
This raises all kinds of questions. What makes Jesus beloved? He hasn’t done anything yet, at least that Mark feels consequential enough to tell us about. Furthermore, the baptism John is offering is one for the forgiveness of sins. Could Jesus have needed to repent? Either way, Mark makes it clear that love is not earned in God’s economy. It’s a helpful reminder especially this time of year. As Nadia Bolz Weber, popular Lutheran preacher, puts it, “There is no resolution that, if kept, will make me more worthy of love.”[1] Perhaps Jesus’ openness by submitting to baptism does make him more able to receive this free gift of love, more able to be a vessel for the Spirit in his life. Jesus’ ministry, somewhat shockingly, begins on the edge of his control.
It all emerges from the edge. Read through Scripture sometime and notice how many dynamic and transformative things happen, not in traditional centers, but on an edge: a healing at the temple gate, not in the temple itself, dynamic encounters and struggles happen in entryways to houses, not inside, conversions and mystical encounters on roads between cities and towns, supposed places of importance. Once baptized, where does Jesus go, the wilderness, the edge. These are contested spaces, where the rules are a little more up for grabs, sometimes dangerous, pregnant with possibility.
This is not so different from our world. Where do the real deals get done, in the board room or after the meetings, at the bar? At conferences, the hallways are the liveliest places not the meeting rooms. What if we learned to embrace our edge times for what opportunities they bring. Silicon Valley and other centers of innovation (there’s an oxymoron) have figured this out, building in unstructured spaces and times, creating protected spaces where new ideas and perspectives can emerge free of usual constraints. For some living on the edge is a chronic reality, the result of systemic injustice. While unchosen, even these can be spaces of opportunity. As Vonnegut reminds us, when you’re on the edge, you can see things you can’t see from the center (see bulletin cover). On the edge, you don’t have to spend all your resources propping up the systems that support the center, and it is enormously draining. New things come from the edge; it’s where the term “edgy' comes from. Do you know why the Genesis reading about creation is paired with today’s reading about the beginning of Jesus’ ministry? It’s because Christians claim in Jesus a new creation, and where does God start to recreate the world in God’s image? Not from the center, not from Rome, but from Bethlehem, from the edge.
Speaking of Rome…Despite what you’ve been told, it is a great time to be a follower of Jesus. For the first time in history since the institutional church got in bed with empire in the 4th century, the locus of economic power and the vibrancy of the church have become disentangled. The economic center of the world is still the West, while the church is flourishing primarily in the global South and the East in Africa and parts of Asia. Some Westerners have seen this as cause for lament, but look what happens when the church is freed from propping up systems that aren’t very consistent with gospel values anyway. Prophetic and creative edges are again emerging, imperfect yes, but certainly fresh and filled with new life. Liberation theology, this gift from Latin America, has reminded us what has always been so, but over the centuries we had conveniently forgotten, that God stands first with the poor and oppressed, not those who hoard power and resources. Look at the Pope. His refreshingly Christlike way of being—which you’d think would be an automatic for religious leaders—has inspired millions, maybe billions, including many of us Protestants, and many non-Christians. Do you think it’s a coincidence that he comes from the global South, from among the poor, with little to gain by supporting the status quo of extractive and unsustainable economies?
A lot of people are feeling pushed aside to the edge right now. Once you admit you’re there, there is possibility in what it may bring. There, there’s less to lose and more to dream about. There, there’s less to defend, and thus more opportunity to turn anxious energy into creative energy. Let’s lean, as congregational sage Ted Scott suggested this week, more into our agency than our helplessness. I got incredibly sick over Christmas, ended up in the ER, and down and out for days. Sickness is an edge place; it makes you consider what’s important. I realized anew that what is important to me is not propping up hollow incantations of the faith. What’s important to me is witnessing about loving the world that God loves—I don’t just mean people, I mean the created world—the world that God created and recreated in Christ. What’s important to me is standing alongside the poor and those taken advantage of by those who have more than enough, as Christ did, like the prophets before him and the prophets since. If in doing so, some who perceive themselves as benefitting from the way things are get upset so be it. The call of the Christian is not to be popular, not to be liked; the call is to be faithful to Jesus Christ. Besides, nobody truly benefits from an unsustainable way of being. Nobody benefits from such dramatic inequality, even those at the top.
We’re about to endeavor to renovate, to build a new church building. I have no interest in doing it for the sake of doing it. What moves me, and what I believe should move us as Christians is this project gives us a chance to create, to recreate, a space where a generation of people, young and old, can come and learn to view things from the edge as Jesus did, and become living vessels for the Spirit as Jesus did.
The story of John the Baptist shows us that if we follow Jesus to the edge, miracles will happen. They already have. This fall when the wildfires came we gathered here to pray. We prayed for those who’d been affected, for those who fought them, and then it happened…someone suggested we pray for rain. You could sense the hesitation. Do we do that? Can we do that? What if it doesn’t work? What if it does. We were encouraged—and not by me; one of you was the vessel here—to draw images of rain, carry around images of water falling from the sky in our minds and hearts, hold the intention, return to it, pray for it. Pray for rain. It was October. The next Wednesday, it rained. One day. Not again for weeks. Say what you will. Dismiss what you will, but according to Mark nobody else saw the Spirit descend on Jesus, but Jesus did, and look at what it did for him. Look at what the Spirit did for him through his openness. Is it a dark cloud following you around or is it the Spirit of God waiting and wanting to unleash a torrent of possibility upon you? “I have baptized you with water; but Christ will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” Let us pray.
Vanish in us fear.
Eliminate overcast outlooks.
Wash away our encrusted shells.
Rain down on us your Spirit.
Baptize us in truth and courage.
Set us free and turn us loose.
Amen.
[1] Nadia Bolz Weber, Twitter.
Matthew 25:31-46
31“When the Son of Humanity comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. 34Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’
37Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’
40And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ 41Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’
44Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’
45Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ 46And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Faces
Charles Mully was a street kid in Kenya for 10 years, beginning at age six when he was abandoned by his family. Six years old, consider that, the age of the children who come forward for children’s time here at church, all on his own. In desperation, after attending a church service and being told all was possible with God, the still young Mully knocked on the door of a house that looked as though it belonged to a well-to-do family. An Indian woman opened the door. It turned out her family owned a large farm. This immigrant family took Mully in and gave him work—that will preach in and of itself. First he cleaned and worked around the house and then he was given a job in the fields. Six months later, he was promoted to a manager. Mully married a woman he met in the fields, they started a family, and he proceeded to launch business venture after business venture of his own until he was a millionaire several times over. It’s one of these stories you simply have to see to believe, and is featured in the documentary, “Mully” All of it was made possible because when a woman opened the door, she saw something in the face of this stranger.
In today’s gospel reading, Jesus offered the following teaching, “When the son of humanity comes in his glory…All the people will be gathered before him, and he will separate them one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats,” (Mt. 25:31). The separation is based on who fed, gave drink to, welcomed in as a stranger, clothed, nursed, and visited in prison those who were in need. Those on each side express puzzle, asking, “When did we do this to you,” or “not do this to you,” the response comes, and you know it by now, “just as you did it to one of the least of these…you did it to me” (v. 40).
Those who did are rewarded and those who did not are punished. Now interestingly, this passage is often deemed harsh, with Jesus depicted as vengeful, unforgiving. How one experiences this teaching, of course, depends a lot on perspective. To the hungry who were not fed by those who had plenty, to the thirsty who were denied drink by those who could have provided it, to the naked, the sick, the foreigner, the imprisoned (likely unjustly) who were abandoned, the accountability promised by Jesus’ teaching probably feels a lot like justice. Justice, on one level, is about accountability, and accountability at its core is about love.
First, accountability is about love for the victim, those who have been mistreated, and Jesus’ words of divine solidarity here should be of comfort to them. Wouldn’t we want those who have harmed us to be held accountable? With all these revelations about sexual harassment, and there are more every day, isn’t one way we love victims and try to prevent more people from being victimized to hold people accountable for their actions, and hold all of us as a society accountable for the things we do to create the conditions for such behavior? Accountability takes us beyond mere gestures of sympathy into meaningful change.
Accountability is also love for those who do wrong, or avoid doing right. Yes, we tell our children, God loves you just as you are, and yet doesn’t God love us into better versions of ourselves? This is how we love our children not by giving them permission to stay as they are but by helping them grow up. One way we help them grow up is by holding them accountable for their actions. I don’t know how many of you participated in sports growing up, or drama or any group activity, but if you did you know that being corrected by a coach or director, even sternly, isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s not fun, but it’s not the worst thing. The worst thing is when the coach stops correcting you, stops noticing you altogether. That’s when you know, consciously or subconsciously, that he or she has given up on you, having decided the potential is elsewhere. Jesus wants us to recognize the potential right before us in the people we encounter, so much so that he likens it to seeing his own face, the very face of Christ.
Here, our Jesus reflects a theme that we can find across a number of the great religious traditions. In response to Buddhist participation in violence against Muslims in Burma/Myanmar, ethnic cleansing, The Dalai Lama has called for his followers to see the face of the Buddha in those they would harm. Doing violence to them and you are doing violence to him. Sound familiar? In Islam, the Holy Quran contains this wonderful phrase, “wherever you might turn, there is the face of God,” (Verse 2:115), wherever you turn. The face of God in the other, from Genesis to Jesus, it’s deep in our tradition, and across our traditions.
When such things are mentioned, people rush to point out where a particular religion has failed. They have all failed, and Christianity among them, each rationalizing why “in this case,” violence toward the other is acceptable or “in that instance” the wellbeing of the other who could be helped is someone else’s problem. That, however, is tantamount to denying the image of God in anyone but one’s “own people.” Note, Jesus’ teaching doesn’t require extraordinary measures. He’s asking for basic care for all beings, universal, not earned nor worked for, given out of recognition of the divine image imprinted indelibly on all.
The “all” is worth exploring because Jesus’ teaching actually does appear to be assigning different standards to different groups of people. There’s a phrase often left out when we repeat this common refrain, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Mt. 25:40). Remember a few weeks ago, we discussed that the phrases “little ones” and “least of these,” specifically refer to the early followers of Jesus. They are not a simple synonym for the poor or most vulnerable, though many preachers (including this one) get mileage out of employing them as such. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of places in the Bible which urge for care of the poor and vulnerable; there’s just more at work here.
There is a subtlety that may have an even stronger message for us. Jesus is addressing those who aren’t his followers, who aren’t Jews, at least so argues New Testament Scholar Daniel Harrington. Verse 32 reads in your Bibles, “All the nations will be gathered…” but as Harrington points out the Greek ἔθνη can be translated “nations,” or “peoples,” and it can also mean “Gentiles,” non-Jews, and elsewhere is specifically used to those nations other than Israel.[1] The implication is that God will hold those outside Jesus’ community accountable for how they treat Jesus’ people, the Jews. Harrington asks, rhetorically, how much more, then, will be expected of Jesus’ people, of his followers.[2] In other words, we who have committed our lives to following Jesus, who benefit from his teachings and claim his presence still, we give ourselves over to be held to an even higher standard.
We can understand that higher standard to be a burden, or we can receive it as a gift. Watch what happens when we embrace this commitment. I didn’t finish the story of Charles Mully. Once Mully made it with his transportation company, and was rich from investments in oil and gas, something happened. Visiting a dangerous part of the city, his car was stolen by street kids he refused to pay to protect it. When returning home, he got in another one of his cars and just drove, for four hours he drove until the tears came. They came and came, and that’s when it came to him that he would never again work for money.
You can imagine the look on his family members’ faces when he told them, they who had become accustomed to a certain way of life, they who didn’t sign up for his transformation, and as the film unfolds, they who paid a significant price for what Charles Mully did next. He started to close his businesses, and he began walking into the slums at night. Young people were everywhere, sniffing glue, getting alcohol off alcohol, high from using drugs. He would look among them for a young child sleeping alone, under some scrap. Approaching them he would whisper and reach out his arms. As they came to him, as young or younger than when he was abandoned, he carried them home, to his home.
I mentioned the toll on his family. While Mully went out and got the children, his wife had to care for them, his children make room for them, give up a lot of their things. Eventually, Mully’s own children had to be sent away to boarding school. It was total chaos at the beginning and for some time, but over time they found their way, eventually building a compound by hand in the desert. They needed the space to be able to house the children, and also providing them schooling and job and life skills training. The only problem was it was it was a compound in the desert. There was no water. They drove for 4 hours each day to get water, and by now there were dozens and dozens of children. You can imagine the strain. Money and food started to run out. Then, just it was gone, an answered prayer showed up in the form of an unexpected truck filled with foodstuffs just showed up, with enough donations to last them a long while.
The praying continued, this time for water. Mully was given a word from God in a dream where they were to dig for water, even though they were told there would be no water there. They dug and dug, the older kids from the school. For days, nothing. No water for days, and then, with a strike of a shovel, the water came like a fountain. From that well flowed water for them and for the nearby Maasai children who needed it. From that well came a garden, and then a greenhouse, and then a tree planting project that literally changed the local climate. Soon acres of green emerged, and rows of greenhouses produced enough food to sell on the European markets. Mully made peace with his children, all of whom now serve the organization, Mully Children’s Family. To date, they have rescued thousands upon thousands of children.
And it started with an immigrant woman seeing something in this strangers face, and this stranger growing up to see something in the faces of others, something of the face of God. Here, I am not only speaking of the faces of those desperate little children. It’s easy for us to see God in their eyes. What made Mully different was seeing the face of God in thieves, those who stole from him, who others would call, “thugs.” In their faces, Mully saw something of Christ, he saw something of himself, and in doing so he recognized the potential right before him.
Just as you did it to the least of these who are of my family, you did it to me. Amen.
[1] Daniel J. Harrington, Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of Matthew (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1991), 356.
[2] Ibid., 360.
Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff— they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.
Psalm 100
Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth. Worship the Lord with gladness; come into his presence with singing. Know that the Lord is God. It is God that made us, and we are hers; we are her people, and the sheep of her pasture. Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise. Give thanks to God, bless her name. For the Lord is good; God’s steadfast love endures forever, and God’s faithfulness to all generations.
“Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth.” My fellow congregation members, it is clear the love of God everlasting pervades this room. Although the love and beauty of God are present throughout the world, we are among some of the blessed individuals that can enjoy the beauty of God from our front doorsteps. From the placid, simplistic beauty of the bay to sublime Mt. Tam hovering above us, with the mystical fog banks curling around its ridges like the love of God, which wraps around us every day in what I can only describe as a holy hug. Our community here at Westminster reflects the work and service of hard-working individuals who continue to strive for positive change in the Bay Area and society at large. And as we sit here on this beautiful Sunday morning, it can be easy to recognize all that God’s love and beauty have provided us. But, as we near Thanksgiving, I am not going to lecture you on the need to be grateful for God’s beauty and love. I believe that you are already aware of the presence of God’s love in your lives. Today, I want to remind you all to strive to be grateful to God in times when it isn’t as easy to show instant gratitude for God’s love.
As we continue to be bombarded by sobering news of domestic and foreign terrorism, bigotry, and oppression, it can be easy to let our fear control us. While it is important that we recognize where society falls short, we must remember that the news largely focuses on the worst of the world and that society has more to offer than the brutality we read about every day. The ultimate goal of terrorism is to strike fear into the hearts of people, thus giving the actors power over others. As responsible members of society, we cannot waver in fear as these perpetrators hurt our brothers and sisters alike. We must look above these actions, letting the love of God comfort us and fuel us with determination to be the better people, as God would wish we do. As Psalm 23 states, “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff— they comfort me.” Let us go to God for love in times of hardship. It is time that we celebrate the precious time we are provided by God. As humans, we must endure pain throughout our lives, as life is inevitably imperfect. But ultimately, this pain can only bring us closer to God’s love, and truly demonstrates to us the importance of God’s love in our lives.
I find this idea similar to running; this past fall, I participated in cross country at my school. Every day, I would run with my team up to nearby Phoenix lake. One such day, we ran 13 miles up and over Mt. Tam down to Stinson beach. Let me tell you, it was a grind. God had purposefully chosen the weather that day to be a toasty 95˚, and we soon found ourselves sweating profusely as we moved up the hill at a moderate pace. After an hour, we found ourselves nearing the highest point of our climb. Suddenly, a dreaded cramp pierced me in the side, and I was forced to walk to my great dismay. When I run, I usually look down at the ground, making sure of my footing first. When I was forced to stop, I looked up to see my surroundings for the first time. I was astonished. For the first time I realized where I was; below, I could see the glistening town of Mill Valley, Tiburon off in the distance, and the ever-present bay, glimmering in the afternoon sun. It was through this experience that I learned that sometimes we need to stop and look at things with a new perspective in order to fully enjoy God’s love and grace. It also taught me that sometimes we need to endure a little pain to truly recognize the value of God’s love and beauty.
I would like to share a C.S. Lewis quote with you all today. “Though our feelings come and go, God’s love for us does not.” It is true that God’s “steadfast love endures forever, and His faithfulness to all generations.” Sometimes, though, it can be challenging to recognize that, especially amidst the media that surrounds us every day. Let us remember as we enter the new year that we are all the children of God and that He will forever bestow upon us his indefatigable love. Remember that even in times of trouble and fear, sometimes we must stop to walk, and look up from the ground to view what is truly around us. Let us also endure the uphills of life. Go to God for comfort and surround yourself with God’s love. Perhaps we can even help each other on this journey as well so that we can all reach the vista point and enjoy the beauty of God. After all, life is just too short to be lost in fear, afraid to enjoy the very thing that surrounds us every day. Amen.
(Strat Tolmie is a freshman at Branson and a member of Westminster’s 2017 High School Confirmation class.)
Joshua 24: 1-3a, 14-27
Then Joshua gathered all the tribes of Israel to Shechem, and summoned the elders, the heads, the judges, and the officers of Israel; and they presented themselves before God. And Joshua said to all the people, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: Long ago your ancestors—Terah and his sons Abraham and Nahor—lived beyond the Euphrates and served other gods. Then I took your father Abraham from beyond the River and led him through all the land of Canaan and made his offspring many.”
“Now therefore revere the Lord, and serve the Lord in sincerity and in faithfulness; put away the gods that your ancestors served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served in the region beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” Then the people answered, “Far be it from us that we should forsake the Lord to serve other gods; for it is the Lord our God who brought us and our ancestors up from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, and who did those great signs in our sight. The Lord protected us along all the way that we went, and among all the peoples through whom we passed; and the Lord drove out before us all the peoples, the Amorites who lived in the land. Therefore we also will serve the Lord, for the Lord is our God.”
But Joshua said to the people, “You cannot serve the Lord, for the Lord is a holy God. The Lord is a jealous God; the Lord will not forgive your transgressions or your sins. If you forsake the Lord and serve foreign gods, then the Lord will turn and do you harm, and consume you, after having done you good.” And the people said to Joshua, “No, we will serve the Lord!” Then Joshua said to the people, “You are witnesses against yourselves that you have chosen the Lord, to serve God.” And they said, “We are witnesses.” He said, “Then put away the foreign gods that are among you, and incline your hearts to the Lord, the God of Israel.” The people said to Joshua, “The Lord our God we will serve, and the Lord we will obey.” So Joshua made a covenant with the people that day, and made statutes and ordinances for them at Shechem. Joshua wrote these words in the book of the law of God; and he took a large stone, and set it up there under the oak in the sanctuary of the Lord. Joshua said to all the people, “See, this stone shall be a witness against us; for it has heard all the words of the Lord that God spoke to us; therefore it shall be a witness against you, if you deal falsely with your God.”
And now, a reading from Dr. Seuss – “The Zode in the Road”
Did I ever tell you about the young Zode,
Who came to two signs at the fork in the road?
One said to Place One, and the other, Place Two.
So the Zode had to make up his mind what to do.
Well…the Zode scratched his head, and his chin and his pants.
And he said to himself, “I’ll be taking a chance
If I go to Place One. Now, that place may be hot!
And so, how do I know if I’ll like it or not?
On the other hand though, I’ll be sort of a fool
If I go to Place Two and find it too cool.
In that case I may catch a chill and turn blue!
So, maybe Place One is the best, not Place Two,
But then again, what if Place One is too high?
I may catch a terrible earache and die!
So Place Two may be best! On the other hand though…
What might happen to me if Place Two is too low?
I might get some very strange pain in my toe!
So Place One may be best,” and he started to go.
Then he stopped, and he said, “On the other hand though….
On the other hand…other hand…other hand though…”
And for 36 hours and a half that poor Zode
Made starts and made stops at the fork in the road.
Saying, “Don’t take a chance. No! You may not be right.”
Then he got an idea that was wonderfully bright!
“Play safe!” cried the Zode. “I’ll play safe. I’m no dunce!
I’ll simply start out for both places at once!”
And that’s how the Zode who would not take a chance
Got no place at all with a split in his pants.
Choose
Two weeks ago, we heard the story at the very end of the book of Deuteronomy where Moses leads the people to the brink of the promised land … so close that he can see it. But God tells him that he shall not cross over there. Moses dies and Joshua leads the people into the promised land. Now, here at the end of the book of Joshua, he is close to death and has one more thing to tell the people who are now comfortably ensconced in the promised land – choose. Choose this day whom you will serve. Joshua is very clear – you can choose to serve the Lord your God who has led you out of Egypt and into the promised land, or you can choose to serve the other gods of your ancestors, or you can choose to serve the other gods of the people who are living here with you in this new land. But – you must choose.
The people have no problem making their choice. They immediately reply - of course we will serve the Lord our God. Far be it from us that we should forsake the Lord to serve other gods! Come on, Joshua, this is a no brainer!
But Joshua is not having any of that quick, reactive thinking. He knows that they are feeling good about God right now … they have made it to the promised land just as God declared they would. Life is great, God is great. But, Joshua also knows that the going will get tough. He knows that it will not always be easy to serve God. He knows that it might be tempting to serve the foreign gods of this foreign land. He knows that the people have already wanted many times to turn away from God during their difficult journey to this land. “Are you sure you can do this?” he wonders, “because I’m not sure that you can.” Joshua wants the people to understand the significance of their choice. Don’t say today that you choose to serve God and then turn around and forsake God when something else comes along.
The people assure Joshua that their choice is to serve the Lord. They are witnesses to their choice, and together they declare, “The Lord our God we will serve and obey.”
The Israelites are not the only one asked to make that choice. We, too, as people of faith are asked the very same question – who will you choose to serve? Will we serve the Lord our God? Or will we serve the many other gods of our culture and our world? Sitting here in worship, the choice perhaps seems as obvious to us as it did to the Israelites – of course we choose to serve God! But, as Joshua reminded them, and as Dr. Seuss reminds us, the choice is not quite that easy. Or, maybe more accurately, following through on that choice is not quite that easy. How many times in our lives do we try to choose both Place One and Place Two? How many times in our lives do we try to serve God and fill in the blank here. God and money? God and power? God and status? God and new shiny things? God and sports? God and whatever it may be? And all we end up with is a split in our pants. When the values of our faith meet the values of our culture, there is so often a disconnect. Who or what do we choose?
A couple months ago, my son received an invitation to a birthday party for one of his friends. His friend specifically requested in the invitation that she did not want presents. Instead, she encouraged her guests to give a donation to a non-profit organization that was near and dear to her heart. What a wonderful example of being just a bit counter-cultural and choosing to serve God. I don’t need any more stuff, said this 10 year old girl, but this organization could really use the donations.
However, when I talked with her mom about it after the party, her mom said that she still received a bunch of presents! She told me, “It’s weird – no matter how many times we say we that we really would prefer no gifts, some people bring a present anyway.” It is so ingrained in our culture to gift stuff to people – often stuff that we really don’t need. Not that giving gifts to others is a bad thing, but as we approach the holiday season, how do we choose to serve God in the types of gifts that we give? In the ways that we choose to spend our money? I am so grateful for our Alternative Christmas Fair that offers us so many wonderful options.
I was so inspired by this birthday invitation that I recently suggested to my family that we try this for Christmas. I suggested that we give each other fewer things – less stuff – and instead donate the money we would have spent to a non-profit organization of our choosing. And then my son immediately burst into tears. Tears! A full crying melt-down. I was somewhat surprised, because this is not a boy who lacks stuff. He has more toys than he will ever play with. I hadn’t realized he was so attached to the idea of receiving gifts. But, once he calmed down, he explained why he was so upset. It wasn’t that he would not receive as many gifts … it was that his friends would think it strange. “What will I tell my friends,” he said through his sniffles, “when they ask what I got for Christmas? They will laugh at me if I tell them I just gave the money away.”
Choosing to serve God with my money means my friends will laugh at me. Yikes. Peer pressure is no joke. And often peer pressure is directly opposed to our choice to serve God. Peer pressure also is not just for 10 year olds.
Several parents and teachers at my son’s school have had a variety of problems and run-ins and disagreements with the principal. There came a point when it seemed like every time we gathered with other parents, it would turn into a gripe session about the principal. I understand complaints about her job performance, or some of her decision-making about school-related things. However, a couple of times the attacks turned personal. The gripes started slandering her as a human being rather than constructively criticizing her job as the principal. That made me uncomfortable. I know when I choose to serve God, I am called to love my neighbor. I am called to pray for my enemies … not to slander them. If I really was living into my choice to serve God, I would have spoken up. I would have pointed out the ways in which our conversation was not loving and not caring about our neighbor. But I didn’t. I remained silent. I did not contribute to the mean comments, but I certainly did not put a stop to them. I did not have the courage to speak God’s love in a difficult moment to my friends.
We are daily faced with the choice of who or what to serve. In the many decisions that we make every day, are we serving God? Or serving someone or something else? In how we are in relationship with others, are we serving God? In how we care for ourselves, are we serving God?
The examples I have given so far are pretty benign. It really is not that controversial to support non-profits, or to speak to each other with kindness and respect. But what about when the issues get more divisive? How do we choose to serve God with our health care policies? Or in our treatment of immigrants and refugees? If I say I choose to serve the God who welcomes the outcast and who loves the least of these, how am I then called to welcome the outcast and love the least of these? If I say I choose to serve the God who calls for nations to beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks, how am I then called to respond to the epidemic of gun violence in our country. If I say I choose to serve God, how do I make that choice in my voting, in my advocating, in my daily conversations?
Joshua warned the people that choosing to serve God would not be easy. We all face obstacles and challenges when we choose to serve God. Lest we focus too much on what might prevent us from choosing to serve God, however, let us remember the good news – that God has already chosen each one of us! Before Joshua asks the people to choose if they will serve God, he reminds them of all that God has done for them, and the many ways that God has blessed them. God has not been absent in their lives, but has fulfilled all of God’s promises to them. Their choice to serve God – our choice to serve God – is a response to the blessing that God continually offers us. With the unconditional love that God pours into our lives, how could we choose anything else but to respond in service to God? And when we fall short, God forgives us and God loves us, and we have a chance to recommit ourselves to our choice to serve God.
When Joshua had received the people’s assurance that their choice was to serve God, he set up a large stone as a sign of this covenant. Here is our own large stone, as a sign of our covenant. Let us pray …
Loving God, may this stone be a witness of our choice to serve you. We enter into this choice with eyes wide open. We know there are challenges and obstacles to serving you. We know we will often want to choose to serve other gods, and we might very well end up with a split in our pants. But may this stone be our witness that we will not be overcome by these obstacles and challenges. Again and again, we will choose to serve you. Amen.
1 Thessalonians 2:9-13
9You remember our labor and toil, brothers and sisters; we worked night and day, so that we might not burden any of you while we proclaimed to you the gospel of God. 10You are witnesses, and God also, how pure, upright, and blameless our conduct was toward you believers. 11As you know, we dealt with each one of you like a father with his children, 12urging and encouraging you and pleading that you lead a life worthy of God, who calls you into his own kingdom and glory.
13We also constantly give thanks to God for this, that when you received the word of God that you heard from us, you accepted it not as a human word but as what it really is, God’s word, which is also at work in you believers. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Re-Formed
I have had a reminder of this year’s 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation on my desk since my brother-in-law traveled to Europe last year and brought it back…This is Lego Martin Luther. Luther, as we’ve been taught, is the hero of our story, a superhero even, who nailed his 95 theses to the door at Wittenberg 500 years ago last Tuesday, changing the church, changing the world, forever.
Something strange kept happening to my Luther Lego figure throughout the year. Almost every Monday when I came in, his little Lego parts were disassembled and spread across desk. His cape—fitting for a superhero—would be over here, his little cap over there, his Lego hair helmet over there…I’m not sure he ever lost his head, though some would say that’s debatable. I suspect the deconstruction had something to do with my son, but he pleads the fifth…not the fifth amendment, the fifth birthday.
A deconstructed Luther became a fitting metaphor for me as I read about and reflected upon the Reformation throughout the year. As is often the case, the fairy tales we are taught may be more fiction, sometimes even propaganda, than fact. (Think of what we grew up learning about Christopher Columbus.) At the very least, we know who gets to write the history. Nailing those 95 theses to the door, if it really happened, would not have been the dramatic event we’ve come to celebrate. Doing so would have been the medieval equivalent to tacking something up on a bulletin board today. Similarly, the notion that Luther was singularly responsible for turning the tide of history ignores the contextual reality that a complex set of forces—historical, political, and cultural, as well as religious—conspired to create a perfect storm and result in a sea change. Even the notion that Luther is solely responsible for bringing the Bible back to a place of primacy, sola Scriptura, was the Latin phrase, overlooks that, at the time, there was a widespread intellectual movement across disciplines to return to the sources, particularly of Roman and Greek antiquity.[1]
It is a mixed legacy. Church historian Christopher Ocker, from our very own San Francisco Theological Seminary, reminds us the Reformation wasn’t only about understanding theology properly in the church, but also about the seizure of church property by the newly budding Protestants, who used it for their own purposes. The later life anti-Semitism of Luther is well-documented, and our own theological forbearer John Calvin willfully advocated for the execution of Miguel Serveto, or Servetus as he is commonly known. Servetus, a scientist and biblical scholar, was responsible for discovering the process of pulmonary circulation in the field of medicine. Having fallen out of favor with the church, he came to Calvin in Geneva. But Calvin, too, took issue with Servetus on theological matters, namely on the subjects of the Trinity and infant baptism. In the end, Servetus was burned at the stake. Our hands are not clean.
And yet—two of the most important words in preaching, if not in all of life—and yet, look what was accomplished in the Reformation. Regardless of the fact the Reformation was a part of a larger stream of returning to the sources, and Martin Luther may have been a symbol and catalyst of something greater, symbols and catalysts do matter. Similarly, the Protestant Reformation did lift up biblical authority and help put the Bible in the hands of the people, in version printed in their own language, the significance of which cannot be overstated. This was at a time when the laity weren’t allowed to fully participate in communion—that was for the priests, who faced the altar, away from the people. In fact, the people were sometimes left to observe outside the sanctuary behind a gate!
The Reformation called into question the concentration of power in one person, a religious monarchy of sorts, ushering in a more democratic system of governance, which, incidentally contributed mightily to the form of government we have in the United States. As with any religion, our polity is our theology, and we believe God’s will is best discerned in community, with elected representatives making decisions for the good of the whole. Similarly, we hold fast to the belief that one needs no formal intercessor with God, such as a priest. In Christ, all have direct access to God. And, on the famous issue of indulgences, the notion of selling access to heaven not just for financial gain of the church, but essentially functioning as a tax to pay for state-sponsored foreign military campaigns, the Reformation challenged this practice as unjust and unholy. Who among us would say that such a practice is in keeping with the Jesus we encounter in Scripture?
Luther was clear about the true treasure of the church, as Thesis 62, which is on the cover of your bulletin. It is the gospel, the grace of God, freely given. No transfer of human treasure earns that grace. As the confession of faith for which this church is named reminds us, we don’t earn are way into God’s love, we are adopted, chosen for relationship, for unshakable love, and are “never cast off.”[2]
It is as if Luther and those who later followed in his footsteps, such as our own John Calvin, looked at Paul’s words from 1 Thessalonians, the oldest book in the New Testament and thus the closest to the actual time of Jesus, encouraging his followers to “lead a life worthy of God,” and said, ‘The church isn’t doing that, isn’t leading a life worth of God, and it must change.’ Sometimes things need to be broken so they can be re-formed. Think of what was risked, and what was lost, and yet what changed, what ultimately was gained by that reforming? The Protestant movement was born and carries to this day the motto Ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda, the church reformed and always reforming, or always about to be reformed by the power of the Holy Spirit. Our best ideals remind us that the process is never complete, involves constant adaptation to the context, both going back to return to what has been forgotten but is essential, and moving forward by letting go of what no longer serves. The Reformation changed things and the Reformed movement continues to change. Interestingly, the Catholic church changed too, and thankfully we now enjoy a friendship with that tradition. We might say we have made one another better. Maybe both of us could use another round of shaking up. Maybe we’re already in the midst of it already.
The personal shortcomings of the founders, the failings of the church along the way, the manner in which we still do not live up to the best of our ideals—these should not take away from the goodness of the story. In fact, the good news of the gospel may be this: Look what amazing things God can accomplish through broken vessels. Through broken vessels families could have their own Bibles in languages they could read. Through broken vessels grace could rightly understood to flow freely without having to be purchased. Through broken vessels in churches throughout the years, people could be loved through the scariest times in their lives. Through broken vessels forces of evil and oppression could be confronted and struck down not through brute force, but through soul force. It’s through broken vessels that our faith has actually grown because this is how God seems to work. If the Reformation has anything to teach us today, it is not in perfection. It falls far short of that. It is that in imperfect ways, through people who have their share of shortcomings, blessing can break through. By extension, we need not let our own assumptions about our lack of self-worth, fears, simple limitations, or deeper inadequacy stop us from recognizing that we too can be conduits of that blessing. Children of adoption we are, the most blessed title there is, and we shouldn’t forget it.
Let us then, this All Saints Day, remember the saints of our lives, called so not because of their perfection, but because of their ability to channel God’s grace in some moments and measure. Let us remember those who changed the world for the better. Let us remember those who paid attention to us in a way that was clean and made us feel valuable. Let us remember those who sacrificed that we might have here what we have. Let us remember those who gave to us gifts of priceless value, our values. Let us remember those who struggled, mightily at times, maybe even stumbling, but tried their best to model an upright life. Let us remember those who taught us something of love. Let us, this All Saints Day, remember all those we love and have lost, even those who could not or did not receive our love as we would have liked, all trusting they remain in the eternal care of the Great Love…
Today may be a day for our heroes, but let it not be only for superheroes. The figures God uses to shape the world are not made of plastic; they are made of flesh and blood. As we approach the table to share in the body and blood of Christ, let us remember that. Amen.
[1] Hans J. HIllerbrand, The Division of Christendom: Christianity in the Sixteenth Century (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007), 6.
[2] Martin Luther, Thesis #62, and the Westminster Confession of Faith.
Deuteronomy 34:1-12
1Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho, and the LORD showed him the whole land: Gilead as far as Dan, 2all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the Western Sea, 3the Negeb, and the Plain — that is, the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees — as far as Zoar. 4The LORD said to him, “This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, ‘I will give it to your descendants’; I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there.” 5Then Moses, the servant of the LORD, died there in the land of Moab, at the Lord’s command. 6He was buried in a valley in the land of Moab, opposite Beth-peor, but no one knows his burial place to this day. 7Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died; his sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated. 8The Israelites wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days; then the period of mourning for Moses was ended.
9Joshua son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom, because Moses had laid his hands on him; and the Israelites obeyed him, doing as the LORD had commanded Moses.
10Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom the LORD knew face to face. 11He was unequaled for all the signs and wonders that the LORD sent him to perform in the land of Egypt, against Pharaoh and all his servants and his entire land, 12and for all the mighty deeds and all the terrifying displays of power that Moses performed in the sight of all Israel. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Playing Small
Finally, the people of God have made it. Led through the wilderness of uncertainty they now stand at the precipice overlooking the promised land. I am, of course, speaking of our arrival at the end of stewardship season. Today, we dedicate our pledges to support this church. In a little bit, you will have a chance to bring your pledge card forward. If you have already pledged or you would like to promise to pledge, you have a card on which we encourage you to write a prayer for this congregation, for its wellbeing, for what it might become. It is only together that we will make it to the promised land of what God has in store for Westminster. We are on the cusp.
Moses was on the cusp; Moshe in Hebrew, which means “to draw out,” recalling how as a tiny baby he was drawn out of the river. Moshe who led his people from captivity to freedom is given the chance to view the promised land, but not to enter it. Disappointment is part of our story. You know that. So is accountability. Long before, when the people had cried out for water, God came to Moshe and told him to speak to the rock and out of it would flow water. Moshe instead struck the rocks and water flowed (Num. 20:9-12). Interesting how God remembers when Moshe resorted to force rather than trusting in the power of the word, Moshe who earlier killed one of the Egyptian oppressors.
I can only imagine the bitter sweetness of seeing what has been worked for, prayed for, lived for, and yet not to be allowed to enter in. Moshe, literally, falls just short. Commentators focus on the lavish praise given him at the moment of his death, “Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moshe,” they remind us the passage says (Deut. 34:10), perhaps because they, too, want to gloss over the disappointment.
The task of leading the people into the promised land falls to Joshua, in Hebrew is Yeshua, meaning “Yahweh (the name for God) is salvation.” If you read Deuteronomy in Greek, the name is slightly different…it’s Ἰησοῦς…in English, Jesus. Yes, Jesus is named for the one to whom the mantle was passed to bring the people into wellbeing, into true freedom, from oppressive rule, from empire, into salvation.
Do we know that we, too, carry the mantle of blessing?
This blessing comes like prayed for rain upon a scorching earth. Have you seen this video of American Samoan firefighters who came to help us in California? They come down from the hillside with their tools, singing a hymn in their native tongue to a tune that will be familiar to you, at the end shouting, even in the midst of devastation, “God is good. All the time. All the time, God is good. Good is great. Everyday. Everyday. God is great.”
-show clip- (http://www.ktvu.com/news/the-internet-loves-these-hot-shot-samoan-firefighters-aka-the-singing-crew)
They came to save us. They came to save you. Isn’t it nice to know you don’t walk alone?
Now some community raised these men in the faith when they are children. Who is there to raise ours? There are many wonderful institutions and people out there; none are charged singularly with teaching our children this. This is why we give to the church, to be sure the values we hold as dear will be passed on, we who are:
Spiritually exploring – unafraid to explore, question, challenge, be expansive, even unorthodox, because that is a sign of a vibrant faith.
We who are open and inclusive – not only are we unthreatened by various ways expressing love, but we recognize it is in diverse expressions that we see a fuller expression of God’s love.
We who are committed to a faith that is applicable – we believe the Spirit equips us to put our faith to use in daily life, individual and collective.
We who are welcoming of families and children – we recognize all that faces raising young ones and we are committed to providing not just a moral/spiritual basis, but a set of relationships that will serve people as they grow. This is one way we serve the world.
We who are grounded in Christ – with a wide array of beliefs, we remain grounded in Jesus who embodies for us love made manifest.
Remembering the importance of humility, this church does no one a favor by “playing small” to use Marianne Williamson’s words. We must not be afraid to dream big and allow for God’s big dream to be made manifest in us. Our mission in Marin is neither insignificant nor redundant. It is essential, so please give. Give, not only think of what you can do, but realizing that perhaps your neighbor cannot for reasons you cannot see.
I invite you now to come forward now and place your pledge and/or your prayer on the table to be blessed. You don’t have to form a single file line or even two; it will be messy. In the kingdom of heaven, people shall come to God in piles…If you need someone to help you bring it forward, just hold it in the air – your sister or brother in Christ will carry it for you…
-cards delivered-
Let us pray,
Holy One, it was in a burst of generosity that the universe was born. In you was light, and that light has been the life of all things.
You are the inspiration behind the wonder of every scientist. You are the calculus of the poet’s observation. You are the fire in the prophet’s belly.
Everywhere we turn we see the abundant ways in which you have provided, food which grows from the earth, water which falls from the sky, beauty which inspires the heart to care.
As if to leave no doubt, you indeed gave yourself, in Jesus Christ, gift wrapped in swaddling clothes so that we might have a lasting image of your generosity.
In this spirit, we are joyful for the chance to take our place among those who walk through the wilderness propelled by a burning bush and sent to put out a fire, among those who bring water to the scorched earth and thirsty people, among those who sing of your goodness, of your Alleluia, of your praise, even in the midst of destruction.
We dedicate these gifts and this church to you, Amen.
Matthew 22:1-14
1Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: 2“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. 3He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. 4Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ 5But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, 6while the rest seized his slaves, maltreated them, and killed them. 7The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. 8Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. 9Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ 10Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.
11“But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, 12and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. 13Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ 14For many are called, but few are chosen.” THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Exclusion
You’re not wrong. That is the same Scripture passage we read last week. It is clear we were not finished with it because on the way out of worship no fewer than five of you asked me, “What happened to the one who was bound and thrown into the darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth!?” That afternoon, I scrapped my plans for this today and set to studying this passage again to see what more there was to discover.
At the heart of these questions is the matter of exclusion. Last week I spoke about God’s ever widening circle of inclusion, but you rightly asked, “What about the one who showed up without a wedding robe and was excluded?” Fair question. To lower your expectations for today, I should share with you that my attention was divided as I wrote this sermon. Some months ago, I shared that a professor and mentor, David Bartlett, the one who preached at my ordination service, had had a stroke. Professor Bartlett died last week. His funeral was livestreamed from Yale’s chapel. So, I sat watching some of my former professors bear witness to the life of one of their colleagues, while simultaneously writing and trying to make good on what they had endeavored to teach me. Of course, you have to do this all the time in your lives, don’t you, show up somewhere while your mind or heart is elsewhere? I know you’ll be gracious with me today, and I hope you show the same graciousness with each other and yourselves, assuming the untold burdens we all carry.
I share the discomfort you expressed about the exclusion of the one who was turned away from the wedding feast. I want to say to Jesus, “How could you, of all people exclude someone?” Then it strikes me that Jesus might ask the same question of me. I can be quick to be outraged at the thought of a fictional character in a parable being kept from a wedding feast. Do I share the same sustained outrage over real people in my world who are excluded all the time, from opportunities for good education, from access to clean air and drinking water, from the ability to see a doctor, from safe neighborhoods, from fair treatment by police? We say we don’t like people being excluded, and yet have built, and inherited, a society that is riddled with exclusions.
The recent fires have brought out the best in us, with the outpouring of generosity in response to those who’ve lost their homes. They have also surfaced some difficult questions for me around the question of exclusion in our society. I am mindful that many who live in the path of those devastating fires are those who actually serve communities down here or elsewhere. Teachers, nurses, police, plumbers, landscapers, nannies, and firefighters, the people who care for us, teach, raise, and protect our children, are not paid enough to live here. A fire chief lost his home in Santa Rosa. He is the Mill Valley Fire Chief. That says something to me. In the wealthy town of Ross, the firefighters’ quarters are so moldy they have to sleep in temporary housing behind the firehouse? We pray for them often. Taking better care of them would be a fuller expression of our appreciation. Speaking of Ross, I heard it referred to a couple of years ago by an African American, as a “sundown town.” I had never heard that term before, but it means its known among minorities that if you’re not white, you are to be out of there or at the bus stop by sundown or you’ll be picked up.
It’s uncomfortable, but if we are going to ask challenging questions about exclusion in the Bible, we have to do so about our communities too. If this Bible story gets us to ask those questions it has done its job. If we can respond not defensively but creatively, this awful tragedy presents an opportunity to address some critical issues about life in this part of the world.
I know there is a difference between something such as exclusion happening in our world compared to that sanctioned by Scripture. It seems as though Jesus is being quite frivolous, excluding someone for not having the right robe. Not so fast. Scholars remind us this passage is rich with symbolism that would have been apparent to its original audience, but has been lost on us. The wedding robe is a metaphor for transformation. The Apostle Paul talks this way, when he speaks of conversion as clothing one’s self with Christ (Romans 13:14). Jesus is quite clear that following him means changing one’s life and how one sees the world. The implication, lost on modern ears, is that the wedding crasher in the parable wants to come into the party, but doesn’t want to change their ways. This parable is not about being properly uniformed; it’s about being appropriately transformed. Following Jesus means trying to live a certain way. If one doesn’t want to, there is no point. In that sense, exclusion is not so much a punishment; it’s a natural conclusion. It’s like joining a soccer team, yet refusing to use your feet.
Now, our sensibilities might well say, “Look, we should let anyone in who wants to come in, no matter how committed or certain they are.” Indeed, the bar for joining this congregation is exceedingly low—no offense. Essentially, if someone says they want to be a part of us, they are invited in, and I join you in celebrating that commitment to inclusion.
In light of that, allow me, however, to make a case for the importance of demanding transformation, of change, of not accepting that it’s okay for everything to stay the way it is in our personal lives and our collective life. Many of you, I trust, have been following the revelations around Harvey Weinstein, the accusations of horrific and seemingly endemic sexual harassment and sexual assault. It is one of the most abhorrent of sins, abusing power to violate the most sacred of aspects of human existence. Something has happened this week that has left me often shuddering in front of the computer screen. As I scroll through my social media feed, I see woman after woman, and some men too, post those two chilling words: Me too.
“Me too,” is actually a movement that began years ago, but picked up particular steam in the past week as courageous people came forward acknowledging their own experience of sexual harassment and assault. I say they are courageous in coming forward, but we should really say they are courageous period, not because they have told us about it. That’s their choice. It wasn’t the string of celebrity revelations that got to me, though that has been eye-opening in its own right. It’s been all my female friends posting “Me too.” I mean all of them. It feels like all of them. Daily as I scroll down, I’m caught up with each new revelation. People I went to grade school with, “Me too,” colleagues from college and graduate school, “Me too,” seminary classmates, “Me too.” I’m even in a preaching group with clergy from around the country and half the women in the group so far have posted, “Me too.”
Is it exclusive to say that behavior that violates others sexually is unwelcome in our community? Well, technically, yes, but that’s righteous exclusion. The goal isn’t exclusion, the goal is transformation. We might say the Kingdom of Heaven is like a party where women, or men, don’t have to walk in pairs or watch what they wear. Yes, to come in, you have to clothe yourself with Christ, which isn’t to make a Presbyterian pledge; it’s to honor the sacredness of all beings and all bodies. To clothe ourselves with Christ, isn’t to bow to the power of the church or its pastors, it’s to empower those who are powerless, and to give voice to those whose voice has been denied or discounted. To clothe ourselves with Christ isn’t to become fashion models, but to model our life after Jesus Christ. Why would Christians want to make that optional? That’s essential.
Let us focus on the transformation, not the exclusion. Focus matters when it comes reading the Bible. One of the gifts Professor Bartlett gave us when he was preaching on a particularly challenging portion of scripture, in which Jesus takes on those who have a lot in this life, is that the point is not to foster guilt; it’s meant to inspire responsibility, responsibility for one another, which is what Jesus was trying to teach. The point of the parable isn’t to scare you, it’s to help change us into a more loving and just community. Don’t we want that?
That was one of Professor Bartlett’s most memorable lessons. My most lasting memory of him, however, was not in the classroom. It was of being in chapel with him, and not when he was preaching. I can recall standing in the pew in front of him and being struck by how loudly he sung the hymns. In fact, I started to try and position myself near him. He sang those hymns loudly because he believed them, because they were beloved by him, as was the Jesus he gave his life to teaching people how to teach others about.
At Bartlett’s funeral, a former student recounted hearing him preach about the parable of the lost sheep, when tax collectors and sinners, those who everyone thought should be excluded, gathered to hear Jesus. Rather than tell them they were excluded, Jesus lifts up the image of the shepherd who drops everything to go after the one lost sheep, to bring them safely in, Jesus, who elsewhere, called himself “the good shepherd.” It’s funny because the hymn I most associate with Professor Bartlett singing in chapel is “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need,” a paraphrase of the 23rd Psalm.
Its final verse reads:
The sure provisions of my God
Attend me all my days;
O may Thy house be mine abode,
And all my work be praise!
There would I find a settled rest
(While others go and come),
No more a stranger or a guest,
But like a child at home.
Now, you tell me, is Jesus about throwing a good party, a safe party, a life-giving party, one that is worth getting dressed up for? Amen.
Matthew 22:1-14
1Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: 2“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. 3He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. 4Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ 5But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, 6while the rest seized his slaves, maltreated them, and killed them. 7The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. 8Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. 9Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ 10Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.
11“But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, 12and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. 13Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ 14For many are called, but few are chosen.” THIS IS THE WORD OF THE LORD. THANKS BE TO GOD. AMEN
Invitation
When I was younger I was one who preferred to stay noncommittal. Plans among frineds would begin to be hatched for the weekend, and I would hang back, offering a “maybe,” holding out for the elusive better offer. So, I can relate to the Matthew story in which Jesus compares the kingdom of heaven to a party being thrown, and a number of the invitees electing to keep their options open. The invitation is nice enough, a feast has been prepared, it’s a special occasion—a wedding banquet—yet more than simply sitting on the fence, some on the guest list actually kill those who deliver the invitation! For the record, I never did that. The king in the parable reigns down a pretty fearsome punishment of his own, and proceeds to keep on inviting neighbor after neighbor until anyone who can be found, good and bad alike, are gathered in to a feast fit for royalty.
As with any story, especially parables, there are many valid interpretations here. Let’s begin with what this story is not. It is not, I would argue, a judgment story meant to scare you into some rote acceptance of Jesus as your savior, as some hollow profession of faith (or, really, fear) so that you will fall in line with the church. Remember, at the time of this story there was nothing much to fall in line with. What would become the church was still a small movement, a rebel movement, a minority. They, like us, did their best to make sense of the reality around them. A parable about a king’s invitation being brutally rejected helped them make sense of why their beloved Jesus had been so rejected by his own people, and thus why they had been rejected as well. The king’s retribution, while harsh to us, probably aptly expressed their feelings of anger and revenge at what felt like betrayal and persecution.
This parable is also not a theological justification for the state of things today. In other words, we shouldn’t use it to say that those who have accumulated material success are clearly God’s select, those who have been invited to the party and who accepted the invitation. While I hope this is obvious, I say it because there is a large movement in our religion called the “prosperity gospel,” which asserts that if you want it, and you claim it in the name of Jesus you will have it. That tends to make certain pastors richer, many of their followers poorer, and is both theologically and morally bankrupt. The life of faith is fulfilling. It may, in its own way, lead to some measure of success, but let us be clear that the biblical witness is overwhelmingly of Jesus on the side of the poor, the vulnerable, the marginalized. I would argue the movement of the Spirit since then has followed suit.
Enough of what the story is not about. Watch what the king in the story does when his initial round of invitations is rejected. The king just moves on. There are times in life when your energy is no longer well spent on those who would reject it, and you. I’m not advocating flippantly writing people off or carrying grudges – you can maintain an open heart – I am simply encouraging you to realize it is okay to be discerning about where and to whom you pour yourself, lest you simply pour yourself down a drain. I’ll share an example from the church world, because it’s where I move, but surely you can translate into your own life. I have a friend, a real star in the denomination (if there is such a thing as a “star” in this line of work, but he’s very talented and successful). About a year or so into his call a few wise people in the congregation came to him and said, “You know right now you have a 100% approval rating. The question is, ‘How will you respond when a few begin to oppose you, which is bound to happen at some point?’”
You see that pastor’s predecessor had been well loved, but along the way had ruffled a few feathers, just a few. In turn, he became obsessed with the few, first trying to accommodate their every concern, then, when that didn’t work, sadly, trying to oppose them or sideline them at every turn. In the process, he neglected the rest of the work and the bulk of the congregation. Lost was the vision and direction. All the energy had been poured into a pit that was never going to be filled.
My guess is we can all relate to pouring ourselves out, in good faith even if not in perfect form, only for it never to be received, or never to be enough. Just as Jesus elsewhere advises brushing the dust of some towns off your feet, here in this parable Jesus seems to be saying, “If you won’t accept my invitation, this gift, I’ll share it with someone who will.” It’s really freeing.
In the parable, the king just keeps inviting. It’s incredibly good news. The servants go out into the streets and gather everyone they could find. Scripture says, “both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests” (Mt. 22:10). There’s your proof this is not a scary judgment story: good and bad are invited in. It’s not about your perfection, as Richard Rohr loves to say. It’s about your participation. Yes, the text says, “few are chosen,” but, in part, it’s because few choose.
I know not everyone has the wherewithal to choose well in life. Let us not be moralistic. Let us instead focus on the constant, ever extending, ever widening circle of invitation. It begs the question of what we do with the invitations we are given in this life? Mary Oliver’s lovely poem “The Summer Day” tells of kneeling in the grass, observing the grasshopper with divine attentiveness, blessed by the sacredness of it all, and concludes:
Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do With your one wild and precious life? What do we do with the invitations of this life? Do we take them, or are we too busy? Do we hold out for the proverbial better offer or do we recognize that the most important invitation is often the one right in front of us?
Anthony Breznican, senior writer at Entertainment Weekly tells a story about Mr. Rogers, the public television children’s star (if there is such a thing as a star in that field), Mr. Rogers who is also, incidentally, a Presbyterian minister. Like many, when Breznican was young, he enjoyed watching Mr. Rogers. He had supposedly grown out of him, until in college when he was having a particularly tough time. Then, walking through the dorm one day, he heard familiar music, “Won’t you be…my neighbor.” Playing on the tv in an empty common room was Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. There was Mr. Rogers asking him through the screen, what he did with his difficult feelings. Breznican says as silly as it sounds, he stood mesmerized, mesmerized and comforted, “like a cool hand on a hot head.”[1]
Three days later, Breznican was waiting for an elevator when, miraculously, the doors opened, and who should be there but Mr. Rogers himself. At first Breznican didn’t say anything, but eventually he couldn’t keep quiet, “Mr Rogers…I don’t mean to bother you. But I wanted to say thanks.”
Though Breznican immediately felt embarrassed, Mr. Rogers just smiled and said, “Did you grow up as one of my neighbors?”
The two talked, with Breznican telling him that just the other day “when he’d really needed it, he’d rediscovered the magic of the world Rogers created.” When the elevator doors opened and the ride ended, he realized the conversation hadn’t, so he motioned Breznican to a seat near a window and, undoing his scarf, asked “Do you want to tell me what was upsetting you?” Breznican told him that his grandfather had died and he was one of the few good things he had and without him he felt adrift. Mr. Rogers then told Breznican about his own grandfather, remembering fondly a boat his grandfather had bought him as a kid and how they’d worked on it together. Though long gone, the boat and grandfather, Mr. Rogers still carried with him the gift of his grandfather’s work ethic. “You’ll never stop missing the people you love,” he explained, but you still carry the gift.
Breznican apologized for presumably making Mr. Rogers late for an appointment, and that’s when Mr. Rogers simply said, “Sometimes you’re right where you need to be.”[2]
The kingdom of heaven is right here. You’ve been invited to the party of a life time. Do you want to go? Amen.
[1] http://www.indystar.com/story/life/2017/05/23/tweet-storm-tells-most-amazing-story-mr-rogers/338771001/
[2] Ibid.
Exodus 20:1-17
1 Then God spoke all these words:
2 I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; 3you shall have no other gods before me.4 You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. 5You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me, 6but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.7 You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name.8 Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. 9For six days you shall labour and do all your work. 10But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. 11For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it.12 Honour your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.13 You shall not murder.14 You shall not commit adultery.15 You shall not steal.16 You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour.17 You shall not covet your neighbour’s house; you shall not covet your neighbour’s wife, or male or female slave, or ox, or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbour.
THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Getting Your Life Back
We have been watching Ken Burns PBS special on the Vietnam War. For some, undoubtedly, this has been eye opening, and, for others, it has reopened painful memories, strong feelings, or old wounds. I am aware that my direct encounter with Vietnam outside books and the movies amounts to an 8th grade trip to “The Wall,” the memorial in DC. For many, those names represent actual people.
We are only a few episodes in. So far, one of the glaring messages to me is how people in powerful positions gave themselves over to something they weren’t sure about from the beginning, felt some pressure to carry out, and ultimately regretted. In one memorable moment, a veteran reflected, saying something to the effect of, “I suppose I was part of the last generation who believed their government would never lie to them.” There were a lot of lives lost in that war, but it seems also a measure of our innocence, and maybe even a piece of our collective soul.
Faith ought to help us find some order out of the chaos—that’s how our creation stories begin. It’s interesting then, perhaps a holy coincidence, that the lectionary gives us The Ten Commandments today, a basis for ordering life together. We have a strange relationship with these tenets, trying to put them on courthouse lawns or write them off as archaic. Neither actually takes them seriously or understands them well.
These are the early foundations of collective life for a people having been given freedom from slavery in Egypt, where life was managed from above. Notice, then, how much room these commandments make for freedom. We hear “You shall not…” and assume repression, but they actually amount to, “Just don’t kill steal each other’s stuff! Just don’t steal each other’s spouse! Just don’t lie about each other! Just don’t kill each other!!” As we have learned in the generations since, freedom hasn’t been so easy to manage. It requires an honoring of our connection to one another and this sacred setting we’ve been given to live in together.
Each of these commandments could warrant an entire sermon, yet there’s one that has a particular impact on ordering our lives. It is also the one commandment people routinely brag about breaking, and I feel comfortable pointing this out because some of my clergy colleagues are the worst offenders. Does anyone know which one I’m talking about? Remember the Sabbath. I’m not talking to you about going to church. Sunday, technically, isn’t the Sabbath. Sunday’s the Lord’s Day, resurrection day. Sabbath is Saturday, though in our tradition, I’d argue the most important thing isn’t necessarily when it is, but that it is.
It’s easy for us to violate the Sabbath and we get constant strokes for doing so. We can shop anytime. We can work anytime. We can, and should, be productive at all times. How many of you, if given free time, start making a list of all the things you’re going to “get done?” We’ve been taught to brag about that. I just read a wonderful book, If Nuns Ruled The World, and it includes a story about a nun confronting a congressman about the morality of a proposed budget. The congressman, who is a professed Catholic, immediately tries to impress the nun with his work ethic by telling her how he often sleeps on a cot in his office. She simply responds, “Is that good for you, or for your family?” We have created, or have joined, a way of being that continually drives us to do, make, and get more, as if that’s what God wants for us. Like an addiction, the cravings only grow, it’s a cycle that self-perpetuates with ever increasing intensity until it inevitably collapses. Perhaps you’ve experienced these collapses in your own life. I believe part of what is happening right now ecologically is such a collapsing on a larger scale. As Brian McLaren reminds us, the church’s job is not to be chaplain to an extractive economy. The church is to raise up other ways to order our life.…which is why The Ten Commandments are helpful to us; they too were born out of an exhaustive context. ‘Make bricks!’ was the cry of Pharaoh to the slaves, and if you complain, ‘Make more, and without straw!’ All to build temples to idols. It’s an endless cycle of production and consumption, describes Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemmann, and neither more production nor more consumption is the answer. The biblical antidote is Sabbath, rest, rest as resistance, because it regularly removes us from that cycle and gives us the kind of perspective you can only get when you slow down.
At least a couple things happen when we rest. First, we notice the world doesn’t stop or fall apart. For some of us that is secretly disappointing. Second, we start to get our life back, as we get reconnected to the source of vitality. It’s like stepping off a runaway train and having the earth beneath your feet and choice, once again, of which way to go. Brueggmann draws on the Hebrew word nephesh, which means “self,” “life,” or “soul.” Sabbath, he says, helps us “re-nephesh,” “re-self,” “re-soul,” get our life back.
Why, then, is taking a break so difficult for so many of us to do? I have observed in high-functioning and affluent populations a certain franticness and feverishness of activity. I’ve come to realize some of it is an undercurrent of guilt for having so much. It could be worse; we could see no problem with the inequalities in the world, but guilt is not God’s will, loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves is.
I am the last person who will tell you to ignore your responsibility to serve neighbor, but I will be the first person to use your service simply to assuage your guilt or to make a veiled chase after your own validity. If your stuff is making you that anxious, give it away. You’ll feel better, and you’ll be freer to discover the source of your inherent worth. My spiritual director reminded me during our last session of one of the foundational premises of the Reformation, and she’s a Catholic nun. She reminded me that our movement was born out of a commitment to the truth that we do nothing to earn God’s favor. We are born with it, as Paul Tillich said it, “We are accepted.” As Henri Nouwen put it, “We are beloved.” All of our acts of service, of giving, are natural and joyful outgrowths of our gratitude for the miracle of being and being loved by a love we cannot outrun.
Even though many of us carry this low-grade fever of guilt, we deny ourselves the very antidote, freely available, commanded even, Sabbath, rest. With rest, what naturally follows is reflection. Is this how I want my life to be? Is this how I want our community to look? Is this how we want our nation to look? Our world? None of it will change unless we change. For that to happen well, we must slow down long enough to recognize the change that’s trying to become manifest in our lives. Sometimes, I suspect we don’t slow down because subconsciously we fear what we might see, hear, or feel, but the encounter is always far less scary than the anticipation.
Some will say we can’t afford this kind of navel-gazing in a world filled with so much suffering and injustice. I respectfully submit that unreflective high-functioning and well-resourced people have done a lot more harm to the world than have contemplatives who have been slower to act. It’s not about being selfish, it’s about cultivating your best self to offer the world as gift. Jesus knew this. Pay attention to how much he went off to take a break, to reconnect, to be restored, so he could return a new person.
If those names on that wall in Washington DC could again become people and could be given their voices back, for just one moment, what do you suppose they would say? Would they say “Hurry up!” “We don’t have time to think!” “Do something!” Or, would they say, “Slow down,” “Let’s think this through. Let’s talk this through. Let’s listen to the wiser voices in our midst. Let’s do everything we can so that we might not regret what we ultimately choose.”
The “shall nots” are designed to keep us from killing each other long enough for us to figure out how to live together. Remember the Sabbath and you can have your life back, your self back, and, together, our soul back. Amen.
Exodus 17:1-7 From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.” Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” So Moses cried out to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.” Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?”
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16 Give ear, O my people, to my teaching; incline your ears to the words of my mouth. I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark sayings from of old, things that we have heard and known, that our ancestors have told us. We will not hide them from their children; we will tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the Lord, and God’s might, and the wonders that God has done. In the sight of their ancestors God worked marvels in the land of Egypt, in the fields of Zoan. God divided the sea and let them pass through it, and made the waters stand like a heap. In the daytime God led them with a cloud, and all night long with a fiery light. God split rocks open in the wilderness, and gave them drink abundantly as from the deep. God made streams come out of the rock, and caused waters to flow down like rivers.
If the stories mentioned in this Psalm sound familiar, it is perhaps because we have heard them in worship very recently. Over the last few weeks, we have journeyed with the Israelites as Moses has led them out of Egypt and away from slavery, toward the promised land.
Two weeks ago, we heard the story of the Red Sea parting, so the Israelites could escape Pharaoh’s army and make it safely to the other side. Last week, we heard the story of the people receiving manna from God - bread raining down from heaven when the people were at their hungriest. As Rob noted last week, before the manna comes, as the people get hungrier and hungrier, their complaints get louder and louder, and they even begin to wish for their old life of slavery. Even that would be better than this! Neither God nor Moses seems to be doing anything right.
I promise I’m describing the scripture passage we heard last week, from the 16th chapter of Exodus. But I could very easily have just been describing the passage we heard today, from the 17th chapter of Exodus. Simply replace hunger with thirst, and the story seems to be repeating itself. The people get thirstier and thirstier, their complaints get louder and louder, and they even begin to wish for their old life of slavery. “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” They begin to yearn for their old life of slavery – as awful as it was – and neither God nor Moses seems to be doing anything right. The people even begin to doubt God’s presence with them, saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?”
God has parted the Red Sea for them. God has rained bread from heaven for them. Yet the going has gotten tough again and again they begin to wonder if God is with them. They begin to wonder if this new thing that God has called them to do and to be is all a big mistake.
A ministry colleague of mine was recently sharing her own struggle with this stuck in between feeling. Stuck between the old and familiar and the new and unknown. She has been pastoring a church on the East Coast for several years, and some relationships there have deteriorated to the point where she feels it is not healthy for her to stay. She very much feels that God is calling her to a new thing. At the same time, however, the prospect of leaving behind not just the church, but the community, and the schools, and the friendships is overwhelming. She can’t help thinking to herself, as unhealthy as my current situation is, might it be easier to just stay where I am? At least I won’t die of hunger or thirst here.
The thing is, though, in these stories the Israelites did not die of hunger or thirst as they slowly made their way to the promised land. They may have felt like they were going to die. They may have felt like God had abandoned them. But God did not. God not only stayed by their side, but God also provided for their needs. God sustained them through their darkest hours.
It is hard to follow God sometimes. It is especially hard to follow God to something new. The familiar can be so comfortable. And even when the familiar is not comfortable – slavery certainly was not comfortable for the Israelites - at least it is familiar! The thing about God, though, is that God is always challenging us to move away from the familiar. God is always calling us into new ways of doing and being. Into new relationships and new communities. Into new ways of advocating for justice and peace. Into new ways of sharing hope and love.
I have heard it often joked that in churches, one of the most commonly used phrases is, “But we’ve always done it that way.” How easy it can be to cling to the familiar. Thankfully, that is not a phrase I hear very often here at Westminster. In fact, our Stewardship campaign that kicked off last week has as its theme, “Funding our Future.” I love that. We are a congregation who looks not backward, but forward. We are a congregation who knows God is always calling us to new things. That can be scary at times. But it is less scary when we remember that we are not alone. God is with us. And we have each other.
Did you notice in the story today that God instructed Moses to take some of the elders with him when he struck the rock? It was important that Moses strike the rock in the sight of the elders because not only is God with us, but our community is also with us. Our leaders help give us the hope and the inspiration and the vision to keep moving forward. I have been inspired this year by the desire of our church leadership to own and claim their role in our Stewardship campaign. Our Stewardship team asked our Elders and Deacons to have their pledge cards ready to turn in today – to lead the way in our pledge campaign - and they wholeheartedly agreed to do so. They know how important it is to fund our future. They know how important it is to support the work and ministry of this congregation. I would like to invite those Elders and Deacons who are here today to bring your pledge cards forward at this time.
The Psalmist reminds us of the importance of sharing the stories and traditions of our faith with the coming generation. That is what we are doing when we fund our future.
It is not lost on me the significance of having this plate here, on the Communion table. For here at this table, we remember Jesus – the one who was called Emmanuel, which means “God With Us.” We remember that as a Christian community, we are called to follow Jesus. We remember that we are called to share God’s love and peace and hope just as Jesus did … in ways that are comfortable and familiar, and in ways that push us into something new.
I want to share with you a Communion blessing called “And the Table Will Be Wide.” It is written by Jan Richardson. I am going to read it slowly with several moments of silence. In the silence, consider what this blessing means for your own life. What feels comfortable and familiar? What new things might God be calling you to do and be?
And the table will be wide. And the welcome will be wide. And the arms will open wide to gather us in. And our hearts will open wide to receive.
And we will come as children who trust there is enough. And we will come unhindered and free. And our aching will be met with bread. And our sorrow will be met with wine.
And we will open our hands to the feast without shame. And we will turn toward each other without fear. And we will give up our appetite for despair. And we will taste and know of delight.
And we will become bread for a hungering world. And we will become drink for those who thirst. And the blessed will become the blessing. And everywhere will be the feast.
And everywhere will be the feast. Today is World Communion Sunday. We gather with Christians around the world to remember and celebrate Emmanuel … God with us. God is with us. All of us. May we live into that Good News. Amen.
Exodus 16:2-15
2The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. 3The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”
4Then the Lord said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not. 5On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather on other days.“ 6So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “In the evening you shall know that it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt, 7and in the morning you shall see the glory of the Lord, because he has heard your complaining against the Lord. For what are we, that you complain against us?” 8And Moses said, “When the Lord gives you meat to eat in the evening and your fill of bread in the morning, because the Lord has heard the complaining that you utter against him — what are we? Your complaining is not against us but against the Lord.”
9Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, ‘Draw near to the Lord, for he has heard your complaining.’” 10And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud. 11The Lord spoke to Moses and said, 12“I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the Lord your God.’”
13In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. 14When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. 15When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.” THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Seeing is Believing
I underestimated just how beautiful it was, and thus what I had missed. I had seen partial eclipses before, but as one enthusiast has said, experiencing a total eclipse is like attending the most magnificent show you’ve ever seen, while a partial eclipse is akin to buying a ticket for the show but remaining at the ticket window for the rest of the day.
We know some who made the trip into the path of totality, put up with the hours of driving all for…2 minutes. Everyone I have heard from said it was worth it. They spoke of it as a spiritual experience, though many are not religious people. Virtually all of them made mention of tears. Tears. Think of that. Two minutes of the sun being obscured in the middle of the day, and people are reduced to tears. Seeing clearly is believing.
For some that is a literal truth. My spouse Sherri told me of an interview she heard with a scientist who upon the moment of experiencing totality for the first time instantly became a believer, and not simply amorphously spiritual, but an avowed Christian. What is that about? This was not evidence of God, just pure awe, wonder, and beauty, which is perhaps a different form of evidence, one that we should heed more often.
I love an eclipse as an image for experiencing God. Unfortunately, the next total eclipse in this country isn’t until 2024. And, isn’t that how it is? I know we speak in here of Matthew Fox and the presence of the divine in all things, and yet many of us don’t have such vivid experiences of God that often. Some do, but whether because we’ve been taught to dull those senses or simply haven’t been that lucky, many of us go a long time between sightings if we have them at all.
Don’t feel bad if that is you. This is not about ability. We can cultivate our senses, but we cannot conjure up God at our every whim. I’m not sure that’s the point of all this anyway. I believe the point is to become more loving and compassionate people, more joyful people, serving others, being more and more like Christ in the world. That, incidentally, will do more to lead you to an experience of the divine than anything else I can recommend. Still, I understand the desire to feel something, to be moved, to be reassured.
The eclipse, your next shot at totality, won’t happen again until 2024, and so we need something to sustain us in between such sightings, and that’s why I give to the church, and that’s why I respectfully but unapologetically ask you to give to the church. For the most part, we don’t live in totality, we have to make our way through this life often in the fog or in the blinding light of full sun. I have come to realize that I don’t much like the image of the sun for God because it’s just too darn present, especially in California. It’s too regular, and that’s not how it works. No, most of the time in this life is spent in between the fleeting grandeur of the eclipse, between the moments of good news, between noteworthy accomplishments, between moments of total balance and happiness, between times when all is well with your family or loved ones, between the times when you feel all is right with you and with the world.
The church is not simply a temple to point to the sun, something that is readily apparent. The church is a waypoint to keep us fed, where we might find rest, encounter direction, meet fellow travelers, and be inspired to keep walking on our journey from one eclipse to the next. So often, life, even for those of us who by many measures would be counted fortunate, is just about putting one foot in front of the other. That’s why we need this. Would you want to go through life without it? Would you want our communities to be left to their own devices and directions and disavowal of the sacred? Our congregation is part of a much bigger church. Our denomination, like many others, is doing the real work of Jesus—building hospitals and clinics, opening schools, installing clean water systems, and advocating for peoples’ rights all over the world.
The church, at its best, is the place we go, the group with whom we gather, to be shaken from the world we are told is real – one marked by fear, anxiety, enmity, judgment, shame, violence, futility, nothingness. It is an invitation into hope, possibility, grace, peacefulness, justice, substance, and meaning. In a world that tempts us, and oh does it tempt us, to offer curse to our enemies, the church dares us to offer blessing, blessing which is stronger, not weaker than curse. We don’t have a church, we do church. We do church every time we engage in any act that reminds one other of the wonder of it all in between the eclipses. In doing so, we know what is worth fighting for. We do church together. As our stewardship team has become fond of saying, and I have become fond of hearing, at Westminster pray together, sing together, baptize together, break bread and share the cup together, mourn and memorialize together, laugh together, and celebrate together…and we give together. We pledge together. Each in our own measure within our own ability, but all, all, so that the church might have its daily needs met.
Today’s story from Exodus is about having daily needs met. God’s people are being led from Egypt, which means “the narrow place,” to a more expansive life and vision. This is the promised land. Understandably, as the people leave the familiarity of captivity behind, but are not yet in their newfound freedom, they become frightened, unsure, and begin to have second thoughts. They lament not dying in Egypt. Well, you can die in the narrow place, or you can step out in faith toward a more expansive vision. God does not punish their cries, even as they turn on their leader and they turn on God God’s self. Rather, God hears their cries of concern over not having enough to eat. God, in turn, promises to rain down food from heaven, and encourages each to take enough every day, and all have enough. What’s more, once a week, God gives them double, because God’s people deserve a day of rest each week on such a tiresome journey. This is what we refer to as manna from heaven.
What if as we learn to recognize the manna given to us we are able to become that manna, and give that manna, for others, particularly for those who have been left behind, the hungry, the abandoned, the weak? What if our giving reflected the faith that we have that we, in turn, will be given what we need?
We are not asking anyone to do what they cannot. We are asking everyone to do what they can. It will make a difference for someone you may not be able to imagine.
They had no idea how beautiful it all ways, and thus what they had been missing. It was only when they were given a pair of special glasses that these people were able to see color for the first time. One after another, they put on their glasses and gazed around in absolute wonder, awe, and beauty at the world around them they had only hear others talk about their whole lives long. From an older body builder clapping like a child at the sight of flowers, to a young father seeing his little girls’ hair color for the first time, to a young boy—who I thought would be the least likely to cry because he looked about 11—simply turning to his father, reaching out and up, shoulders pulsating with his tears. Seeing is believing. Being a part of this church is how we claim to the vision to see this world in full color and do whatever we can to allow others to as well. That’s worth pledging to, because 2024 is a long way off. Amen.
Matthew 18:21-35
21Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” 22Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.
23“For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. 24When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him. 25and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. 26So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ 27And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. 28But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’ 29Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ 30But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt. 31When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. 32Then his lord summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. 33Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?’ 34And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. 35So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” THIS IS THE WORD OF THE LORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Breaking Cycles
When I think of forgiveness some extraordinary examples that come to mind. I think of the Amish response to a school shooting in 2006. More recently was the response to Dylan Roof, who opened fire on a Bible Study at an African American Church in Charleston. You can see video of the court proceedings, in which a family member of one of the slain says of her loved one, “I will never, ever hold her again” and in the same breath, “But I forgive you.” Even more recently, the father of Heather Heyer, the woman who was mowed down in Charlottesville, forgave his daughter’s killer who, to my knowledge, remains unrepentant. With the anniversary this past week, I am reminded of questions about forgiveness being applied to the attacks on September 11, 2001.
These are extraordinary examples. I wonder what experiences of forgiveness you have received, a time when you knew you had it coming and then, without warning, you were offered grace or understanding. What did it feel like the moment you were let off the hook? What about when you have extended forgiveness to someone else, how did that feel? Those feelings are indicators. They tell us something either from deep down in our biology or our soul--I don’t know why it must be one or the other.
My comments assume those feelings were good, but I know it is possible for forgiveness not to feel good, especially when you have been pushed into it or put in the position of granting forgiveness over and over again for the same transgression. You can start to feel taken advantage of. Perhaps you, yourself, are a repeat offender, against your best intentions, and you have felt the dirtiness of putting a loved one through something repeatedly.
Even the best teachings can have a shadow side and can be misapplied, which is why it’s a little tricky when Peter comes to Jesus and asks him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” a holy number of completion, “Not seven times,” responds Jesus, “but I tell you, seventy-seven times,” and some versions read, “seventy times seven” (Mt. 18:21-22). “Again and again,” Jesus seems to say, with no prerequisite stipulation.
Is that always what’s asked of us? Should the victim of domestic violence or sexual assault be required to forgive their assailer 77 times, in effect believing their faith requires them to take it? Is that what Jesus wants? No, the life of faith involves exercising more discerning wisdom than merely regurgitating biblical teachings. Among other reasons, there are contradictory teachings in the Bible. On the forgiveness theme, in Luke it says there is no forgiveness for those who blaspheme against the Holy Spirit (Lk. 12:10), while in Romans it tells us that all who call upon the Lord will be saved (Rom. 10:13). In Ephesians, it says that we are saved by grace and not works (Eph. 2:8-9), while in James we are reminded that by works we are justified not faith (James 2:24).
The Bible does not speak with one voice, the singular voice of God. As we have said before, borrowing Brian McLaren’s terminology, the Bible is not a book; it is a library. It is a conversation not an edict. Wisdom is knowing which pieces of the conversation, which perspectives, are most helpful in arriving at God’s shalom in any given situation.
Consider the context of Jesus’ teaching on forgiveness here. Peter asks him a question, and it’s clearly about the church. In other words, it’s a question about how to operate within a community, and Jesus seems to be using forgiveness as the tool to serve a higher good, keeping the community, with a shared vision and a common set of values, and a mutual commitment, intact. That is not to say that examples of forgiveness expressed beyond one’s community, such as the extraordinary cases discussed earlier are unfaithful. Many will talk about how offering forgiveness sets the forgiver free, and who am I to get in the way of someone offering that incredible, sometimes transformative gesture, if it comes from within? I will not, however, impose that expectation on someone who has been wronged. A World War II vet, who had seen awful things, including his men die, once expressed guilt over his inability to forgive those he faced. Would Jesus have me lecture him on forgiveness?
Now, I am going to say something that may surprise you. I’m not convinced this teaching is really about forgiveness. “What?” you say. “The whole exchange is about forgiveness!” I already said I believe forgiveness is a tool serving a higher purpose. For a clue about that purpose, look at what episode follows right after this brief exchange, what, in fact, gets far more space in the text. It’s a parable in which Jesus tells about a slave owner who wipes clean the debt of one of his slaves, but how that slave does not to the same for their debtors and his judged because of it. This is a teaching about breaking cycles that harm people and, moreover trap them in repeated harm. I believe Jesus is primarily concerned with the need to break those cycles. Forgiveness for wrongdoing, or sin, like forgiveness from debts, helps release people from the cycles that keep them down, keep them captive, allows them to have a clean slate and begin anew. Break the cycles.
Now, look at today’s Older Testament passage, written by people who understood that God had drowned Pharaoh's army in the Red Sea so they could escape slavery and be free. Again, you might say, “Wait a minute! I thought this was about breaking cycles of violence!” Two things should be pointed out here. First, it is God who commits the violence here, not the people, and in its own way, this too removes the people from participating in the violence. Just as it says in the Newer Testament, “never avenge yourselves…leave room for the wrath of God…‘Vengeance is mine’…says the Lord” (Rom. 12:19). God takes the violence out of our hands.
Second, note how the heirs of that story have developed in their understanding of it. You see biblical narratives are not complete. They are snippets of stories that are still unfolding as we engage with them today. If you have been to a Passover Seder, a Jewish ritual that commemorates the exodus from slavery, you may be familiar with the act of removing a drop of wine from the cup to dampen the celebration of liberation that came at the expense of other of God’s children, as Rabbi Daniel Brenner puts it. This is not about the math of equating symbolic drops of wine to the blood of innocent, or even guilty, people. It is a symbolic recognition that even in being given their own freedom, they have participated in a violent cycle, or at least benefited from violence, and thus it is an occasion not just for celebration, but also mourning. Elsewhere, I have encountered Jewish prayers for the Egyptians, their oppressors, who, in their own way, were victims, not just because of the retribution they suffered, but because many of them were caught up in the hurt because of the decisions of the powerful in their midst. There’s a great midrash about the Egyptian children begging their fathers to let the Israelites go, but the men, and of course, Pharaoh, refused. In violence, in oppression, even the perpetrators are harmed. Breaking cycles of violence benefits everyone.
This is a theme of the biblical witness. In Genesis, God brings the flood to wash away wickedness, sparing only a remnant with Noah. Afterwards, God retires God’s war bow in the sky—that’s what the rainbow is—and says “I will never again” do this again, even though there is no indication humanity is any different (Gen. 8:21). This is God promising not to get caught up in a cycle of transgression and retribution with creation ever again. God unilaterally removes God’s self from that way of being in relationship, breaking the cycle. Similarly, when God makes the covenant with Abram, God promises to bless him with descendants, and it is a one-sided agreement (Gen. 15:17). God requires nothing from Abram, preventing the cycle of transgression and punishment from ever beginning, forgiving, you might say, in advance. And, let us not forget Jesus who would endure the cross, asking for forgiveness for his killers while upon it, in an ultimate act of refusing to participate in the cycle of violence, which is the hallmark of false power.
Speaking of violence and false power, a Jewish friend of mine shared this quote from a speech given on September 11, and I’d like to share it with you to close. Part of it appears on your bulletin cover.
Sectarianism, bigotry, and its horrible descendant, fanaticism, have long possessed this beautiful earth. They have filled the earth with violence, drenched it often and often with human blood, destroyed civilization and sent whole nations to despair. Had it not been for these horrible demons, human society would be far more advanced than it is now.
I was reminded of a statistic this week. Just shy of 3,000 died in those awful attacks on September 11, 2,997 if I have my numbers correct. As the result of the U.S. invasion in Iraq, which followed, estimates vary, but we have killed at least 500,000 and perhaps as many as 1.2 million Iraqis, though they were not involved in the September 11 attacks. Not quite 3,000. At least 500,000. In addition to what was lost, what opportunity was squandered to break age-old cycles?
That quote I just read to you was made on September 11, but not on September 11, 2001 or 2002 or even 2017 in commemoration of those awful attacks. It was made by Swami Vivekandanda at opening of the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago, September 11, 1893. I left the year off your bulletin cover. The Swami continued
But their time is come; and I fervently hope that the bell that tolled this morning in honor of this convention may be the death-knell of all fanaticism, of all persecutions with the sword or with the pen, and of all uncharitable feelings between persons wending their way to the same goal.
Our greatest challenge is not revenge. It is recognizing the futility of the project of perpetuating the cycle. It amounts to endless peddling of pain. Our challenge is employing every tool we’ve got to end the cycles of harm into which we’ve been born and indoctrinated, and to realize for once and for all, we share the same goal. Amen.
Matthew 18:15-18
These are the words of Jesus: “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. 16But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. 17If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector. 18Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven...” THIS IS THE WORD OF THE LORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Welcome Back Welcome back, those of you who have been traveling for the summer or are perhaps visiting in search of a church home. We call this Sunday our “Ingathering,” when we kickoff the program year. It’s particularly special as we mark the 60th anniversary of the congregation.
It has been some two weeks, hasn’t it? While some parts of the country are being consumed by wildfire, smoke even permeating Marin, we have watched as others farther away overcome by hurricane and floods, floods across the world for that matter. Millions in Florida right now await the coming of the sun and the receding of the waters, asking with every peak outside, “Is it here yet?” How many of you know someone in harm’s way? If we can’t be with them, it is good to be together to share our common concern and offer our prayers.
Unfortunately, it does not seem we have been given the most encouraging Scripture reading in today’s gospel passage from the lectionary, Jesus going into great detail about what to do when people do wrong to one another. Great. “Come to church, where we mistreat each other!” I should admit I didn’t help matters much when I did my worship planning for the year back in June. I kid you not, in my sermon notes for this week, my first line read in all caps: “TALK ABOUT WATERGATE!” Because that will bring them in, McClellan! What on earth does Watergate have to do with Jesus’ teaching about church, and why would I bring it up on this of all Sundays? I have no idea. Let’s put Nixon aside for now and just get back to Jesus, always a safer bet.
It turns out, Jesus’ teaching here is fascinating on a number of fronts. First, he says “If another member of the church sins against you…” Here, don’t get bogged down by the word “sin.” Just think ‘If someone does you wrong,’ “go out and point out the fault,” says Jesus (Mt. 18:15). He doesn’t say, “Take it,” he says, “go and point out the fault…” Note the directness of the command. How easy it is to talk behind others’ backs, to gossip about them, rather than to speak to them.
How easy it is for us, especially with modern technology, to do the same. If there’s one regret I have about the time after the election it was that I didn’t offer an explicit caution to avoid talking to people about it on social media, or electronically at all, if possible. Those platforms are great for sharing pictures of vacations and grandkids. They are terrible for having thoughtful discussions about contentious issues. “Whenever possible,” I should have advised, “sit across from one another and say, ‘tell me your perspective and allow me to tell you mine.’ ” I recognize that writing may be the only safe platform for some. However, what we also tend to see is a lot of what I call “keyboard courage,” which so quickly becomes plain old cruelty. I have a theory that if you go to the comments section on any online article, by the second or third comment there will be something hateful. It could be an article about butterflies or laundry detergent, and within 2-3 comments someone will have something nasty to say. Turn that stuff off. It’s poison…just like scented laundry detergent, which is spawn of the devil by the way. Jesus says if you’ve been wronged, confront the wrongdoer face to face, so the two of you are reminded of the other’s humanity.
Second, notice Jesus says the confrontation should happen, “when the two of you are alone” (Mt. 18:15). Perhaps Jesus wants it to be a fair fight, but what I wonder if, more than that, Jesus wants to preserve the dignity of the wrongdoer. I recognize it is not always safe for someone who has been harmed to confront the wrongdoer in private, but insofar as it is safe, we are called to do so in order to spare them embarrassment before their peers. There is a lot of debate these days about the use of shaming as a way to deter hurtful, anti-social behavior, whether it’s bullying on the playground or marching with white supremacists. There is something to exposing those aligned with false power. Doing so merely to return harm for harm is something else altogether. Jesus’ first interest is in restoring the community, doing what can be done to repair the world, rather than write ever increasing segments off at the first sign of transgression. Today we call that restorative justice, as opposed to retributive justice, which seeks primarily to punish. Restorative justice tries to heal individual wounds and mend the fabric of the community, while retributive justice thinks hurting and isolating the perpetrator is the best way to protect the community. One takes investment up front. The other is incredibly costly in the long wrong.
Jesus’ call to spare the perpetrator shame, incidentally, is not just about being forgiving or loving, though it is both of those things. It is about being strategic. People are far less likely to change their behavior—I know I am—when the social cost of doing so is high. If I know I’m going to be publicly embarrassed by my change of direction, I’m far more likely to do everything I can to defend the course I’m on, even if I realize it’s misguided. Jesus lowers, not raises, the social cost of changing one’s mind or beliefs and correcting one’s behavior. He wants us to make it easier, not harder, for people to change.
Third, Jesus does not leave us helpless when an attempt to correct a wrong in private is unsuccessful. He encourages us to send in backup. Don’t give up, and don’t give up on peaceful intervention. Take another trusted member of the community with you, not for the purpose of ganging up on the other, but for the purpose of providing evidence. He is specific about that. Bearing witness to evidence of what is really going on, and what is causing damage (to the community), is divinely appointed work. Again, the goal here is not to win; it is to help people recognize how their actions are harmful and to have the opportunity to change, so everyone can win.
Fourth, only when a person refuses to be persuaded by evidence presented by witnesses are they to be expelled, and even that is for the purpose of sustaining the community. That may seem harsh, but if you think about it, by their refusal to be moved by the witness of the faithful community, the wrongdoer has chosen expulsion. They have ignored the redress of their neighbor, they have refused to value evidence presented by witnesses to the truth, and they have denied the integrity of the community. The relationships that hold the community together have already been rendered meaningless. Community life is always about answering the question, “Do you choose each other?” When someone in the wrong refuses to be corrected, they are, in effect, answering, “I don’t.”
That’s why Nixon matters. I remembered it. Last year, I electronically clipped an interview with Carl Bernstein, famed journalist that helped uncover the scandal that brought down the Nixon administration, and had written the note: “a healthy community never covers up.” We all do wrong at times, but to cover up is to refuse to acknowledge our wrongs, and to refuse to be corrected by the truth, and the witness of others. As we all learned from that episode in our history, “The cover up is always worse than the crime.” You don’t have to be a presidential scholar to understand this. Anyone who has a child can tell you that it’s not the fact the child has failed to wash their hands or brush their teeth, evidenced by the finger-paint now staining your pants or the blueberry bits in their teeth. What’s troublesome to the parent is the newfound ability of the child to offer falsehood and not change even when confronted with the truth. In that moment, the parent recognizes how fragile the fabric that holds a family together is. A couple wrestling with infidelity or a company struggling with dishonesty can tell you the same thing. It’s never about what it’s about. It’s not about the handwashing. It’s not about the sex. It’s not about the business transgression. It’s always, on one level, about the integrity of the relationships.
Did you know that Jesus almost never talks about the church? The word is only mentioned four times in the Gospels, all in Matthew, and three of them in this chapter. I think it’s because Jesus is far more interested in transformation than he is about church. Whatever the reason, the one thing he wants us to know is that integrity is at the center of communities of faith, not flawlessness, but integrity. Church, for Jesus, may not be where we live, or spend all our time. It may not be our primary community. What it is, is a place where we practice—and it’s always about practice—a way of being and being together with others. That supersedes our creeds. That is our creed.
Perhaps the reason Jesus talks so little about church is because he recognizes that we will exist in a much bigger world and there, too, we much answer the question, “Do you choose each other.” Here, Jesus gives us the encouragement and the tools to say, “I do. With all that I have, I do. With all that I am I do. With all that is in my control, I do. With all that I face and we face together, I do. I still believe in you and therefore in our capacity to stay together.”
This world can be scary. In the mess of it all, we have a choice about whether we will help each other survive it. Maybe in doing so we can also find a way to revel a little in its beauty, and maybe, just maybe dare to think that together we could contribute something beautiful to it. That kind of belonging to one another is far deeper than any membership of a club or a church, as Diana Butler Bass puts it, it’s about living into a whole new world, a new creation. It’s to that reality to which Jesus Christ is beckoning us to say, “I do.”
A few weeks ago, RuthE., our music director, and Clark said “I do” before God and community in marriage. They shared this poem with us and I’d like to share it with you. “Here on a Summer Night,” by Garrison Keilor:
Here on this summer night in the grass and the lilac smell
drunk on the crickets and the starry sky
oh what fine stories we could tell
with this moonlight to tell them by.
A summer night, and you, and paradise,
So lovely and so full of grace,
Above your head, the universe has hung its lights,
And I reach out my hand to touch your face.
I believe in impulse, in all that is green,
Believe in the foolish vision that comes true,
Believe that all that is essential is unseen,
And for this lifetime I believe in you.
All of the lovers and the love they made:
Nothing that was between them was a mistake.
All that is done for love's sake,
Is not wasted and will never fade.
O love that shines from every star,
Love reflected in the silver moon;
It is not here, but it's not far.
Not yet, but it will be here soon.
It may not be here yet, but it will be here soon. In the meantime, we can wait out the storm together. Welcome back. Welcome home. Amen.
Today’s second reading comes from the 15th chapter of the Gospel of Matthew. It is a lectionary selection, meaning it was chosen for today long ago, yet many of you might find it timely. Hear the words of our savior…
Matthew 15:10-20
10Then Jesus called the crowd to him and said to them, “Listen and understand: 11it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.”
12Then the disciples approached and said to him, “Do you know that the Pharisees took offense when they heard what you said?”
13He answered, “Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. 14Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind. And if one blind person guides another, both will fall into a pit.”
15But Peter said to him, “Explain this parable to us.”
16Then he said, “Are you also still without understanding? 17Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes out into the sewer? 18But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. 19For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. 20These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.” THIS IS THE WORD OF THE LORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
No
I debated this week beginning with a heartwarming story. Lord knows we could use one. I ultimately decided against it, because I feared you would be left sitting there slowly getting crushed by the weight of the elephant in the room. When will he get to Charlottesville, and how hard is he going to hit it? I sat, like many of you, and watched this week heartsick at what happened, people from this country marching under Confederate and Nazi flags, in the dark of night with blazing torches, shouting things about Jews and African Americans, and proclaiming these were “their streets.” I watched as the demonstration was opposed by many from different religious backgrounds, some of whom worshipped together, and those who claim no religious faith. I listened as this demonstration was roundly denounced by figures from both major political parties, and then I witnessed the president stumble over the remarkably low hurdle of simple, swift, and unequivocal condemnation of bigotry. Further, I saw him play with the fire that is false moral equivalency, all over a gathering at the statue of General Robert E. Lee and Emancipation Park, which had recently been renamed from Lee Park.[1]
I’ll say from the outset that I have no intention of pounding my fist on the pulpit today, or of spewing unhealed anger, not because I’m not angry, and not because I am seeking to avoid pushback. My job is to preach the gospel and sometimes that means making some people uncomfortable. I don’t want to pound my fist because I don’t think it will help. I love you. You represent many of the reasons I have hope, because I see how you reason, and care, and dedicate yourselves to being something positive in the world. Now, I recognize that to be able to slow down and take a deep breath so we can respond a little more reflectively is not a luxury everyone is afforded. Those people in that church a few days ago didn’t have that luxury when they were surrounded by people with torches. Children were in that church. I can’t get out of my head a picture of a little African American girl being held, crying in fear.
Not everyone gets to take a deep breath, safely, as we do this morning. But, since we can, shouldn’t we, if only so we can reengage in a way that is grounded in who we are and what we are called to be about? Let’s remember who we are. In the beginning, it all got off to a start off with a bang, as they say. Something compelled all that mass and energy to explode outward because it just couldn’t contain itself. What do you suppose that something was? My scientific language is clumsy, so let me switch genres. Jonathan Edwards, who is often remembered for his fiery sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” actually gives us a loving image too-long forgotten and ignored. Edwards says God is so full of goodness that it is God’s “disposition” to overflow.[2] God is like a fountain that is spilling over in love. Creation is what results. It was uncontainable love that set all of this in motion, and you are the children of that overflowing love.
Now the journey from there to here hasn’t always been easy. Sometimes the children of God lost touch with their source, not trusting there was enough love to go around, so they thought they had to fight over it. Sometimes the children looked to other sources to be filled, all of which proved empty, alluring mirages. The children of God were enslaved, made slaves by other children of God. They were freed and led into freedom and new order by those specially sent by God, a God who gave them laws—we remember that part—but also a God who wanted to be in relationship. This was the revolutionary gesture of ancient Israel’s God, that God wanted to be in touch with what God had made.
God’s goodness has continued to flow into the world, and those in touch with it throughout time have called us to our better selves. Then, we believe that God showed up fullness in the flesh and blood of Jesus of Nazareth, a Jewish from the boondocks. Jesus is a window into the heart of God, and a mirror for humanity, revealing both what it looks like to be godly in the world and how people reject godliness for the way it threatens the order they think is righteous. In Jesus, God sat with those the religious said were impure, and, in doing so, God defied separation. In Jesus, God emptied himself of power—Did you know that the oldest hymn we have about Jesus is in Philippians 2, says, that Christ “did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,” not a slave-owner, but a slave? In doing so, God rebuked any notion of supremacy. In Jesus, God received those who came for him with swords, and told those who drew their swords in his defense, and, in doing so, God disarmed us all. In Jesus, seemed to lose to the powers and principalities of this world. And, then, in Jesus, God redefined the very rules of existence, showing us, once and for all who wins. In doing so, God invites us all over to the winning side.
We should say something of sides, because there is some confusion that we should not be choosing sides. Let me share a quote with you, that has been sitting on my desk for several months now. It only hit me Wednesday that God put that quote there for today.
It reads,
We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormenter, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national boundaries and sensitivities become irrelevant. Whenever men and women are persecuted because of their race and religion, or political views, that place must—at that moment—become the center of the universe.[3]
That quote comes from the Nobel Prize acceptance speech of Elie Wiesel whose people were crucified under the flag that walked through Charlottesville last week, the flag that several members of this congregation over the years risked their lives to oppose. I don’t know how many of you know Col. Cole. He isn’t always in worship because it’s hard to hear, but Col. Cole refused to marry the love of his life when he was a young man because he was headed to war, and he didn’t want to leave her a widow. By the grace of God, or luck, or both, he survived and he and Susan built a beautiful life together. I don’t think, after all that, and after all these years, we should ask Col. Cole to have to face that flag in his own country.
Jesus loved everyone, and Jesus chose sides. In fact, the choosing was how his love was made manifest. And, what was Jesus’ nickname? The Hammer? The Bomb? The Truth? Well, maybe it was The Truth, or The Life, but first it was, The Word. “In the beginning,” remember the beginning when all things were one bound up together, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…” (Jn 1:1).
The Word was God. Words have tremendous potential, creative or destructive potential. How did creation happen? “God said, ‘Let there be…’ and there was (Gen. 1).” We tell ourselves, in this tradition, that words create worlds. They hold enormous power to bring certain was of being into existence. If you have a leadership position in a company, how you speak creates an order to how that world will operate and how those in it will relate to one another. If you speak in a way that sets up a pattern of discrimination or degradation, or even if you don’t explicitly do so, but you fail to condemn such behavior, you provide cover for such speech and such treatment, because you send a signal to others that such behavior will go unopposed. Our speech creates worlds.
I remember this vividly from high school. I know my beard is showing some grey these days, but I wasn’t in high school that long ago. I had a teacher, Mr. Beaver, who spoke openly, exclusively, of women as “chicks” and “broads.” How do you suppose that modeling from the top down affected the way in which we, as students, related to one another, particularly toward the females in the room? How did it influence how we conceived of women outside the room, out in the world? You could say, “Well, most of us were intelligent. We could see this was wrong. They’re merely words. They have no substance.” When I went to graduate school to study rhetoric, one of the first things they told us is, “There is nothing ‘mere’ about words.” As wordsmith Maya Angelou puts it, “Words are things…I’m convinced…They get on the walls. They get on your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, and your upholstery, and in your clothes, and finally into you.”[4] Once inside, they have an effect. They have the power to infect, and conversely the words that come out reveal the state of things inside, good or ill.
In the gospel reading today, Jesus reminds us of this. He says, “Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes into the sewer? But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles.” Jesus is challenging the purity laws about which foods one can eat as ultimately determinative of what defiles a person. It’s not what one puts in their mouth that defiles them—that ends up in the sewer ultimately. It’s what one allows out of their mouth, words, which defile, for what comes out of the mouth, when it is flowing unrestricted, which flows directly from the heart. Words reveal what is in the heart, and when what flows out of the mouth belongs in the sewer, then, Jesus says, we have true defilement.
This is why we must work on the heart right now. I know we want to charge out there, and we should get out there, but if we do so without cultivating the heart, then at the first sight of the torches, or the racist chants, or the Nazi flags, or far worse, we will quickly resort to likewise spewing sewage, which I understand also happened in Charlottesville. Martin Luther King, who faced racism in this country, knew this, having studied Gandhi, and that’s why his people trained spiritually for the movement, so when the firehouses and the dogs were unleashed, they were ready to hold not only their ground but the moral high ground. We must likewise train. Be in prayer and reading Scripture an hour a day. If that feels like too much, then try two hours. I say this to illustrate that we will have to work at it if we are to do it well. We don’t need people wielding the powerful weapon of the Holy Word without being trained.
We will return to this theme of training throughout the year, so we will be ready to do our part in joining in the flow of God’s righteousness throughout the world that sometimes forgets where it comes from. For today, let us simply remember to take words seriously and speak words carefully. A few for you to consider in closing. These are from a Civil War general, when asked in 1869 to consider attending a gathering to consider a lasting memorial at Gettysburg:
My engagements will not permit me to be present, and I believe if there I could not add anything material to the information existing on the subject. I think it wiser moreover not to keep open the sores of war, but to follow the examples of those nations who endeavored to obliterate the marks of civil strife and to commit to oblivion the feelings it engendered.[5]
That general was Robert E. Lee, the most famous general of the Confederacy, to whose statue they marched last week in Charlottesville. Lee’s biographer noted even though Lee was “quite prepared to use the past in a rather nostalgic manner when it came to old Southern constitutional principles and paternalist racial assurances…he would have plowed the battlefields over rather than convert them into the shrines others would make of them.”[6] Lee understood what those who marched to his likeness last week did not, that to memorialize this episode in this manner, is, in effect, to speak an everlasting word of strife, and likewise to inflict an immortal wound upon society. Let us take this journey now together, one word at a time. Let us begin with a simple, swift, unequivocal word, one that when spoken from the heart can be a positive word. No.
Amen.
[1] http://www.cnn.com/2017/08/11/us/charlottesville-white-nationalists-rally-why/index.html
[2] http://www.ccel.org/e/edwards/works1.iv.iii.iv.html
[3] http://www.eliewieselfoundation.org/nobelprizespeech.aspx
[4] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PXdacSqvcA
[5] Michael Fellman, The Making of Robert E. Lee, https://books.google.com/books?id=x7OOraQWi5wC&pg=PA299&dq=%22i+think+it+wiser+moreover%22&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CCYQ6AEwAGoVChMIxZSVnqTyxgIVw9SACh39bQbx#v=onepage&q=%22i%20think%20it%20wiser%20moreover%22&f=false.
[6] Ibid.
Genesis 37:12-28
12Now his brothers went to pasture their father’s flock near Shechem. 13And Israel said to Joseph, “Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them.” He answered, “Here I am.” 14So he said to him, “Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock; and bring word back to me.” So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.
He came to Shechem, 15and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, “What are you seeking?” 16“I am seeking my brothers,” he said; “tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock.” 17The man said, “They have gone away, for I heard them say, ‘Let us go to Dothan.’” So Joseph went after his brothers, and found them at Dothan. 18They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. 19They said to one another, “Here comes this dreamer. 20Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams.” 21But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, “Let us not take his life.” 22Reuben said to them, “Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him” — that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father. 23So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore; 24and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.
25Then they sat down to eat; and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. 26Then Judah said to his brothers, “What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? 27Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh.” And his brothers agreed. 28When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt. THIS IS HOLY WISDOM, HOLY WORD. THANKS BE TO GOD.
Talk Ourselves Out of It
As summer starts to draw to a close, so too does our road trip with this cast of characters from Genesis. This is our last Sunday with this story, with which we have been traveling for several weeks now. We were there as Jacob and Esau wrestled in the womb, Jacob eventually stealing Esau’s birthright. We saw the tables turned on Jacob as he was tricked into marrying the sister of the woman he desired, leading him to wait 14 years in all for his chosen bride. We witnessed another wrestling match between Jacob and a heavenly being who leaves a mark on Jacob who is renamed Israel. We stood as bystanders for a heartwarming reunion and ceasefire between Esau and Jacob. In these episodes, we have seen a full display of human behavior, from envy and covetousness to favoritism and trickery, from loyalty and passion to forgiveness and reconciliation.
Today we are on to the next generation, and the picture, in all its messiness, continues to unfold. This time, it is Israel’s children who take center stage. Living out of his own childhood experience, which so many of us do, Israel plays favorites, not surprisingly preferring the youngest, Joseph the dreamer, creating spite among his brothers. As a result, the brothers hatch a plot to kill Joseph and throw him in a pit. That’s when Rueben, one of the brothers, steps in. “Let us not take his life,” he says, “Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him” (Gen. 37:21-22). It is a crafty intervention, making the best, perhaps, of an imperfect situation, a necessary compromise. Throw him in the pit, abandon him in the wilderness, but don’t actively kill him. Reuben splices the morality of the situation, allowing the brothers to exact revenge on the resented Joseph, yet sparing his life, or at least giving him a chance to escape death, which Joseph ultimately does. It’s unsavory, and yet it seems to work.
How many times do we find ourselves placed in precarious ethical situations in which we are called to make decisions that have consequences for others? So often, the choices we make do not feel clean. They are not as we would like in a perfect world. Our conduct does not live up to how we always thought we would have the courage to act in such circumstances, and yet they are the best we can do. After all, we have our own livelihood to protect as well. Allan Boesak, who preaches a powerful sermon on this Genesis passage, calls this the “Reuben option.” An imperfect response to a difficult situation, but the best that can be reasonable expected of us.
You might think that Boesak argues for the Reuben option, but he deems it utter rubbish. The gospel is not simply about tinkering around the edges of a broken system or construct; it is about living into an entirely new reality. Boesak, you see, was an anti-apartheid activist, and his own Dutch Reformed Church did plenty to avoid taking up wholesale opposition to the evil of state-sponsored separation, oppression, racism that was apartheid, and evil was precisely what it was. The same thing happened here when facets of the which church resisted the Civil Rights movement, arguing for slower, incremental change, easy to do when you’re not the one suffering. This is why Martin Luther King resounded time and again, “Now is the time…Now is the time…Now is the time.” “The time is always right,” King said, “to do the right thing.”
Compromise is an important skill, but this kind of compromise, one that privileges our temporary comfort over the eternal and God-given rights of others, is not compromise, it is theological and spiritual confusion. It is a rebuke of the Jesus Christ, who never shied from confronting the hypocrisy and evils of his time. Boesak describes the failure of his beloved church in South Africa in failing to stand up and say, “No” to apartheid on all fronts. “This, I think, is the agony of the church,” he said, “we know what we should be doing, but we lack the courage to do it. We feel we ought to do it and we cannot.”
Boesak continues, “We are afraid to make choices, so we are constantly on the lookout for compromises. We are paralyzed by the need to be all things to all people, to be a church where all feel welcome all the time, and so we sacrifice on both altars. We stand accused by a history of compromises always made for the sake of survival.” After all, if one sells out the gospel, what is left is not a church, but a social club or a spa, both of which have their place, but neither are to be confused for the body of people devoted to the way of Jesus. Churches are obsessed with their own self-preservation, yet in the foundations of Presbyterian polity in our constitution, we proclaim that the church is called to live out its mission, “even at the risk of losing its own life.”
What has truly been preserved in Reuben’s unholy compromise? Joseph is still thrown into the pit, where he could very well die. Yes, Reuben could return to set him free, and that’s all well and good unless you are the one continually told to just hang tight in the pit. For all Reuben knew at the time, the only thing he was avoiding was his brothers’ guilt, not his brother’s death. Let us be careful who we applaud.
“The Reuben option,” describes Boesak, “Take a stand, but always cover yourself. The problem cannot be ignored, so let us do something about it, but always in such a way that it does not hurt us too much. Take a stand; use the right words in the resolutions taken by the synod and the general assembly, but also make sure that you build into those resolutions all the necessary safeguards—just in case. Don’t antagonize people too much, especially those in the church who have money. Opt for peace, but don’t confuse that with justice.”
Boesak’s concern is the church, but we can certainly expand the notion to our lives as well. Can we look at how we may have sacrificed morality or our calling to do as Jesus would have us because of the backlash we would incur? This is hard stuff. My experience, however, is that people can handle hard truths when they are spoken clearly and directly, and Boesak makes it clear. Faithfulness requires Reuben to stand up and say “No,” outright to his brothers. That moral clarity gives us ground to stand on with one another, and that is the calling, and joy, of a faith community. As a singular person, I am no emblem of bravery, certainly no hero. As part of a body of faith, I can be one capable of courageous acts and brave stands. The same is true for all of us. I know there are those here whose work puts them in situations in which it is a daily struggle to do the right thing when those around them are not. Let this church and the gospel it beloves be a reminder they are not alone. I know some here have to say or do difficult things to or with family. Let us be their rear guard and new family if it comes to that. This feels scary, which is why Jesus sent out the disciples, two by two, signifying that we go together, and, just as the animals who left the ark, we are living into a new creation. The old has been washed away. Jesus’ way delivers us to dry land, from a destructive way of being to a peaceable kingdom.
Let the stories of the church give you the courage, or serve as cautionary tales, so are empowered to do what you need to do. Have I ever told you about Erskine Clarke? Erskine Clarke, or Dr. Clarke, I should call him, was one the of the church history professors at Columbia seminary near Atlanta where I attended. Dr. Clarke is a genteel man, a true southern gentleman, who spoke with an eloquence and diction that you could listen to all day, though he never raised his voice or made efforts to be dynamic. The year I took Presbyterian history and polity, Clarke was right in the midst of a book he was writing called, Dwelling Place: A Plantation Epic. That book later went on to win the National Book Award in history, not in church history, in history, a secular award given to the best history book of the year. Clarke’s book was about Charles Colcock Jones, a 19th century Presbyterian Pastor who came to the South, and even spent some time at Columbia before it moved to Atlanta.
As Clarke told us, Jones had come to the South as a missionary to the slaves, and in his time worked diligently to try and improve the conditions of slavery, which some would call a pretty noble cause for his day and age. I’ll never forget the day Dr. Clarke lectured on Jones’ life and the struggles of his time, and his choices in the midst of an institution, slavery, he knew was wrong. He looked at us and said that over the years he had seen a lot of students come to Columbia wide-eyed and eager, full of ideals, on fire for the gospel, and ready to confront a world filled with injustice in the name of Jesus Christ. I thought for sure that the next thing out of his mouth would be something about how life is simply more complicated than that, that the world was more powerful than a little idealism could overcome, and that mature spiritual leaders would need learn that sometimes you have to do the best you can in the midst of an imperfect situation, and you have to work in a way that allows you to survive to fight another day.
That’s not what Dr. Clarke said. Rather what he said was more like, “Don’t you ever lose what brought you here, your love of God, your passion for Jesus, and your clarity around the justice that demands for all creation. Don’t allow the temptation to put the church’s survival ahead of its integrity.” In other words, “Don’t think you are preserving anything by tossing the values of Jesus Christ into a pit for someone else to pick up later.” What Erskine Clarke wanted us to know is that at the end of the day, Charles Colcock Jones took the Reuben option, and we are called for something better.
We can talk ourselves into a lot of things, that compromise of the gospel is okay if it gets us what we want, or if it spares us what we want to avoid. It still lands a sister or brother into the pit. Let us, instead, learn the art of talking each other out of it, giving each other the encouragement we need to make a better choice, for in the closing words of Boesak, “the chosen shall be known by their choices.” Amen.
Author and blogger Rick Hamlin shares a story about going for a morning jog one day. He writes, “As I jogged, I called to a neighbor. ‘Good morning! Keep it up.’ She used to be a walker and now was jogging. Pretty impressive. She deserved all the encouragement I could muster. ‘You too,’ she called back to me.
I turned the corner and spotted a man with a dog picking mulberries off the tree and eating them. ‘Taste good?’ I asked as I huffed and puffed. He nodded and smiled.
Going up the hill, I caught the glorious scent of cut grass, the blades brushing against my shoes. ‘Morning,’ I said to the man I see every morning when I jog. Same spot, same time. Today he was wearing a T-shirt with Martin Luther King Jr.’s portrait on it. ‘Nice shirt,’ I said. He waved.
Out of the park, heading back home, I saw my neighbor Michael running toward me. His wife had a very scary cancer diagnosis three months ago. I’ve been praying for her and for him. What a roller coaster. I reversed my steps and ran with him for a block. ‘How’s she doing?’ I asked.
‘She got her first treatment this week,’ he said. ‘It’s just a pill, so she can go to work afterward. They’re going to try it for three weeks.’
‘I will keep hoping,’ I said. ‘And praying.’”
Hamlin concludes by reflecting, “Had I seen the Lord’s face while I jogged? Not exactly. But in seeking it, I had seen God’s presence in mulberries, joggers, T-shirts, cut grass, and the care of doctors treating a friend.”
Twice in the scripture passage we heard today, Jacob remarks about seeing God’s face. The first time is after he spends the entire night wrestling with a man. The story doesn’t say specifically who this man is. I wonder if at first, Jacob thinks it might be his brother Esau. The last time Jacob and Esau were together, Jacob had stolen Esau’s blessing from him … a blessing Esau was supposed to get because he was born first. Esau was furious and had been planning to kill Jacob, so Jacob ran away. Now, many years had passed since then, but for all Jacob knew, Esau was still furious. Perhaps his rage had just been building and building since that time.
In fact, as Jacob prepares to meet Esau, he first sends messengers ahead to greet him. The messengers come back, telling Jacob that Esau is coming to meet him with four hundred men. Jacob is pretty certain this means that Esau is still planning to kill him, even after all these years. So then, Jacob sends his servants ahead to meet Esau with all kinds of livestock … hoping that Esau will be appeased by this generous gift. But still he is afraid. He then sends his wife and children ahead of him, and now he is alone and afraid.
And a man comes and wrestles with him. At first Jacob could very likely have thought it was Esau. Come to finish the brotherly battle that had begun so many years ago. But, no, this figure doesn’t seem to be Esau. In fact, Jacob didn’t know who the man was. At the end of their struggle he asks, “What is your name?” but doesn’t get a straight answer. Still, we aren’t sure who it is. But, after Jacob receives a blessing from this mystery man, he declares, “I have seen God face to face” and he renames the place “Peniel,” which means, “face of God.”
So did Jacob wrestle with God that night? Perhaps. Or maybe with an angel – a messenger of God. It is unclear. Either way, it is doubtful that he literally saw God’s face. But Jacob did have an up close and personal encounter with the divine. Jacob had an experience that was so powerful, so profound, so filled with blessing that he did encounter God face to face.
Immediately following the wrestling match, Jacob and Esau meet. Rather than greeting Jacob with anger or violence, Esau runs to meet him, embraces him, kisses him, and they both weep. Jacob tells him, “to see your face is like seeing the face of God – since you have received me with such favor.” Again, something about that encounter was so powerful, so profound, so filled with blessing that he again felt he had seen the face of God.
Two very different encounters. One, a difficult, night-long struggle. The other, a heart-felt reconciliation filled with love and forgiveness. In both, Jacob sees God face to face.
Seeing God face to face, or seeing the face of God, is an interesting phrase. One that seems to mean several different things. For Rick Hamlin, it meant seeking to be aware of God’s presence around him as he went for a jog. Rather than running right by the people he encountered, he made an effort to engage in their lives – if only for a brief moment. He made sure to connect with each person in a specific way. In doing so, says Hamlin, he may not have literally seen the face of God, but he certainly encountered God’s presence.
Of course, then we have Jacob, who wasn’t seeking God’s presence at all. God came to him unannounced in the wrestling man and in the favor of his brother. Yet both encounters were so meaningful for Jacob that even though he may not have been specifically seeking God, he immediately knew he had seen God face to face. Through his brother, Jacob experienced God’s unconditional love and grace and forgiveness. Through the wrestling, Jacob experienced God’s strength and persistence. Both encounters revealed to him the face of God.
In Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, the main character, Jean Valjean, is imprisoned for 19 years for a rather minor crime. He then breaks his parole and goes on the run, filled with hate from his years in prison. As time goes by, however, he slowly learns to love and be loved, becoming the guardian of a young girl named Cosette and watching her grow. At the end of his life, Valjean hands her a page, saying his has written his last confession. “It’s the story of one who turned from hating. A man who learned to love … remember the truth that once was spoken, to love another person is to see the face of God.”
Valjean, who after so many years in prison doubted if he could ever love or trust again, found himself so transformed by his love for Cosette, that he encountered the face of God. A love so pure and true and unconditional, it could only be God.
I don’t know about you, but I appreciate that there are so many ways that we humans – we mere mortals – can meet God face to face. Some times in our lives, we do decide to actively seek out God’s presence in our everyday encounters. Other times, we have an unexpected encounter that affects us so profoundly it can’t help but be an encounter with God. And we also experience more lengthy transformations, from hate to love, or from discord to peace, or from suspicion to trust, from brokenness to wholeness … transformation that could only come about by the grace of God.
This love and grace of God is always unconditionally given to each one of us. However, we do have a role to play in our encounters with the divine. Rick Hamlin very consciously engaged with the people he met on his jog and took the time to be in relationship with them, appreciating the divine in each of them. Jacob, though he did not necessarily choose his encounters, he did actively engage. He wrestled and struggled with that man all night long. He did not run away when he heard that Esau was coming to meet him with an army of men. These were difficult situations that he could have chosen to avoid. But he engaged. And there he encountered the divine. Valjean gave his all to his relationship with Cosette even though he had been emotionally scarred in his past. He opened himself to the possibility of love and trust.
I think about that as we come to the Lord’s Table this morning. For we also have a role to play in this meal. For at this table is an invitation … an invitation to receive the unconditional love of God that is offered to each and every one of us. And then to share that love with one another. An invitation to receive the grace and forgiveness of God that is offered to each and every one of us. And then to offer that forgiveness to one another. An invitation to encounter God face to face. And then to continue to seek and find God’s face long after this meal is over. May it be so.
During a recent board meeting for Heartbeat, the organization that comes supports the work of Celtic Christian teacher John Philip Newell, a group of us took a little afternoon prayer walk, a mini-pilgrimage. The meeting was in Santa Fe, and while we had hoped to do a trail in the desert, time didn’t permit, so we just walked to a park that overlooked the city. In the silence, we had our senses awakened to the sights and sounds of everyday life, vendors selling their wares, locals making their way to work, tourists looking around. As we entered the park, we wound up a steep hill, passing plaques relaying the city’s history—it’s the oldest capital city in North America, did you know that? At the top of the hill, we passed a giant cross, and made our way to a shady spot beneath a tree where we could share what had emerged for each of us on the walk.
It’s amazing what will come up from within if you prayerfully set aside a little time to walk and listen. It doesn’t take long. I bet we didn’t walk 20 minutes. Out of the group of about seven, three different people spoke of career changes they needed to make. Others rejoiced at again walking with kindred spirits—many of us have made pilgrimages together in the past. Then, one member, a Jew, said that when our walk culminated in passing a cross, the whole experience soured. Ouch.
Heartbeat is a group who is deeply involved in interfaith work, but has only now taken the step of becoming and interfaith board, which is quite a shift. There is a lot of trust in the group, with some relationships spanning several years, so we were able to talk openly. Some of the Christians acknowledged also feeling discomfort with the cross looming atop the city in a municipal park, but no doubt that discomfort carries a whole other level of meaning and intensity when you are not a Christian, and maybe particularly when you are a Jew. To my Jewish friend, the cross is not a symbol of love, but rather a symbol of domination, of hegemony, even of intimidation.
There is a long history to support Jewish wariness of such symbols of Christianity. I have been reading lately about the Reformation in light of this year’s 500th anniversary of Luther issuing his 95 theses. Luther himself had horribly anti-Semitic things to say near the end of his life. I like to think it was dementia setting in—he hadn’t spoken so sharply earlier in his life—but I, of course, have no proof of my theory. Fifteen years after he had lobbied the Catholic Church for kinder treatment of the Jews, Luther advocated burning their schools and synagogues, and said rabbis should be threatened with death if they persisted in their teaching.[1] How many of us were taught that history? Had we better attended to it, we might have avoided what later happened in Luther’s own country.
There’s a tendency to overlook what we don’t want to see about groups to which we belong, and so we gloss over painful realities of our histories. Whether it is our religion, with realities such as the crusades, or our nation and its history of slavery, attempted destruction of native peoples and their culture—Christianity, incidentally, had a central role to play in each—there are episodes we would just as soon forget. Many of us know this about our own families, as well, and we have things about which we simply do not speak.
It is understandable to turn away. It is a defense mechanism. Seeing is painful. It is far more pleasant to concentrate on all the good, and there is plenty of good. It was unpleasant when our Jewish friend told us Christians the cross we revere had soured the time we had spent together. If we don’t face the unpleasant realities too, we squander an opportunity to learn from them. Thankfully, one of the Christians in the group took that opportunity, moving toward what was uncomfortable rather than running away from it. “I want to know more about your perspective,” he said, “because the cross is very important to me, and it means something totally different.” What was valuable, and showed real trust in the relationship, is that he both expressed curiosity—he truly wanted to know—and shared openly about his own perspective. Both are signs of respect to the other, just as the other had showed respect and trust in raising the issue in the first place.
We have built, or inherited, depending on how you look at it, a society in which vulnerability and reflectiveness, particularly about how we have benefitted from others’ suffering, is not rewarded. Thinking about this theme, I spent some time recently looking at the work of public relations firms around damage control. Here’s what I found recommended for a sample case study of a hypothetical oil spill off California: Work “to convince the public,” the firm advised, “that the oil company is working in the best interest of the public and environment, as opposed to being a self-serving company only concerned with company profits. This might include a series of commercials showing company employees and officers actively cleaning up the oil spill and saving local wildlife.”[2] Whether or not the company was actually working in the best interest of the public or environment, or appropriately cleaning up the spill, was totally absent from the discussion. This is to be expected, because that’s not the job of a PR firm. This is precisely the point: slice up the responsibilities so much and eventually no one has to be ultimately responsible. It’s a system that serves an illusion of wellbeing rather than the reality of it.
Did you know that sometimes even the way we read the Bible functions to serve an illusion, therefore missing an opportunity for us to have an honest look and the chance to learn? Take Jacob and Esau. Last week, we heard about Jacob stealing his older brother Esau’s birthright. This week, we heard about how Jacob, in turn, was tricked into marrying a woman he did not want, Leah, after waiting seven years for her sister, Rachel. Jacob waits another seven years for Rachel. We tend to overlook the obvious faults of the figures involved and conclude this was all the work of a perfect puppet-master God, who seems to approve of the actions of the figures in the story. If that is so, however, and everyone was just playing their part, what does it say about God, that Esau, who lost his birthright, and Leah, who was given in marriage to someone who did not want her, are just necessary casualties? Even the somewhat unsympathetic Jacob receives a pretty stiff penalty for a crime he committed likely as a minor. As for Rachel, what choice does she have in the matter, as her father makes decisions for her as was the case with women of the day?
More importantly, what is to be learned from that interpretation? That God is in charge and our actions don’t matter? Or, could it be that in the brokenness of these figures we can see our own capacity for coveting and taking what is not ours, like Jacob, or for not valuing the true gift given us, like Esau? The story is filled with tricks, performed by people trying to get ahead, Jacob, and by people trying to provide the best they can for their children, Laban, and in it we are invited to wrestle with when such trickery is justified. Yes, God is in charge, but perhaps in the sense that God is able to work goodness in, out, and through the imperfect and the unhealed.
The Bible, at its best, is an honest look at life, and the life of faith is, at its best, an honest look as well, for looking honestly creates the opening through which a truer way to be may enter in. Trying to maintain the illusion of perfection guarantees only that we will never learn, never grow, never evolve. Our culture eschews failing or weakness, and so we try and hide it with every cloak in our closet, even to ourselves, and yet that only impedes our growth. The Apostle Paul says it is precisely in our weakness that the Spirit of God most helps us. Through an honest look at ourselves and our groups we find God, and even when what we find is too hard to speak of, “that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words” (Rom. 8:26). The point here is not to make anyone feel bad. We are only following what we have been taught, that shortcoming or failure will bring punishment, but remember what Paul says of Christ here. “Who is to condemn?” he asks rhetorically, “It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who intercedes for us” (8:34). The only one in a position to condemn us, to truly condemn us, is Christ, and Christ not only does not condemn, Christ intercedes on our behalf. We not only have nothing to lose by taking an honest look at who we have been, or where or who we come from, we have everything to gain, even new life.
Charles is an episcopal priest who told me what taking an honest look at his calling did for him. One day a woman, Tonja, came into his church in Colorado, having read his blog. Charles writes regularly about Celtic spirituality, a blessing-centered, non-hierarchical, orientation to faith that recognizes the sacredness in all things, and which stands in stark contrast to what we so often see in our religion and others. Tonja visited Ireland and Scotland regularly and was a deeply spiritual woman. She and Charles developed a friendship during which they met regularly for lunch at her essential oils shop. Tonja said to him, “I’m Celtic, but not entirely Christian.” Over time, Charles acknowledged his own struggles. The church, he once described, “was a lot of pomp, and not much circumstance.” For him it had become vapid, caught up in appearances, and out of touch with reality, the needs of the real world.
As part of what became their ritual of being together, Tonja would put some essential oil on Charles each time they were together without telling him what scent it was. You see, Charles had been in an accident two years before that left him with no sense of smell in the accident. In order to find out the scent, he would have to go back to the church and have someone else tell him. It became a game of sorts.
At one point, Charles decided to travel for a weeklong retreat with Philip Newell at Iona, a small island off the coast of Scotland. Mid-week, there is always take a day-long pilgrimage. At one point, the group stops along the coast line where everyone is to cast a stone into the ocean, releasing a burden from one’s life, and then select a stone of new beginnings. As Charles did, he let go of the church he knew he needed to leave, not because he wanted to abandon his walk with God, but because he wanted to take the next step. Leaving the shore, quite emotional, Charles looked up and there, coming down the path, a world away from Colorado, was Tonja. He wept as they embraced, and that’s when Tonja took a finger and wiped behind her ear. She was borrowing some of the essential oil she was wearing, and she rubbed his face with it.
Friends, God will go to the ends of the earth to find us when we are ready to look honestly at our lives.
When Charles told this story, I interrupted him and asked what essence the oil was. He paused, “Rose oil,” he said, “my favorite.” I don’t know how he could have a favorite since he doesn’t have a sense of smell. Later it hit me, Rose is associated with Mary the mother of Jesus. It’s also a symbol of the crucifixion, maybe a better symbol than the cross. Charles has now given his life to serving the homeless in New Mexico and working to advance the Celtic vision of Heartbeat in the world. He is happy and more alive, and I would argue more faithful to the Christ he always sought to serve and now sees even more clearly. This is the model of death and resurrection that Jesus gives us, of opening up in order to be lifted up. Perhaps he borrowed it from the flowers. It can come for each of us, and for all of us, whenever we are ready for an honest look. Amen.
[1] http://www.christianitytoday.com/history/issues/issue-39/was-luther-anti-semitic.html
[2] http://smallbusiness.chron.com/public-relations-damage-control-18306.html
Though I was away last Sunday, I am aware that you heard this story of Jacob and Esau read then as well. While I could have chosen a different passage for this Sunday, the story is so rich, with Jacob the trickster stealing his birthright from his older brother Esau, I simply couldn’t resist. Think of the possible interpretations of this story. It could be:
-A story of craftiness, outsmarting the other to get what you want.
-A story of the underdog, rising up against the stronger elder,
-A story of breaking social convention, in which the firstborn receives a birthright, either through the wit of the younger or the will of God,
-A story about the importance of remembering priorities, and not being ruled by momentary desires of the flesh, though that feels a little harsh to the hungry Esau, who, after all, worked up his appetite in the fields.
-On that note, it could be a story of privileging the “tent dweller over the hunter,” a sort of urban vs. rural tension…sound familiar?
-The story could be read with a feminist perspective, noting it is the one Rebekah favors, Jacob, who prevails over the one Isaac loves, Esau.
Then there is the matter of embattled brothers leading to entire peoples being divided. God says to Rebekah, “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples born of you shall be divided” (Gen. 25:23). We are not told the source of this division; we are simply assured that some divisions go back to the womb of civilization. If Cain and Abel, the first siblings, weren’t enough to convince us, then Jacob and Esau should leave no doubt. It is said while they were still in the womb they were “struggling.” The word in Hebrew is harsher, meaning “to crush.” They are crushing one another when Esau emerges, Jacob grasping his heel, already trying to take the all-important birthright due the first-born.
The story may speak to deep-seeded divisions of the context in which it was written, but how far do we have to look to find such divisions in ours? How far do you have to look, in your family? Your other close relationships? Your neighborhood? Our idyllic setting is not immune. I am not talking about healthy disagreement, but when difference gives way to derision. Out where I live, a community we love, there’s a battle brewing over the schools with the recent emergence of a charter school. The history is more complex than is worth getting into here, and many have strong feelings on the matter—that’s not surprising. What has been surprising to me is how people have behaved toward one another: children bullied or ridiculed on the playground for decisions their adults have made, online forums such as Nextdoor having become sites for nasty diatribes, personal attacks, and rude disregard of others’ opinions, and all this from a community that prides itself in being open. For all the blessings of online communication, thoughtful discussion about public matters is not among them.
I don’t even need to point out the nations who struggle to crush one another still, having forgotten they were, and are, siblings.
How do we live in light of this reality that the Biblical text names with such exquisitely simple imagery, two babes wrestling before they could learn the patience to do anything else? How do we live when such enmity is, if not in our DNA, then certainly somehow deep within us? We must choose. Do we join the struggle, returning hurt for hurt, trying to crush, or even just outwit so we can take from, one another? I know God seems to reward Jacob for that, but come back next week and you’ll hear a later story in which Jacob get his comeuppance. Do we return blow for blow, or do we have the strength to try and turn our struggle into something that strengthens relationship rather than destroying it?
The latest project of Shane Claiborne, a powerful Christian of my generation, has been to work against the death penalty. He does so not only because of the well-documented mistakes and biases of its execution, no pun intended, but also because he fundamentally believes that the way of Jesus is not killing to show that killing is wrong, because in Christ he believes no one is beyond redemption. For him, what’s most convincing is the stories. Claiborne tells a story of a woman named Mary Johnson, whose 16-year-old son Laramiun was killed in a random shooting. The killer was named Oshea—and you can’t make this up—Israel, Israel, of course, the name to which God changes Jacob’s name later in Genesis.
Mary experienced the same kind of anger I imagine most of us would. She was full of rage. Mary is a Christian, however, and so what she did with that rage would be defined by that. She is a kind of a charismatic Pentecostal woman, and she said at one point the Spirit started to work on her. She comes across this anonymous poem called “Two Mothers.” It’s about two women, who meet in heaven, now angels. They recognize each other as mothers by the stars in their crowns (so there is a reward coming, moms!). The two women recognize another commonality as well. Each has a blue tint to their halo, which means they each lost a child while on earth. The first asks the second her story and she tells of her son’s crucifixion. Upon hearing that this is the mother of Christ, the first falls on her knee, but Mary picks her up, kisses the tear from the woman’s cheek and asks her to tell her story. That woman says, I am the mother of Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus and then killed himself.
When Mary Johnson hears this poem, she reflects on her own situation and realizes there is another mother here too. She reaches out to Oshea’s mother and they become connected, eventually founding a group “Two Mothers,” and an organization “From Death to Life.” One woman holds a support group for mothers of victims of violent crimes and the other holds one for mothers of those who commit them. Mary eventually feels moved to reach out and actually visit Oshea, and the two of them became connected. In fact, their relationship grows so strong that when Oshea is eventually released from prison, he moves in next door to Mary, the mother of the boy he murdered! One of the first things Oshea says when he’s released from prison after 20 years is, “I feel like one of the luckiest men in the world, to have two mothers.”
It is easy to behold that story as the stuff of miracles, and therefore dismiss it. That’s what we tend to do with miracles, behold them and dismiss them. “I could never do that,” we say. Maybe not, but we don’t know for sure. We are not, after all, fundamentally different from Mary Johnson. We are kin, from the same womb and we claim to be devoted to the same Spirit, the same gospel, the same Jesus. Don’t think it was easy for Mary. It took a year and a half for her son’s case to go to trial and she was still broiling with anger by then. It took fully 12 years before she went to see Oshea in prison. She did it not because it was easy, but because she believed doing so was what it meant to follow Christ. I have found in more progressive circles the tendency to express condescension toward our more evangelical sisters and brothers, but if all Christians took following Jesus as seriously as Mary does, and many like her have, we would live in a very different world.
I hope to God none of us will ever have a child killed, but we will all be challenged. We will face hardship. We will encounter struggle, some of us a struggle so deep it will lead us to ask what Rebekah asked, perhaps the most biting question of the whole story. “If it is to be this way, why do I live?” Put more simply, “Why live?” Have you ever asked that? Statistics tell us that a number in this room right now have asked that in the most literal of ways.
Why live? Because we have the possibility to give birth to something beautiful with our lives, be they literal children or something else. A week and a half ago, I received notice that one of my mentors, the man who got me my first job, preached at my ordination service, had taken a fall and suffered a stroke. David Bartlett is known to many for the books he’s written on the New Testament, for being a dean at Yale, and, for some of us, for finishing his career at Columbia seminary. He only came to Columbia to allow the dean who followed him at Yale to have the chance to spread his wings, without having to work under Bartlett’s shadow. That’s the kind of thoughtfulness this man exudes. The right half of Bartlett’s brain has been significantly injured, the prognosis is uncertain, it seems likely he will never teach or preach again, though he is young enough to do both.
Within one day of the posting on social media of his fall, 477 people had commented on the posting, people sharing testament after testament to this man. One person said Bartlett had written 100 letters of recommendation for him. I had experienced his care and guidance, his thoughtfulness and wisdom of this deeply faithful man. I had no idea so many others had. That fact doesn’t diminish it. It only multiplies it. As I read through the comments, I thought to myself, look at one person has done over the years by caring for his students, his colleagues, his congregations, and his children. One of his sons, Jonah, has been posting updates on his father. In a recent one, he mentioned that his dad never went more than two days without expecting a call from his adult children. Jonah and his wife have been listening to saved voicemails from him lately, most of them not 10 seconds from the learned professor: “This is your father, give us a call when you have a chance.” Jonah concluded the update on his largely unresponsive father, “We’re trying.”
There is a time to be infants, wrestling around, taking what we can get our hands on. Then, there is a time to grow up and be adults, forgiving and blessing and keeping connected. Amen.
There was an uncomfortable scene that occurred daily at my seminary. In the refectory, where we ate, all the African American students would sit together around one or two tables. It was an overwhelmingly white school, and while we mixed in classes, mealtime was largely segregated, and not just between whites and blacks. It was uncomfortable because here we were, all Christians, all striving to devote our working lives in some form to living in the way of Jesus, Jesus who, among other things, was defined by how many different kinds of folks with whom he would eat, and we, didn’t even eat with each other. We were the ones who were going to be sent out to teach the world about the lengths to which God would go, even unto the cross, to show how much God loved the world, and we weren’t able to go the length of a table to break bread with one another.
Now, I’ve already said something problematic, which I trust you caught. I said, “all the African American students sat together around one or two tables.” You could just as easily say, “all the white students sat together around the majority of the tables,” incidentally, at the center of the refectory. Perspective matters, and I, for one, have rarely had a minority perspective. Some of you have, but I rarely have, and even when I have, I’ve always had the assurances that come with being of privilege–race, gender, sexual orientation, education, nationality/citizenship. That gives one a certain power.
Power plays a big role. I remember one time a number of us white students attended a Black Student Association meeting. I don’t recall the occasion, but we attended in solidarity, supportive of what they were trying to do on campus. At one point in the meeting, they discussed needing to raise money for some initiative, and they were falling short. While they were brainstorming ideas of how to address the shortfall, my friend pulls out his wallet, says, “how much do you need?” and proceeds to hand over a wad of cash. On the surface, it was a generous gesture, and I can vouch for this guy. He was as generous as they come, and committed to the right causes, from my perspective. Yet, of course, his action both helped the Black Student Association and at the same time reminded them where the real power and resources rested, and who needed to be pleased if resources were to flow. It was a different kind of uncomfortable moment.
Here’s something else uncomfortable – today’s teaching from Jesus may not mean be you might think, a simple lesson about taking care of the needy. Jesus avows welcoming another as if it is welcoming God God’s self, saying, “whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones…truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward” (Mt. 10:42). It’s akin to those other familiar passages, such as when he gives a prophecy and the righteous say to him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the answer is, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Mt. 25:37-40).
Undoubtedly, the way of Jesus is to care for those most in need. It’s written all over his life. Anybody who says otherwise is looking at a different gospel and a different Jesus. We often, therefore, assume, that’s all these passages are about, but I point you to two important phrases that reveal another level of complexity and an important lesson not just in Jesus’ time, but in ours as well. The phrases are “the little ones,” and “the least of these.” What do you suppose they mean? We often take them to mean the neediest, but in fact, as scholars tell us, those phrases likely mean the early followers of Jesus, early missionaries if you will. Remember, Jesus’ first words here, “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me…” He’s speaking to the disciples. This is Jesus telling a budding minority group to be sure to take care of its own, not a majority group to take care of its own (big difference), but a minority group.
Many pastors, particularly progressive ones avoid this explanation understandably because they fear it would undermine the call for justice and care for the poor. However, in doing so they miss the important point that we were born as a minority situated in a context of hostile majorities, and that speaks to justice on a deeper level still. This small group of Jesus early followers, because of who they were, did not have access to the kinds of support systems others had. The religion from which our ancestors had broken, which had a working relationship with the state, surely wasn’t going to do it for them. The Roman government had no interest in supporting an alternative to the imperial cult. This is why the early followers of Jesus had to develop their own networks to accomplish what was important for them: Make sure you take care of each other, make sure each other is fed, clothed, visited, cared for, because no one else will. Now that you’ve stepped out in faith, in this faith, your lives no longer matter as much.
This is why so many good white people today miss the meaning of the Black Lives Matter movement. You can think what you want about it. You can think what you want about anything, but don’t miss the meaning. Often one hears in retort, “All lives matter.” Of course all lives matter, but the point the movement is making is that the world is set up to affirm in ways formal and informal, that certain lives matter—are protected, supported, given opportunities and access that others are not. While in theory all lives matter, in practice, as the data reveals, all lives don’t matter equally.
I read an upsetting study this past year. It came out of professors from the NYU’s Stern School of Business and Wharton at Penn. They sent emails to 6,500 professors from 259 American universities. The emails came from a number of fictional prospective students expressing interest in each professor’s Ph.D. program. The emails were identical, except for one detail, the sender’s name. They took names that had been vetted and determined to be stereotypically linked to different gender and ethnic groups: Meredith Roberts (white/Euro-American female), Lamar Washington (African American male), Juanita Martinez (Hispanic female), Raj Sing (Indian male), Chang Huang (Chinese male) and so on. Here’s what they found: professors were more responsive to white male students than to female, black, Hispanic, Indian or Chinese students in almost every discipline and across all types of universities. We found the most severe bias in disciplines paying higher faculty salaries and at private universities…business showed the most bias, with 87 percent of white males receiving a response compared with just 62 percent of all females and minorities combined.
We have come to expect that bias, but the authors noted some surprises as well. For example, fictional black students reaching out to black professors did not reduce the bias against them. The only exception there was Chinese students writing to Chinese faculty, though Chinese students were the most discriminated-against group in the study. When a minority, or disempowered group, seems to be looking out for its own, they are just doing what Jesus told his first followers to do, and thus majority groups need not be so threatened by it; they are addressing real wrongs.
Jesus’ words for his followers to take care of the least of these, the little ones, is about caring for the most in need, because it recognizes the inherent disadvantage certain groups have. Neither Jesus’ words, nor these examples are meant to promote white guilt for those of us who are white, or white and male, and we are not a white only congregation, certainly not even a male majority one. These words, like all of Jesus’ words, are meant to invite us into liberation, freedom from sin, from harming others made in God’s image, intentionally or unknowingly. For those who are minorities, Jesus’ words are a sign of divine solidarity and promise in the face of a frightening existence. For those of us who are in the majority, Jesus’ words are, like the words of his Older Testament prophet predecessors, meant to remind us that we, too, were once slaves, exiles, refugees. This is not about political correctness; this is about faithfulness to the gospel and the biblical witness. That Psalm we read earlier in the service, crying out, “How long, O LORD, Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Ps. 13:1). These words come from just such a people who feel as though their lives don’t matter even to God, because that’s what the evidence seems to say to them. It is a minority report, and God, we confess/profess, hears it.
In a way, maybe in a strange way, each of these stories is about what it’s like to be left behind. In the Psalm, the people feel left behind by God. They have lost their homeland and their way. These stories of Matthew were gathered by those who were left behind by Jesus, who was crucified. Yes, they believed he was resurrected, but they still had to carry on in the midst of hostile territory and rulers. Jesus’ words were a challenge to them about the lengths they would need to go to take care of one another if they were to thrive as a people. They are a reminder to us all.
Twenty year old Hector Zuniga, from Mission Texas, was sad when he learned his local Blockbuster Video was closing down this past April. I didn’t know any were still open. You see Hector lives with autism, and since he was 13 one of his joys in life has been to go to Blockbuster and rent his favorite videos, the same ones over and over again—Veggie Tales, Elmo, Rugrats—he always returned to the same ones throughout the years. Sometimes he’d rent two copies of the same video—it was the whole experience he loved, so you see it was no small thing when that store announced it was closing. So Hector’s father did what a loving father does for his “little one;” he built him a mini Blockbuster in their house, shelving just like the store, complete with all his son’s favorite videos. The nonverbal Hector may have remained speechless, but not quiet, as he clapped for joy when he walked in and saw what his parents had done.
These are the lengths people go for one another when when the world around is stacked against them. They are the lengths God goes for us. Let us honor it, and never forget it. Amen.
Since it is the July 4th weekend, I have had several patriotic songs rolling around in my head over the last few days. One theme that I have noticed running through them all is the theme of “freedom.” That makes sense. Freedom was one of the founding ideals of this country. And it definitely shows up in our country’s patriotic songs. For example …
“The Star Spangled Banner” (the last line)
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave
“You’re A Grand Old Flag”
You're a grand old flag, you're a high flying flag,
And forever in peace may you wave.
You're the emblem of the land I love.
The home of the free and the brave.
“America the Beautiful” (Lots of verses on this one! One of the verses ends this way …)
America! America! God shed God’s grace on thee
‘Till selfish gain no longer stain the banner of the free
“My Country, ‘Tis of Thee”
My country ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing … (skip to the end)
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When singing these songs, there is no doubt that freedom is important in this country. We see it also in the Bill of Rights. The very first amendment to our Constitution spells out the freedoms that were important to our country’s founders … freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of assembly, and freedom to petition the government to right wrongs.
I will say, though, that when I read and hear the news stories from around our country these days, I’m not sure how confident I feel singing about it being the “land of the free.” Certainly, we have many freedoms here that people in some other countries don’t have. However, it seems to me that freedom in the United States is very dependent on your skin color, and your income level, and your educational background, and your religious beliefs. Depending on who you ask, you would probably get a wide range of opinions about how much freedom Americans actually have.
Because it is the 4th of July weekend, and I have been thinking about what freedom really means in this country, I read with interest this passage from Paul’s letter to the Galatians. “For freedom, Christ has set us free.” Rob and I say this almost every week as part of the assurance following our Community Prayer. “In Christ you are forgiven … you are set free.” Does that sound familiar?
But what exactly is this freedom that we speak about so regularly? In some sense, it is a freedom from … a freedom from sin, from our mistakes, from our bad choices. In Christ we experience the freedom of knowing that those things need not rule our lives, for our God is a God of abundant grace and forgiveness. But, as Paul reminds us, we have also been given a freedom to … Christ has set us free to love. You shall love your neighbor as yourself – the whole law summed up in a single commandment.
I can’t help but wonder if freedom in our country would look and feel a little differently if everyone lived into that freedom to love. If everyone used their freedom not for self-indulgence, as Paul reminds us, but for love. “Till selfish gain no longer stain the banner of the free.” I wonder if the author of “America the Beautiful” was quoting Paul?
What would freedom look like in our country if we were able to love each other regardless of our skin color or our income level or our religious beliefs. Not ignoring our important differences, but realizing that those differences should not be barriers to love.
The Psalmist we heard from this morning definitely understands what it means to receive the freedom of God’s love and care. We do not know the specifics of this Psalmist’s plight, but it sounds like he was battling some illness or malady that left him close to death. “The snares of death encompassed me; the pangs of Sheol laid hold on me.” This was not a man experiencing freedom. How often have we felt like this? Perhaps not having a near death experience, but snared or encompassed by something that was holding us down? Somehow prevented from living in freedom?
What did the Psalmist do in his time of need? “I called on the name of the Lord.” And what happened? “When I was brought low, God saved me.” The Psalmist experienced a freedom from death and a freedom to new life. And how does he respond? With love. “I will love the Lord,” he says. “I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord.” Have you ever experienced that kind of freedom? Knowing that God walks with you through your darkest nights? Calling upon God and realizing that God has been right there with you the whole time? Being so overwhelmed by God’s love that you can’t help but shout with praise?
In just a few minutes, we will remember and experience this together as we drink from the cup of salvation. The cup of the new covenant. The cup of forgiveness and of love. The cup of freedom. When we drink from this cup, we remember that in freedom Christ has set us free. We remember God’s abundant and unconditional love for us and our own call to love. May we not just drink from the cup, but may we take this cup and what it represents and claim it as our own. May we take this cup of freedom into the world and show what it means to love as God loves. For each one of us has been set free to love.
Let’s sing together -
I will take the cup of freedom and love in the name of God.
I will take the cup of freedom and love in the name of God.
I wrote my sermon this week on Monday, earlier than usual, because I had some other things scheduled during my regular writing times. It was a good enough, as far as drafts go. I had studied the text and made what I thought were important observations. I put forth some appropriate theological claims. Admittedly, though when I was finished, an unsettled sense lingered. There must be something more to say, or perhaps something else. Some biblical passages lend themselves to easy ethical instruction that can inform everyday life, and some just do not, not matter how much we contort ourselves around them (or them around us). I put the sermon to bed knowing I would need to return to it later in the week to clean it up.
Then, on Tuesday night, I had a dream. Really it was Wednesday morning, one of those vivid dreams you have in the early morning, perhaps after you’ve awoken and then drifted back to sleep. I was somewhere in Marin. You were there too, some of you. We were in a grassy field, a park of sorts. At one point a group of you were singing on a small stage. There were hills in the background, not Tam, but like Tam, and then all of a sudden, we noticed that the hills were burning. Wildfire had broken out and was destroying them. I remember feeling panic inside, and the urge to rush and protect my family, move them to safety.
I awoke. Rarely do dreams stay with me throughout the day, but this one did, those images did, and in my wakefulness throughout the day, other images came and joined them. One was of a building with giant Roman columns, regal stained glass windows—it was a church—a standing icon of a bygone era. Every time that church came to mind, I experienced a coldness, in the pit of my stomach, an emptiness, almost a sucking into nothingness. I didn’t want to be there.
There weren’t only haunting images, however. In contrast, another image that kept coming to me was of my son. He’s young, 4 ½, and thanks to a last-minute opening, he got to go to “nature camp” this past week for a couple hours each morning. There he and the other children went out into the wild each day to explore the forest and creeks, to turn over rocks, to make molds of animal tracks. My wife always dropped him off, but still somehow this image of him, gathered with other children in a circle, then exploring, discovering, touching, wondering, their faces shared between sun and shade, his feet cooling in the stream. He’s come home with new ways of talking. One day he was talking about the “protector plant,” the “protector oak,” it was. We know it by another name, poison oak. Its job is not to poison us, however, to make us itch or scratch; it’s job is to keep things away so the small animals and birds, the little ones have a place to be safe and take shelter. Every time I picture this set of images, these children in the safety of the wild, learning about how things live, how they fit together, how new life springs up out of the old, I get this expansive feeling inside, this fullness, this hope welling up. Maybe that sounds silly, but it doesn’t feel silly. I want to be there, to be a part of that, to step in the stream myself and sense what is being born.
Something is passing away, some of the old ways and old fixtures are burning down. That seems increasingly apparent, and it can be a scary scene to behold. The trick is to learn to watch for and learn about what new is trying to be born. Birth is always tricky. Just ask Sarah. In our Older Testament story, we find her unable to give Abraham a child—it was always on the woman—so she gives him her slave girl Hagar the Egyptian. Imagine what that must be like. Through Hagar, who as a slave has her own pain and lack of choice—let’s not forget that—Abraham has a son, Ishmael. Not long after, Sarah is able to conceive with Abraham, and she gives birth to Isaac. When she sees Isaac playing with Ishmael, she can’t bear it, for all kinds of reasons. Abraham and Sarah cast Hagar and Ishmael out into the desert to die. We know this is at least the conclusion in Hagar’s mind because after she has finished her water skin, she places the child ‘neath a bush and goes a bowshot away, presumably so she won’t be near enough to hear his cries as he succumbs to the desert’s heat and barrenness.
As an ethical play, this story is troubling at best. Sarah is to be lauded for giving another partner to her husband? Are we asked to do that? Then, appears a villain because she realizes she has offered a generosity she cannot bear to endure, and who could blame her? Abraham goes along with the whole thing (must be nice), including casting out the slave woman even when he feels it’s wrong. As for God, God seems to assure him in this. Who is the simple moral exemplar for us to emulate, to take into the boardroom, much less the bedroom? Sometimes the Bible gives us ethical teachings. Sometimes the Bible has other gifts. Sometimes, it simply explodes our imagination, gives us visions, new dreams. What we thought was, and was fated to be, starts to go up in smoke, chaos happens, and then out of the ashes, possibility.
Just when panic sets in as we watch the scene of Hagar and the child, God does a new thing. While Hagar is out of earshot of Ishmael’s cries, God is not. God steps in, and sends an angel to call out to Hagar, “Do not be afraid…come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand…I will make a great nation of him.” “Then,” Scripture says, “God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went and filled the skin with water, and gave the boy a drink” (Genesis 21:17-18). It says God was with the boy, and wouldn’t you know, when he grew up he lived in the wilderness, where new things come to life all the time? As for the well, it’s still around. According to tradition, it is in Mecca, about 20 meters, 66 feet from Kaaba, the Cube, where we see modern Muslims circling every year in pilgrimage, 20 meters or I’d say about a bow’s shot away. God meets the tears of the frightened child, the thirst frightened mother, with a well that has not yet run dry. (Muslims, of course, are the descendants of Hagar, and her children again find themselves on the same playground with the children of Sarah, now with adult toys.)
It is the same water, I would suggest that flows into our sanctuary, and awaits us in the font, where we re-enact God’s blessing, God’s promise to us, and we make Godly promises to one another to be Godlike, Christlike, in a life in which one encounters both life-giving streams and intimidating columns. In baptism, we make a claim about the world to which we belong. This is what Paul is speaking of in Romans. Paul gets a bad rap, perhaps especially among Christians. He’s seen as a legalist, rigid in his attempt to maintain a strict establishment. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. That’s the world he left behind, where he persecuted the early followers of Jesus to maintain an old order. Paul is a mystic, one who has been touched deeply, transformed by a religious experience. The old order crumbles for him as he is blinded into new sight by a light that literally knocks him off his feet.
Paul rarely touches on the ethical teachings of Jesus. He is busy helping communities embody them. For him that means nothing short of dying to an old way of being, so a new one can come to life in Christ. “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore, we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.” If you stumble at those words, be helped by brother Richard Rohr who reminds us that Paul is inviting us to die to our false selves, and our false systems, so we might be born into truth, to real reality. Think of snakes—they too get such a bad rap in Christianity, but we’re all serpents—we must shed our old skin in order to grow. Our skin protects us until it eventually constricts us, and we must cast it off if we are to grow.
Columns are falling, or holding up cold, empty spaces. Things are burning. And yet, the word I am given is “do not fear.” There are little ones taking shelter in the safety of the wild, learning new ways, or old ones. God’s dream is germinating in them right now. The stream is still flowing, and we are being called it, to be rendered cleansed from old ways of being, to old systems of control, to being captive to what the world says is powerful, to be moved literally in Paul’s words, from death to life.
Do you want to be touched by that, to let it run again over your body, washing your fear away? Then don’t sit there listening to me teach you what you know in your heart. Come forward and touch the waters of baptism. All over this room are containers of this water. Come and put your hand in the water, let it run down your head, your cheeks. Put it on yourself, or bless each other. If you’d like I’ll bless you, or you can bless one another. If you don’t want to come forward, simply remain in your seat in prayer and allow the Spirit to wash over you. Or, pick someone who has gone forward and pray for them. This is not your ticket to heaven after you die; this is your invitation from death to life, which starts now. Amen.
In 2009, I was visiting Japan and my good friend and brother from my air force and college days, Sunao Yokobiki. I mentioned that I was looking, while there, for a wall scroll with a few words of spiritual significance. He tried to help me find the right scroll but we found nothing that spoke to me.
A few weeks later, I had a phone call from him asking for my favorite scripture passage. I have many passages with deep meaning for me, but perhaps deeper still is this passage from Jeremiah because this speaks of the source of my call to life, not only to ministry. My heart resonates with these words of God speaking to Jeremiah’s heart.
Three months passed and a package arrived with this scroll. Sunao had commissioned a “national treasure” calligrapher to make it for me. The scroll actually hung in our narthex for a while.
Next to it is an English translation for the few of you who can’t read Japanese.
I did consider sharing a little more of my own story today, but am choosing not to take the time. If you are interested, each of my daughters has pounded on me to write about my life. After years of being browbeaten, I finally succumbed. I have a personal website, www.norbay.org. Posted there is my autobiography, “My Life So Far.”
Many of you may not know the second reading from the Gospel of Thomas. Probably written around the 55th year after Jesus birth, it may be the oldest New Testament material we have. Why, you might ask is it not in the Canonical New Testament? Two reasons: It is not a narrative gospel. There is no story line, only Jesus sayings. Secondly Irenaeus, the bishop of Lyon, now part of France, strongly insisted that there could only be four gospels. There are four columns which hold up the canopy of heaven and therefor there could not be more or less gospels as four was the perfect number.
I share those explanations first, to make the point that it is the connection with the Ground of Being, God, which is the origin of calling as a heretic and at the heart of both passages.
The Presbyterian church says that it ordains people to specific ministries, but the ordination is normally a lifelong designation. But that is a bit of hubris—or as my Jewish family might have put it, Chutzpah.
The reality is that ordination does not come from the Presbyterian church but rather it comes from having a Jeremiah experience with God.
Jeremiah’s encounter is not unique. Every person has the potential to wake up to her/his calling as Jeremiah. If you pay attention you may hear some still small voice which says, “Margaret or Frank, before I formed you in the womb, I knew you and I consecrated you.” There is nothing special about David or Rob, Don or Bethany. Every person has only to quietly be present, to sense God’s presence. To pay attention to the still small voice in which God speaks and says “I love you. Now get off your keester and do something. Be a heretic.”
We need to stop demanding that God speak in words that are comfortable for us, traditional words we’ve heard before, perhaps abandon words altogether. We need to become comfortable with heresy.
Christianity is a great religion. I know that there are crazies like Pat Robertson, Franklin Graham, John Hagee and others out there to embarrass us, and even make us wonder at times. But throughout the centuries, Christianity’s core has been care and concern for the human family and the universe, celebrating God’s love. Despite the professional hierarchy, the church has followed Jesus best when it has listened to the words of the prophets and Jesus’ words in Matthew 25.
Buddhism is also a great religion as are Judaism and others. Each religion has something that is its strength. If the strength of Christianity is in passages like Matthew 25, the strength of Buddhism is in its awareness of the Presence in silence and subtlety. Each of the major religions is greater than its official doctrines, creeds and beliefs. However, each religion has a tendency to carve its doctrines into granite. Each has great need for its own heretics.
What is a heretic. A heretic is someone who calls into question the common wisdom of the day. The word was thrown around as an attack against theological enemies, especially in the debates and arguments of the early church. But at core, heresy is the need of the follower of Jesus to challenge tradition and dogma; to pay attention to following the way of Jesus and not succumbing to doctrines and creeds.
By its very nature, common wisdom is neither common nor necessarily wisdom. I remember when, in the late 1960s, there were people writing articles and speaking out in concern with the way the economy was using and misusing the environment. Some were saying that we are bringing calamity to the world; that in a few years, we would see the oceans rise, the Arctic ice melt and the shores recede. Common wisdom said, “no way”. We puny humans cannot really damage this earth.
We now know that the heretics were right. We see the proof in the melting of glacial ice; in the droughts that cause crops to fail; in the sinking of whole island nations in the Pacific. Common wisdom was wrong, heresy was right.
That’s why Jeremiah’s task was heresy, “call all the tribes of the kingdoms of the north, says the Lord; and tell them, they shall come and all of them shall set their thrones at the entrance of the gates of Jerusalem, against all its surrounding walls and against all the cities of Judah. 16 And I will utter my judgments against them, To all these rulers, heresy.
So Jeremiah was called—before he was formed in his mother’s womb—to be a heretic against the common wisdom.
Here are a few other heretics:
Jesus. Why do you think the Pharisees and ultimately, the Roman rulers were so angry and opposed to Jesus. If he had not threatened common wisdom, and therefore their power, he would not have gained the following that threatened the established elite hierarchy. Yes, Jesus followed Jewish tradition and rules—as long as they were supportive of human beings. But, when they were not, he was quick to violate the rules. He was a heretic.
We can go back, before Jesus. Let’s start with Moses. He could have gone along to get along. He was well placed in the ruling hierarchy. If he didn’t make waves, he could have had a nice comfortable life. But, NOOOO. He had to stick his nose in it where it didn’t belong.
Elijah, for example. When all the people, in common wisdom, were worshipping Baal who seemed to be granting great harvests and prosperity, only Elijah stood against Baal’s priests. He also had some interesting moments calling the rulers to task.
Micah, Now there’s a heretic for you. Stands up against the corporate and business interests of his day as well as the national rulers, the common wisdom. He spoke against other prophets who took money for their prophecies. Do people come to mind like Joel Osteen who live in a palace while the people live in poverty.
Finally Micah says . . .
He has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
I could go on to Amos, “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever flowing stream.” Or to Hosea, Or Isaiah.
You may have heard of Hildegard von Bingen, an amazing woman heretic of the 11th century. She pushed against the hierarchy and was the first woman of the Roman Catholic church allowed to preach in public. She was able because she pushed her heresy and forced the church to accept her skills, knowledge and spiritual awareness. The medieval rhetorical arts included preaching, letter writing, poetry, and song. Hildegard’s participation in all these arts as a female who fought to go beyond the bans on women's social participation and interpretation of scripture. The acceptance of public preaching by a woman does not fit the stereotype of this time. But then, Hildegard was a heretic.
I’ll mention only a couple more. These two because they have become associated in recent years.
Matthew Fox was a Dominican Catholic priest. Honoring all of creation as Original Blessing, not Original Sin. Creation Spirituality integrates the wisdom of Eastern and Western spirituality and global indigenous cultures, with the emerging scientific understanding of the universe, and the passion of creativity. It is both a tradition and a movement, celebrated by mystics and agents of social change from different ages and cultures. It is also the tradition of the historical Jesus himself since it is the wisdom tradition of Israel.
Fox was censored by the Roman Catholic Church for his teachings. Among the ideas that he published and that the church councils did not like, were that he called God "Mother"; preferred the concept of Original Blessing over Original Sin; worked too closely with Native American spiritual teachers and practices; did not condemn homosexuality; and taught creation spirituality, He was defrocked, but welcomed into the Episcopal church as a priest.
Among Matthew Fox’s accomplishments is his study of the Meister Eckhart, a 14th century mystic,
Meister Eckhart is the last heretic, with whom I would like to acquaint you today. I couple him with Matthew Fox because of the excellent research and books that Fox has written about Eckhart. Run, don’t walk, to Book Passage and buy Fox’s book, Meister Eckhart: A Mystic Warrior for Our Times.
You will also note the several Eckhart quotes on the front of the Order of Worship. One of his more provocative remarks is that human nature is such that, whatever we may seem to be doing or however far we may seem to be from the mark, we are really searching for God, that searching for God is the nature of being human. Eckhart’s most important idea and one that upset the church hierarchy most is that Jesus Christ is the Word, eternally born within us; that the eternal birth of the Word from the Father is ‘now born in time, in human nature’ … that, if nothing separates our souls and God, the birth of the hidden Word takes place in the depths of our souls. This teaching of his returns over and over again in his sermons and his writing.
With that, I bring you back to Jeremiah. God comes to us as the ground of our being and calls us out to be heretics. To accept nothing from orthodoxy that doesn’t accord with our own experience of this Ground of Being, God, who encompasses all that we are, do and encounter in life. Or to quote Paul—another heretic—“In him we live and move and have our being”
Being a heretic is more important than being ordained. It is central to being true to God, whom we find, not out there somewhere in the sky or the sea. As Jesus said, if the kingdom is in the heavens, then the birds got there first. If in the sea, then the fish did, but it is in you, in us and is our Ground of Being.
Jesus said, "Those who seek should not stop seeking until they find. When they find, they will be disturbed. When they are disturbed, they will marvel, and will reign over all.”
They will be heretics.
There was a chapel skit at the camp where I grew up that went like this: A terrible storm came into a town and local officials sent out an emergency warning saying everyone in the town should evacuate immediately. One person stayed behind saying, “I will trust God and if I am in danger, then God will send a divine miracle to save me.”
The neighbors came by the house and said, “We’re leaving and there is room for you in our car, please come with us!” But they declined. “I have faith that God will save me.”
As they stood on the porch watching the water rise up the steps, someone in a canoe paddled by and called, “Hurry and come into my canoe, the waters are rising quickly!” But again they answered, “No thanks, God will save me.”
The flood waters rose higher and higher until they had to climb up to the rooftop. A helicopter came by and dropped a rope ladder. A rescue officer came down the ladder and pleaded with the person, "Grab my hand and I will pull you up!" But they still refused, folding his arms tightly to his body. “No thank you! God will save me!”
Shortly after, floodwaters rose even higher, swept the person away and they drowned—yes, such a happy story to tell to children. In heaven, the person asks God, “I put all of my faith in You. Why didn’t You come and save me?”
And God said, “I sent you a warning. I sent you a car. I sent you a canoe. I sent you a helicopter. What more were you looking for?”
In today’s reading from the book of Acts, Jesus ascends to heaven and the disciples seem to be looking up to heaven waiting for a miracle, when the angels appear asking, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”
Now, let me take up the side of the followers for a moment here. The disciples had now lost Jesus twice, and it’s difficult to be left behind. As for the character in our little parable, well we might say he was just doing what he was taught. In the West, the working paradigm has been that we are in peril and God comes like a hero from above literally to “save” us. We have cultivated a strong sense of the transcendence of God, of God’s sovereignty and power.
Neglected has been the immanence of God, God’s nearness, which can empower us. In the Gospel of Luke, which was written by same person who wrote Acts, Jesus says, “the kingdom of God is within you,” “the kingdom of God is among you.” (Lk. 17:2), “you” beng plural in the Greek. We tend to individualize it in this culture, but that’s not faithful to the text. The notion that God will come and rescue us, while of some comfort, when blown out of proportion may be taken as permission for some dangerous behavior, such as sitting in denial as the sea rises around us; such as treating the world, people, or anything for that matter, as disposable; spending our lives in search of our own purity that we might be worthy of rescue without regard for the other, missing the way in which all of us are connected.
Our sacred stories have always born witness to God’s immanence alongside God’s transcendence. In the first creation story, God swoops down over the formless void in the form of breath, wind, spirit. That breath becomes voice when God speaks, “Let there be…” and there was. The echoes of those first words, that divine voice, still reverberate today through everything in all places. You know we are all vibrating right now. Even these pews, these walls, this ground, is vibrating. The scientists tell us this movement only ceases at absolute zero, 0 degrees Kelvin, or about -273 Celsius, almost -460 degrees Fahrenheit, a state cannot be physically achieved. In fact, as an editorial caveat. Upon preaching this sermon on Sunday, a parishioner with a science background said to me that in fact, even at absolute zero, while linear movement ceases, vibration continues. In other words, the vibration that is in us, the echo of the first word ever spoken by God, cannot be stopped. As the Psalmist said, there is no where you can go where it won’t be too. Nowehere and now way.
Sometimes in religious practice, people chant with an “om” or an open “ahhhhhh.” One of the ways to think of it is people tuning themselves to that divine vibration. Those of you who practice yoga may be familiar with the practice of Ujjayi breathing, where you constrict the throat which makes the breath to become more audible. It’s that same vibration. It is said this mimics the sound of the ocean, which, wouldn’t you know, is the image Patrice gave us last week for God, both transcendent in its grandness and yet immanent in its nearness to us, coming to us in each wave. In yogic breathing, one practices letting God flow through.
We need both the transcendence and immanence of God, we simple need to bring them back into balance. There, the world is no longer disposable; it is teeming with the substance and energy of God. Our lives are not relegated to a personal or tribal quest for purity, for we are all resonating with the voice of the One who is in all things.
In the West, there is a common misguided critique of the contemplative, the prayerful, the spiritual, as if it constitutes self-absorbed navel gazing, but of course nothing could be further from the truth. True contemplation expands the awareness and thus compels the person not merely to retreat from the world but to engage in the world and equips them to do so differently, recognizing the connectedness and the availability of divine resources both to experience ever-present blessing and work to alleviate the all too present suffering.
The story from Acts is an illustration of what happens when the sense of God’s nearness is lost. One stands around waiting for God to come from somewhere else to fix things. The angels appear to the disciples to remind them that God is right there. They have been called for blessing, yet they are momentarily unable to fulfill their divine vocation because they do not believe they have what it takes to do so. Sadly, one of the other unfortunate legacies of our tradition is that we are unworthy, incapable, blemished, imperfect, or incomplete. Our inheritance becomes then not conviction and confidence, but guilt, which is a lie that we are separate from God. As a result, we feel powerless, and so we don’t act.
If we are waiting for perfection, we will be waiting on that rooftop forever. The Bible is a collection of stories about, and by, people who were every bit as imperfect as we are, who don’t have it all together, and who constantly have to function with incomplete information, incomplete tools, and incomplete perspectives. Yet they carry on the best they can with what they have, sometimes more successfully than other times, and so they leave behind valuable lessons from which we can learn. We’ve gotten that wrong too, treating the Bible as the yearbook nobody wants signed because it’s of all the perfect people. Of course, they don’t exist.
Look at today’s story. It is marked by incompleteness. As Jesus’ followers gather ‘round him, they ask, “is this the time you will restore the kingdom,” and they are given an incomplete answer, “It is not for you to know” (v. 6-7). So much of life is left to mystery. Then, as if to make matters worse, Jesus disappears, his work seemingly incomplete. So they stare up to heaven, a would I in their shoes, waiting for God to finish what God started in Christ, but no, the angels say, that’s for you to do.
It’s the divine version of the Patrick Ewing Theory. Do you know what that is? Ewing played basketball at Georgetown, where he now coaches, then for the New York Knicks. He was a star at every level, yet at one point, a man named Dave Cirilli made an observation that it seemed as though Ewing’s teams seemed to fare better without him on the court, when he was injured or on the bench because of foul trouble. This led Cirilli to coin the term the “Ewing Theory,” to describe the phenomena that sometimes teams do better without their best players.
The theory is that when the star, the chosen one, the savior, is there, everyone stands around expecting them to do everything. Only in their absence, do the rest rise up and recognize what they can do as individuals and maybe even more importantly how much they need to work together as a team. In this sense Jesus’ ascension, which is what we call when Jesus rose to heaven, is not God leaving us behind; it’s God giving us yet another gift—the gift of empowering us to do what Jesus spent his life teaching us to do and be. In fact, in his life, he seems to feel frustrated when the people don’t believe they can feed the crowds themselves, tend to the sick, and stand up to systems of injustice. At one point, Jesus tells his followers that they will do even greater things than he (Jn. 14:12).
What do his disciples do after the ascension, that imperfect group of 11, one man down with Judas gone, and the women not even mentioned by name—talk about an imperfect bunch complete with the biases of their culture? They carry on. They get to work, somehow trusting that even in their imperfection, their limitedness, their partial vision, they are, and can do, enough. They have what they need. They have the Spirit, and the Spirit gives power. Remember what Jesus does at the end of John, harkening back to the very creation, he breathes on his disciples, giving them the Spirit. The Word made flesh breathes that creative, vibrating breath on them, and that’s what enables them. Without it they would be likely to do more damage than healing, or be stricken like a bunch of scared children. I sure would be.
Speaking of scared children, I saw an incredible video this week. It’s of a father and a newborn baby lying down together. The baby is crying in terror and then the father does this amazing thing: he looks into the baby’s eyes and just goes, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh” and instantly the baby calms, once again, in alignment with the creating loving voice of God, which is flowing through all things and in all moments. Listen for that voice all around you, be assured, and be unafraid to join in its song. Amen.
There are so many subjects to choose from in this passage, there is the Peace that Jesus gave to the disciples, there is “the fear of the Jews” and what that meant for that time (or perhaps didn’t mean); there was the Breath and the references to breath in the Bible, the Holy Spirit and of course Faith. I chose the last two. John was, as were the other Gospel writers, writing for his community and reading the passage, his community seems to come up through the words, what the concerns were and what John thought was important for his community.
When Jesus breathed on the disciples—it was of creation itself, a creation of new life. Genesis 2:7 says “then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and the man became a living being.” Jesus was infusing, breathing onto the disciples as one body—he was bestowing on them the Spirit of life—of love and wisdom—they were being equipped with the Holy Spirit and commissioned to go out to the world and speak for him.
That first meeting with the disciples was in a locked house, according to John, where JESUS appeared among them. Thomas, one of the earliest of Jesus disciples, wasn’t at that first meeting when Jesus showed the others his wounds, but afterwards the disciples told Thomas about it. Thomas told them he wanted to see and touch Jesus to believe it was him. Thomas was more the pragmatic type! Eight days later, the disciples were meeting again, and this time Thomas was there. Jesus appeared. He offered Thomas to touch his body, his wounds, but Thomas apparently was already convinced because he said “My Lord and my God!” Now, for Thomas to call Jesus “God” he had to recognize him as the risen Christ. Jesus said “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Jesus must have been speaking universally to those many of us that came after that time—because up to that point, no one who had seen the risen Jesus had believed without seeing or hearing him, one way or the other. For the Beloved Disciple, he believed when he saw the empty tomb; Mary Magdalene believed when she heard Jesus’ voice say “Mary;” the disciples believed when Jesus came among them in a room behind locked doors, and they saw the marks in his hands and side. For Thomas to have faith, he needed to see and touch—for him to believe. They all had to have some evidence that Jesus was the risen Christ in order to believe. We often need reassurance to help us with our faith. I’ll tell you what it took for me.
I was a young teenager, and it was in a dream that I saw Jesus, walking among crowds of people in long robes, on the deck of an old ship. He would talk to people as he walked among them. As I watched him, I felt a great yearning to be with him. I followed him, but he didn’t seem to see me. I tugged on his robes to get his attention. I desperately wanted to talk to him, and I continued to follow him through the crowds. Finally he turned around and saw me, and said that he would talk to me. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul.” I now knew what that meant. We were in a golden light, and in that light, we talked. He told me that I would always be cared for, that he would always be with me. People say that we belong to Jesus, and I can honestly say that that is exactly what the feeling was and it still is.
Dear friends I’ve known for 35 years, Margaret and Archie, were absolute, unwavering atheists, and active in the movement. They were writers of weather books, and when Archie died, technology had taken over, and they were finishing their last book. They had done everything together for the last 50 years, including sailing around the world in a Chinese junk! I asked Margaret, who was deeply in mourning for Archie, if she ever felt Archie near? She said “All the time, I talk to him and feel him near me all the time.” That’s what it took for Margaret.
One of my classes at the seminary is called Compassion and Contemplation. We read about Julian of Norwich, who was a devout Christian from the fourteenth century. She said about faith “Our Faith is a light, naturally coming from our Endless Day—that is our Father, God; in this light our Mother, Christ, and our good Lord the Holy Spirit lead us in this passing life. This light is meted out prudently, faithfully remaining with us as we need it in our night.” Night for Julian was feeling cut off, not connected to our higher self, to our inspiration, to our God.
My husband and I were sailing across the Pacific Ocean, following the ocean’s currents rolling west. This is truly raw nature and it’s necessary to have faith in yourself but it isn’t until you are out there that you know there is something much greater than you are. It’s fine to have faith in yourself and you need that—but this is of an entirely different magnitude. It is God alive in nature and I challenge anyone to sit in the cockpit of a boat and look behind you and see a giant wall of water reaching up so high you can hardly see the sky—and NOT giving over your little faith in yourself in recognition of something much, much greater. You are holding on to your faith as your boat sinks slowly down into the trough of the ocean, walls of water in front and back, then your breath slowly comes back when your boat rises—and rises some more—as the water comes rushing under you, and then takes you back up to the top, and the process begins over and over again. This is what I mean about faith. Here is a process of living faith, sitting in that boat out in the ocean. You go with it, you can’t possibly do anything else. And with each rise to the top, you know you are safe, that you WILL rise again. It’s not always so comfortable down there in the bottom—you can’t see anything but water. You begin to rise, just as life does, it’s a cycle. It won’t let you down. The only possible way it would, is if we as human beings, intervene—think we know better---go our own way. Another way we could be swallowed up by the waves, would be if we don’t take care of our boat and something comes crashing down. Then all bets are off. But even then, if we get busy and fix it, and get back on course, we’ll ride the rollers, we’ll ride the waves of life. FAITH. It’s about faith. Faith inside ourselves and our faith in God.
We see our world, now brought to us 24/7, and some of it is overwhelming and frightening at times. The order we thought we knew isn’t always there, and we see the effects on our streets and in our leaders worldwide. We can’t entirely depend on that man-made world outside, and so when we look at faith in this way, it is inside ourselves that we will find our rock (this is what my Uncle Phil would have said!), we find our safety, and our deepest belief in the GOOD that sustains us and makes us want to push on, to do our best to help our fellow travelers. We know there is great good in our world—as well as chaos—and what we do to help that good—MAKES IT GROW.
Jesus gave us the gift of the Holy Spirit to be with us, to help us. We need to renew that, feed that—always. To listen to our deepest and best inside ourselves, to consciously recognize it and bring it out to action whatever that might mean for you personally. It is there, our faith, our connection to our highest self—is there, we only have to reach out for it, we have to want it and know, like our little boat, that we will come through safely. The Holy Spirit is action, it is creative energy for good, it is there for us, and walks with us—always.
One of the topics students at seminary are interested in is what will our church look like in the coming years? A few weeks ago in a lecture, one of the professors gave a talk on the future of the Christian church and how blind faith isn’t enough any longer for many congregations. He said the Christian church is in a transition period and that there were certain key words that people find are important to them when they are a part of a church today. And they are: insistence on connection; networks, relationships; imagination, story, and interfaith efforts (or as Diana Butler Bass said “the recognition of porous borders between various faith traditions.” People are looking for community—that which touches them and is real to them. Our church is about community first—within our own members first and then, reaching out to the community at large. We need to keep in touch with ourselves and what is important to us. To find and keep our personal faith alive, and what that means for us.
I want to thank all of you at Westminster for the wonderful six years here and for supporting me and taking me “under care” as my home church. Westminster will go with me as I leave for Claremont School of Theology in southern California, and my home in Joshua Tree. Thank you for the many new friends I’ve made here, who have now become “old friends!” Thank you and God Bless and keep this church!
There was once a man who died and was ushered into heaven, which appeared to be an enormous house. An angel began to escort him down a long hallway past many rooms. "What's in that room?" the man asked, pointing to a group of people dressed in white, spinning and spinning around. "That's the Sufi group," said the angel. "The whirling dervishes. They are very lively."
"What's in that room?" asked the man, pointing to a group of people meditating to the sound of an enormous gong. "That's the Zen group," said the angel. "Very quiet. You would hardly know they were here."
Then the angel stopped the man, as they were about to round a corner. "Now, when we get to the next room," said the angel, "I would appreciate it if you would tiptoe past. We mustn't make any sound." "Why's that?" asked the man. "Because in that room there's a bunch of Christians; and they think they're the only ones here."
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” That is the most “famous” line of this scripture passage. But famous not necessarily in a good way. Famous in that it has been used by Christians through the years to proclaim Christianity as the superior religion. Or even as the only true religion. You can only know God, or you can only get to heaven, or you can only be considered God’s beloved child if you are Christian. It says right here in the Bible - Jesus is the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to God except through Jesus.
I don’t know about you, but that exclusive, restrictive, even arrogant reading of this passage really makes me uncomfortable. Not just uncomfortable, but I flat out don’t believe that way of reading this passage. There are many ways to know God. There are many ways to worship God. There are many ways to love God. I couldn’t fathom telling someone of a different faith that Christianity was the only way to God.
What do we do with this passage, then? I could preach until tomorrow, or even next week about all the different ways biblical scholars have interpreted these two sentences, but I’ll stick with just two ideas for today. First, as we should do whenever we read the Bible, it is important to keep in mind the historical, social, and religious context in which this was written. John was writing to a very specific group of people - early followers of Jesus trying to figure out their place in the religious landscape. They were having significant conflicts with people of the Jewish faith, which was once their religious home, and they were needing to find a new religious space for themselves. Their survival was at stake, both as a religious community and as individuals daring to follow Jesus. When John wrote these verses, they were never meant to be the final say on all the world’s religions. They are simply a celebration of the beliefs a very particular religious community ... something that they could claim that set them apart. For them, Jesus is the way, and the truth, and the life. None of them go to the Father except through Jesus.
John Shelby Spong, a retired Episcopal bishop, suggests the community was saying this, “We know of no other way that we can come to the God of our fathers and mothers except through this Jesus.” Spong then writes, “That was a testimony to their experience. It was not a prescription claiming that they possessed the only doorway into the only God. This is an attempt on the part of the early disciples of Jesus to validate their experience journeying through Jesus into the mystery of the God they had known in Israel. It is amazing to me that this would someday be used to judge all other religious traditions as unworthy, wrong, or even evil.”[i] This passage is particular, not exclusive. The Gospel writer wants this specific group of people to recognize and name the distinctiveness of their identity as a people of faith.
Thinking about the passage in that way makes me wonder, what do we celebrate about being Christian today? There is a reason that you are worshipping here, at a Presbyterian church. You are not at Kol Shofar, the Jewish synagogue up the road. Or at Green Gulch, the Zen Buddhist center in Muir Beach. Or at the Islamic Center of Mill Valley. I have a deep respect for the practitioners of all of those faiths. I think there is much I can learn from them about God and about myself. In fact, I have visited all three of those places before to learn and grow in my spiritual life. But, I am a Christian. We are a Christian community. And, like that early community to whom John was writing, it is important for us to celebrate what is unique about our Christian faith.
We will do that today when we come to the Lord’s Table. When we remember the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. When we remember the extravagant welcome that Jesus showed the night of that last meal, dining even with the one he knew would betray him. When we remember Jesus’ commandment at that final meal to love one another. In John’s Gospel, this commandment immediately precedes the passage that we heard today. Jesus says, “Love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. Everyone will know you are my disciples if you have love for one another.” This is what we remember, this is the tradition we claim, here at the Lord’s Table.
Which brings me to the second point I want to make about those pesky sentences, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” I actually put the second point on the front cover of your bulletin. What is the way of Jesus? Love. What is the truth of Jesus? Love. What did the life of Jesus embody? Love. Of course Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life, because love is the way, the truth, and the life. We come to God through love. We, as Christians, call this love Jesus, but there are many names for this love. Pastor and author Roger Wolsey says it this way, “All who follow … the way of unconditional love, of radical hospitality, of loving-kindness, of compassion, of mercy, of prophetic speaking truth to power … (all who follow) the way of forgiveness, of reconciliation, and the pursuit of restorative justice – by whatever name, and even if they’ve never even heard of Jesus, they are fellow brothers and sisters in Christ and his Way.”[ii]
That one makes me wonder … are we living like that? Before we worry about people of other faiths or of no faith finding their way to God, what about us? If we are bold enough to proclaim that we, as Christians, are followers of Jesus … are we living the way and truth and life of Jesus? If you didn’t tune out after those two sentences, Jesus actually has more to say in this passage. “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.”
Lest we get caught up in the, “I’ve got to work my way into heaven” mindset, remember that Jesus begins this passage with the assurance that he is already preparing a place for us in God’s house … that there are many dwelling places there. We don’t need to work our way into heaven. By the grace of God we are loved and cherished just as we are. And yet, Jesus does ask us to do the works that he does. To do even greater works than he does. To follow in his way. Jesus tells his disciples if they know him, they know God. Could it be that if people know us – if they know our love; if they know our work for justice in the world; if they experience our forgiveness and our compassion and our mercy – then they will know God?
Let me close by sharing with you a poem titled “Face of God” by Andrew King.
We thought you wore the skin of thunder, spoke in verbs of stormwind, majestic and mighty as lightning upon summits, unreachable as the cold and silent fire of distant stars; hidden behind a curtain in the temple, an untouchable invisibility approachable by the highest priest only …
And then somehow the veil was parted: we gained glimpses of the glory of the nearness of your love as the hurting were healed, the outcast befriended, the lost restored, and everywhere the powers of death had their dominion challenged, by the son of a Jewish carpenter from Galilee.
If you have seen me, said Jesus, you have seen the Father.
And we do see you there, in the Gospels, healing in synagogues and in houses, feeding the hungry on hillsides, embracing the lepers and the sinners, turning over the tables in the temple, nailed to a cross of injustice but risen, greeting women at the graveside, sharing bread with your friends, the dominion of death overturned. Approachable, reachable, the accessible God, visible in the skin of Jesus.
But you are not done, not content to wear such skin only in the pages of the Gospels. The many-colored, multi-shaped body of Christ –the Church wide as the nations of the world – bears your image where it acts in your love: still feeding, still healing, still teaching mercy, making you visible not in great structures nor in high saints alone, but in the ordinary persons in the pews, as here, on a day like any other, a woman making dinner and packing it, knocking on the door of a neighbor newly home from surgery: the face of the one receiving it lit with thankfulness, the face of the one freely giving like the face of God.
[i] The Sins of Scripture, by John Shelby Spong. Pg. 236.
[ii] http://www.patheos.com/blogs/rogerwolsey/2015/04/jesus-isisnt-the-only-way-they-cant-all-be-true-except-when-they-are/
There was once a man who died and was ushered into heaven, which appeared to be an enormous house. An angel began to escort him down a long hallway past many rooms. "What's in that room?" the man asked, pointing to a group of people dressed in white, spinning and spinning around. "That's the Sufi group," said the angel. "The whirling dervishes. They are very lively."
"What's in that room?" asked the man, pointing to a group of people meditating to the sound of an enormous gong. "That's the Zen group," said the angel. "Very quiet. You would hardly know they were here."
Then the angel stopped the man, as they were about to round a corner. "Now, when we get to the next room," said the angel, "I would appreciate it if you would tiptoe past. We mustn't make any sound." "Why's that?" asked the man. "Because in that room there's a bunch of Christians; and they think they're the only ones here."
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” That is the most “famous” line of this scripture passage. But famous not necessarily in a good way. Famous in that it has been used by Christians through the years to proclaim Christianity as the superior religion. Or even as the only true religion. You can only know God, or you can only get to heaven, or you can only be considered God’s beloved child if you are Christian. It says right here in the Bible - Jesus is the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to God except through Jesus.
I don’t know about you, but that exclusive, restrictive, even arrogant reading of this passage really makes me uncomfortable. Not just uncomfortable, but I flat out don’t believe that way of reading this passage. There are many ways to know God. There are many ways to worship God. There are many ways to love God. I couldn’t fathom telling someone of a different faith that Christianity was the only way to God.
What do we do with this passage, then? I could preach until tomorrow, or even next week about all the different ways biblical scholars have interpreted these two sentences, but I’ll stick with just two ideas for today. First, as we should do whenever we read the Bible, it is important to keep in mind the historical, social, and religious context in which this was written. John was writing to a very specific group of people - early followers of Jesus trying to figure out their place in the religious landscape. They were having significant conflicts with people of the Jewish faith, which was once their religious home, and they were needing to find a new religious space for themselves. Their survival was at stake, both as a religious community and as individuals daring to follow Jesus. When John wrote these verses, they were never meant to be the final say on all the world’s religions. They are simply a celebration of the beliefs a very particular religious community ... something that they could claim that set them apart. For them, Jesus is the way, and the truth, and the life. None of them go to the Father except through Jesus.
John Shelby Spong, a retired Episcopal bishop, suggests the community was saying this, “We know of no other way that we can come to the God of our fathers and mothers except through this Jesus.” Spong then writes, “That was a testimony to their experience. It was not a prescription claiming that they possessed the only doorway into the only God. This is an attempt on the part of the early disciples of Jesus to validate their experience journeying through Jesus into the mystery of the God they had known in Israel. It is amazing to me that this would someday be used to judge all other religious traditions as unworthy, wrong, or even evil.”[i] This passage is particular, not exclusive. The Gospel writer wants this specific group of people to recognize and name the distinctiveness of their identity as a people of faith.
Thinking about the passage in that way makes me wonder, what do we celebrate about being Christian today? There is a reason that you are worshipping here, at a Presbyterian church. You are not at Kol Shofar, the Jewish synagogue up the road. Or at Green Gulch, the Zen Buddhist center in Muir Beach. Or at the Islamic Center of Mill Valley. I have a deep respect for the practitioners of all of those faiths. I think there is much I can learn from them about God and about myself. In fact, I have visited all three of those places before to learn and grow in my spiritual life. But, I am a Christian. We are a Christian community. And, like that early community to whom John was writing, it is important for us to celebrate what is unique about our Christian faith.
We will do that today when we come to the Lord’s Table. When we remember the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. When we remember the extravagant welcome that Jesus showed the night of that last meal, dining even with the one he knew would betray him. When we remember Jesus’ commandment at that final meal to love one another. In John’s Gospel, this commandment immediately precedes the passage that we heard today. Jesus says, “Love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. Everyone will know you are my disciples if you have love for one another.” This is what we remember, this is the tradition we claim, here at the Lord’s Table.
Which brings me to the second point I want to make about those pesky sentences, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” I actually put the second point on the front cover of your bulletin. What is the way of Jesus? Love. What is the truth of Jesus? Love. What did the life of Jesus embody? Love. Of course Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life, because love is the way, the truth, and the life. We come to God through love. We, as Christians, call this love Jesus, but there are many names for this love. Pastor and author Roger Wolsey says it this way, “All who follow … the way of unconditional love, of radical hospitality, of loving-kindness, of compassion, of mercy, of prophetic speaking truth to power … (all who follow) the way of forgiveness, of reconciliation, and the pursuit of restorative justice – by whatever name, and even if they’ve never even heard of Jesus, they are fellow brothers and sisters in Christ and his Way.”[ii]
That one makes me wonder … are we living like that? Before we worry about people of other faiths or of no faith finding their way to God, what about us? If we are bold enough to proclaim that we, as Christians, are followers of Jesus … are we living the way and truth and life of Jesus? If you didn’t tune out after those two sentences, Jesus actually has more to say in this passage. “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.”
Lest we get caught up in the, “I’ve got to work my way into heaven” mindset, remember that Jesus begins this passage with the assurance that he is already preparing a place for us in God’s house … that there are many dwelling places there. We don’t need to work our way into heaven. By the grace of God we are loved and cherished just as we are. And yet, Jesus does ask us to do the works that he does. To do even greater works than he does. To follow in his way. Jesus tells his disciples if they know him, they know God. Could it be that if people know us – if they know our love; if they know our work for justice in the world; if they experience our forgiveness and our compassion and our mercy – then they will know God?
Let me close by sharing with you a poem titled “Face of God” by Andrew King.
We thought you wore the skin of thunder, spoke in verbs of stormwind, majestic and mighty as lightning upon summits, unreachable as the cold and silent fire of distant stars; hidden behind a curtain in the temple, an untouchable invisibility approachable by the highest priest only …
And then somehow the veil was parted: we gained glimpses of the glory of the nearness of your love as the hurting were healed, the outcast befriended, the lost restored, and everywhere the powers of death had their dominion challenged, by the son of a Jewish carpenter from Galilee.
If you have seen me, said Jesus, you have seen the Father.
And we do see you there, in the Gospels, healing in synagogues and in houses, feeding the hungry on hillsides, embracing the lepers and the sinners, turning over the tables in the temple, nailed to a cross of injustice but risen, greeting women at the graveside, sharing bread with your friends, the dominion of death overturned. Approachable, reachable, the accessible God, visible in the skin of Jesus.
But you are not done, not content to wear such skin only in the pages of the Gospels. The many-colored, multi-shaped body of Christ –the Church wide as the nations of the world – bears your image where it acts in your love: still feeding, still healing, still teaching mercy, making you visible not in great structures nor in high saints alone, but in the ordinary persons in the pews, as here, on a day like any other, a woman making dinner and packing it, knocking on the door of a neighbor newly home from surgery: the face of the one receiving it lit with thankfulness, the face of the one freely giving like the face of God.
[i] The Sins of Scripture, by John Shelby Spong. Pg. 236.
[ii] http://www.patheos.com/blogs/rogerwolsey/2015/04/jesus-isisnt-the-only-way-they-cant-all-be-true-except-when-they-are/
The middle school brought in a Buddhist monk to show the students the creation of an intricate sand mandala. Have you seen these? They’re stunningly beautiful, laid out grain by grain, vibrant colors and great detail. I’ll show an example of one, and if you’re listening at home at home you can simply Google “sand mandalas,” and you’ll find all sorts of images. Among other things, these mandalas are to promote purification and healing. If you know much about them, you will also know what happens to them after they’re completed. They’re just wiped away. I believe at the school the monk actually took it to a river and just blew it back into the world.
That flies in the face of much of what we’re taught in this culture, as we seek to make a lasting name for ourselves. As a child I thought it was really important to be famous, some how make a monument, a testament to our lives that would be permanent. Impermanence is, of course, one of the lessons of the mandala, a key teaching in that tradition.
In an instant, things can be, and are, blown away, gone. This week, I received an email from the Presbytery about a colleague who had gone into the hospital, I believe with some throat issues. Turns out it was cancer, and aggressive form that had progressed faster than Stanford had ever seen. The next day we received an update email; she had gone home to be placed on hospice, surrounded by loved ones to do what you do when that happens—mainly be there, be sure they know you love them, wipe their head with a cool cloth, dab their lips with a swab dipped in ice chips. Another day later we got an email and she was gone. It all took less than two weeks. What we have is so precious.
It only been two weeks since Easter, and it’s a precious time in the church. Between Easter and what we call the Ascension, when the risen Christ leaves this realm, Jesus just keeps showing up in the lives of those who risked everything to follow him. What a gift that time must have been for the disciples. They had placed their hopes in Jesus, and while they never seemed quite able to catch up with him with their thinking—he was always up to something deeper than they could quite figure—it must have been devastating for them to see him taken and killed. That was it, it was over. No time for goodbyes, or for words that needed to be said to be said. They had the last supper, but it wasn’t called that back then.
Then they are given this gift. He shows up to them again, they who loved him so. They experience him again and again. It’s often unannounced; he seems to surprise them. I half see Jesus as a practical joker. People would be sitting around having dinner and he shows up, walking through a wall. “Jesus!” they cry, “Would you stop doing that!” Of course they don’t want him to stop doing that. They never want him to leave, but he has to go. It’s not the gift they wanted. It’s not permanent, but they’ll take it. Somehow it’s enough: I’m still with you. What we were about still matters. No matter what happens, you’re still going to be okay.
Do we know that? The week after Easter I felt a little like the monk building the sand mandala. I holed up in a seminary apartment so I could work on my dissertation, writing almost every waking hour, except for food and a little exercise. I wish what I was producing would be as colorful as a sand mandala, though no promises. I have to admit that it crossed my mind more than once that this project would one day be read by a committee and then sit on some library shelf someday to gather dust forever. All this work, about seven years in the making, for what?
Do you ever feel that way? It doesn’t have to be a research project. Maybe you’re staying home with a child and it feels as though all you did was follow him or her around all day picking up toys, doing housework, cleaning in between moments of playing and at the end they melt down and the house looks worse than when you started. Just blown to the wind? Have you ever felt like that? Or, it’s a relationship you poured a lot of effort into, and at one point felt so right. Then it’s wiped away in an instant, or slowly brushed away beyond repair? The job you thought defined you didn’t, or after a while didn’t want you, or you didn’t want it. It’s hard to see when you’re in the middle of it, the worth, the beauty, especially when you think of how quickly it can vanish.
Do you know how long Jesus’ public ministry was? It was shorter than my tenure so far at Westminster. (Please don’t use that as a point of comparison for the purposes of my evaluation.) The gospel of John records three Passovers during his public teaching ministry, but the other three only record one, meaning he was active in that way for as many as three years and as few as one single solitary year. All the time in his life leading up to that, from the last story we have of him when he was twelve until about 30, preparing, training, finding himself, putting in the quiet thankless and confounding hours of becoming. He comes onto the scene for a short time, and then he was gone.
Would any of us question the importance of his life? Not just his birth or death or resurrection, but his life too and the way he lived it? Would we question that? Our reading today from 1 Peter speaks of what it accomplishes in stark terms. The author is writing to a community who had continued the Jesus tradition after his death, people who would have been “socially and politically marginalized” as one commentator puts it.[1] This was meant to be a word of encouragement to them. It reads, “You know that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your ancestors, not with perishable things like silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without defect or blemish” (1 Peter 18-19).
I wonder how many of you grew up with a lot of emphasis on the precious blood of Christ, lamb of God, ransom for us. I wonder how you feel about that language. For some it is a source of comfort, assurance. I knew this jovial, deeply spiritual, Baptist woman who was always talking about being “washed in the blood of Jesus.” If that is a powerful image for you, I have no intention of taking that away. For others, it is a troubling image. Jesus as a blood sacrifice, ransom? No thanks.
Well, context is everything. In Jesus’ time, to receive forgiveness, one made sacrifices at the temple. According to New Testament scholar Marcus Borg, “to affirm 'Jesus is the sacrifice for sin' was to deny the temple's claim to have a monopoly on forgiveness and access to God…Using the metaphor of sacrifice, it subverted the sacrificial system."[2] To understand Jesus in this way was to stand in defiance and say nobody gets to own the rights to forgiveness. Nobody gets to have a monopoly on access to God. Remember Jesus said to people, “Your sins are forgiven,” all the time. He gave it away freely. It was both a moment of personal healing, but at the same time a profoundly and profound political statement, telling those who had power that they didn’t rule over the living God, and they certainly didn’t have the right to charge admission. In a very dangerous way, Jesus’ followers conceived of his death in terms that directly challenged the power structure – you think you trade in sacrificial lambs, this was the lamb of God! Christ’s forever flips the world on its head.
Now we must always be careful with texts such as these not to allow modern anti-Semitism seep its way in. Jesus was a Jew, remained a committed Jew. He was critiquing his own people, his own religion, his own nation, not someone else’s. We’re always given more divine license for self-critique than attacking the ways of others.
There’s another amazing aspect to this passage, one that brings us around to where we began. 1 Peter says you weren’t ransomed with perishable things like silver or gold, but with the imperishable. We gloss right over that, but think about it. Gold and silver, on the surface, far less perishable than blood, right? Blood can only support life in a closed system. Blood lives but for a lifetime, with new cells having to be generated all the time.
Unlike gold and silver, blood is fragile, and blood isn’t the only element that God works with that in an instant is gone, into thin air? The other passage you heard from today is from Acts. In the aftermath of the bloody crucifixion and resurrection, the other disciples come to Peter and ask what they should do and he says, go out an baptize. Baptize. With water. Water? That’s what is going to usher in the new kingdom? No swords or flags. No statues or monuments. Water!? The tools of the one who had the most lasting influence were blood and water. Do you remember what came out when they pierced his side when he was on the cross? Blood and water. It’s what Jesus was made of.
This Jesus we so love, a manifestation of the divine love, the clearest one we claim we’ve ever seen – was made of fragile parts. He was a sand mandala, carefully, intricately built, beautiful to behold, a source of healing and purification for the particular sickness and ~corruption of his time, and yet somehow speaks to all time. He didn’t waste his energy trying to build something permanent. He spent his life becoming that beautiful creation, knowing—Scripture says he knew it—knowing it was all going to be blown away in an instant. In his surrendering to his impermanence, he unleashed eternity. There is even beauty in the brushing away of the mandala (show slide of mandala being wiped in beautiful spiral pattern).
In Christ, we are called to live resurrection lives, live into the gift of the sacred time between resurrection and ascension. To that end, let us learn:
- -to appear, to show up, fully inhabit the space we are in, including the pieces that are hard—they’re much less frightening when we stare them straight in the face
- -to not get too far ahead of ourselves, recognizing the divine presence is with us now, and gives us what you need for this moment, which will allow us to handle the next moment when it comes.
- -to see how others are appearing to us and manifesting the divine presence as well, recognizing they are fundamentally not other, but ultimately an other appearance of the resurrection, sometimes with just fresher wounds than we are used to.
- -to tap into the reservoir available to us all and find the courage to stand up to what needs to be opposed and say, “No,” stand up for what needs to be advocated for and say “Yes.”
- -to find beauty in the building of the beautiful life one grain at a time, not waiting to enjoy until it’s finished.
If Jesus’ life mattered, then so do ours, perhaps precisely in their fragility. Before too long, God-willing, my dissertation will sit on a shelf to gather dust, but I won’t be, and insofar as it helps craft me grain by grain into something that can be used for purification or healing, then every bit of it was worth it. Let us build our lives out of the things Christ did—love, forgiveness, witness, solidarity with the poor, compassion for the suffering, courage, integrity, presence. These things are free…and they are priceless. They are God’s currency. You will know exactly what’s valuable when you find yourself one day in the unenviable and yet holiest of places, sitting by a loved one as their life blood drains from them, dabbing their lips with a swab dipped in ice chips, frozen water. In the end, what is most perishable is most lasting. Remember out of Jesus’ death comes new life. Your end is your beginning.[3] Amen.
1] Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV – Year A, 279.
[2] Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, 94.
[3] From T.S. Elliott, “Four Quartets.” Quoted on bulletin cover.
The middle school brought in a Buddhist monk to show the students the creation of an intricate sand mandala. Have you seen these? They’re stunningly beautiful, laid out grain by grain, vibrant colors and great detail. I’ll show an example of one, and if you’re listening at home at home you can simply Google “sand mandalas,” and you’ll find all sorts of images. Among other things, these mandalas are to promote purification and healing. If you know much about them, you will also know what happens to them after they’re completed. They’re just wiped away. I believe at the school the monk actually took it to a river and just blew it back into the world.
That flies in the face of much of what we’re taught in this culture, as we seek to make a lasting name for ourselves. As a child I thought it was really important to be famous, some how make a monument, a testament to our lives that would be permanent. Impermanence is, of course, one of the lessons of the mandala, a key teaching in that tradition.
In an instant, things can be, and are, blown away, gone. This week, I received an email from the Presbytery about a colleague who had gone into the hospital, I believe with some throat issues. Turns out it was cancer, and aggressive form that had progressed faster than Stanford had ever seen. The next day we received an update email; she had gone home to be placed on hospice, surrounded by loved ones to do what you do when that happens—mainly be there, be sure they know you love them, wipe their head with a cool cloth, dab their lips with a swab dipped in ice chips. Another day later we got an email and she was gone. It all took less than two weeks. What we have is so precious.
It only been two weeks since Easter, and it’s a precious time in the church. Between Easter and what we call the Ascension, when the risen Christ leaves this realm, Jesus just keeps showing up in the lives of those who risked everything to follow him. What a gift that time must have been for the disciples. They had placed their hopes in Jesus, and while they never seemed quite able to catch up with him with their thinking—he was always up to something deeper than they could quite figure—it must have been devastating for them to see him taken and killed. That was it, it was over. No time for goodbyes, or for words that needed to be said to be said. They had the last supper, but it wasn’t called that back then.
Then they are given this gift. He shows up to them again, they who loved him so. They experience him again and again. It’s often unannounced; he seems to surprise them. I half see Jesus as a practical joker. People would be sitting around having dinner and he shows up, walking through a wall. “Jesus!” they cry, “Would you stop doing that!” Of course they don’t want him to stop doing that. They never want him to leave, but he has to go. It’s not the gift they wanted. It’s not permanent, but they’ll take it. Somehow it’s enough: I’m still with you. What we were about still matters. No matter what happens, you’re still going to be okay.
Do we know that? The week after Easter I felt a little like the monk building the sand mandala. I holed up in a seminary apartment so I could work on my dissertation, writing almost every waking hour, except for food and a little exercise. I wish what I was producing would be as colorful as a sand mandala, though no promises. I have to admit that it crossed my mind more than once that this project would one day be read by a committee and then sit on some library shelf someday to gather dust forever. All this work, about seven years in the making, for what?
Do you ever feel that way? It doesn’t have to be a research project. Maybe you’re staying home with a child and it feels as though all you did was follow him or her around all day picking up toys, doing housework, cleaning in between moments of playing and at the end they melt down and the house looks worse than when you started. Just blown to the wind? Have you ever felt like that? Or, it’s a relationship you poured a lot of effort into, and at one point felt so right. Then it’s wiped away in an instant, or slowly brushed away beyond repair? The job you thought defined you didn’t, or after a while didn’t want you, or you didn’t want it. It’s hard to see when you’re in the middle of it, the worth, the beauty, especially when you think of how quickly it can vanish.
Do you know how long Jesus’ public ministry was? It was shorter than my tenure so far at Westminster. (Please don’t use that as a point of comparison for the purposes of my evaluation.) The gospel of John records three Passovers during his public teaching ministry, but the other three only record one, meaning he was active in that way for as many as three years and as few as one single solitary year. All the time in his life leading up to that, from the last story we have of him when he was twelve until about 30, preparing, training, finding himself, putting in the quiet thankless and confounding hours of becoming. He comes onto the scene for a short time, and then he was gone.
Would any of us question the importance of his life? Not just his birth or death or resurrection, but his life too and the way he lived it? Would we question that? Our reading today from 1 Peter speaks of what it accomplishes in stark terms. The author is writing to a community who had continued the Jesus tradition after his death, people who would have been “socially and politically marginalized” as one commentator puts it.[1] This was meant to be a word of encouragement to them. It reads, “You know that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your ancestors, not with perishable things like silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without defect or blemish” (1 Peter 18-19).
I wonder how many of you grew up with a lot of emphasis on the precious blood of Christ, lamb of God, ransom for us. I wonder how you feel about that language. For some it is a source of comfort, assurance. I knew this jovial, deeply spiritual, Baptist woman who was always talking about being “washed in the blood of Jesus.” If that is a powerful image for you, I have no intention of taking that away. For others, it is a troubling image. Jesus as a blood sacrifice, ransom? No thanks.
Well, context is everything. In Jesus’ time, to receive forgiveness, one made sacrifices at the temple. According to New Testament scholar Marcus Borg, “to affirm 'Jesus is the sacrifice for sin' was to deny the temple's claim to have a monopoly on forgiveness and access to God…Using the metaphor of sacrifice, it subverted the sacrificial system."[2] To understand Jesus in this way was to stand in defiance and say nobody gets to own the rights to forgiveness. Nobody gets to have a monopoly on access to God. Remember Jesus said to people, “Your sins are forgiven,” all the time. He gave it away freely. It was both a moment of personal healing, but at the same time a profoundly and profound political statement, telling those who had power that they didn’t rule over the living God, and they certainly didn’t have the right to charge admission. In a very dangerous way, Jesus’ followers conceived of his death in terms that directly challenged the power structure – you think you trade in sacrificial lambs, this was the lamb of God! Christ’s forever flips the world on its head.
Now we must always be careful with texts such as these not to allow modern anti-Semitism seep its way in. Jesus was a Jew, remained a committed Jew. He was critiquing his own people, his own religion, his own nation, not someone else’s. We’re always given more divine license for self-critique than attacking the ways of others.
There’s another amazing aspect to this passage, one that brings us around to where we began. 1 Peter says you weren’t ransomed with perishable things like silver or gold, but with the imperishable. We gloss right over that, but think about it. Gold and silver, on the surface, far less perishable than blood, right? Blood can only support life in a closed system. Blood lives but for a lifetime, with new cells having to be generated all the time.
Unlike gold and silver, blood is fragile, and blood isn’t the only element that God works with that in an instant is gone, into thin air? The other passage you heard from today is from Acts. In the aftermath of the bloody crucifixion and resurrection, the other disciples come to Peter and ask what they should do and he says, go out an baptize. Baptize. With water. Water? That’s what is going to usher in the new kingdom? No swords or flags. No statues or monuments. Water!? The tools of the one who had the most lasting influence were blood and water. Do you remember what came out when they pierced his side when he was on the cross? Blood and water. It’s what Jesus was made of.
This Jesus we so love, a manifestation of the divine love, the clearest one we claim we’ve ever seen – was made of fragile parts. He was a sand mandala, carefully, intricately built, beautiful to behold, a source of healing and purification for the particular sickness and ~corruption of his time, and yet somehow speaks to all time. He didn’t waste his energy trying to build something permanent. He spent his life becoming that beautiful creation, knowing—Scripture says he knew it—knowing it was all going to be blown away in an instant. In his surrendering to his impermanence, he unleashed eternity. There is even beauty in the brushing away of the mandala (show slide of mandala being wiped in beautiful spiral pattern).
In Christ, we are called to live resurrection lives, live into the gift of the sacred time between resurrection and ascension. To that end, let us learn:
- -to appear, to show up, fully inhabit the space we are in, including the pieces that are hard—they’re much less frightening when we stare them straight in the face
- -to not get too far ahead of ourselves, recognizing the divine presence is with us now, and gives us what you need for this moment, which will allow us to handle the next moment when it comes.
- -to see how others are appearing to us and manifesting the divine presence as well, recognizing they are fundamentally not other, but ultimately an other appearance of the resurrection, sometimes with just fresher wounds than we are used to.
- -to tap into the reservoir available to us all and find the courage to stand up to what needs to be opposed and say, “No,” stand up for what needs to be advocated for and say “Yes.”
- -to find beauty in the building of the beautiful life one grain at a time, not waiting to enjoy until it’s finished.
If Jesus’ life mattered, then so do ours, perhaps precisely in their fragility. Before too long, God-willing, my dissertation will sit on a shelf to gather dust, but I won’t be, and insofar as it helps craft me grain by grain into something that can be used for purification or healing, then every bit of it was worth it. Let us build our lives out of the things Christ did—love, forgiveness, witness, solidarity with the poor, compassion for the suffering, courage, integrity, presence. These things are free…and they are priceless. They are God’s currency. You will know exactly what’s valuable when you find yourself one day in the unenviable and yet holiest of places, sitting by a loved one as their life blood drains from them, dabbing their lips with a swab dipped in ice chips, frozen water. In the end, what is most perishable is most lasting. Remember out of Jesus’ death comes new life. Your end is your beginning.[3] Amen.
1] Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV – Year A, 279.
[2] Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, 94.
[3] From T.S. Elliott, “Four Quartets.” Quoted on bulletin cover.
Common Core
Someone who has taken it upon himself to read the Bible in its entirety upon reaching a particularly challenging passage reached out to me and said, “This is strange.”
My theologically trained response was, “Yes, strange.” It’s hard to deny. Did you know there are giants in the Bible, half God half human? They’re called the Nephilim and they’re in Genesis 6. There’s a story of a woman named Jael, who feigns hospitality in order to trap an enemy commander and then when he’s sleeping she drives a tent peg through his head, Judges 4. Then, there’s 2 Kings 2 in which the prophet Elisha is performing miracles only to have a bunch of kids come by and make fun of him (that is the moment you know you’re old). They literally say to him, “Go away baldy!” Well, they picked the wrong prophet with male pattern baldness to mock because Elisha curses them after which, “two she-bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys.”
Why do we return this book, collection of books, time and again? It’s a worthwhile question to ask considering its antiquity and apparently closed status. I was asked a form of this very question when part of a panel discussion for the Marin Interfaith Council last year. The questioner was a pagan woman. As someone who came from a non-textual tradition, she wanted to know what it meant to have a shared sacred writing, such as the Bible or the Quran. I spoke about how I thought for many Christians I’ve encountered the place of the Bible was a more open question than one might assume. People don’t swallow literal interpretation or heavy-handed dogma; they like to think for themselves. I posited that for many the Bible is not an automatic referent or authority, and that increasingly experience was occupying a central place in the Christian’s sense of the divine and how to navigate the world.
Over time, the question about the Bible stayed with me and I realized I had given only half an answer, and I spent a fair bit of time composing the other half, which I had the chance to give several months later. Among other things, an agreed upon sacred text, with all its challenges, holds the community and its participants accountable. Even if we resist simplistic interpretations, the text gives us ground to look at troubling things in the world and say to one another, “This is not right!” or, “Here is what love can look like.” It gives us a common set of teachers to whom to return for guidance on the human condition and how to navigate it in light of the revealed wisdom of God. It is a glimpse of God that we see in the tangible form of Jesus.
Nevertheless, I once raised the question of a closed canon, the notion that the Bible’s contents are set, with a colleague. In response, he quoted New Testament scholar Luke Timothy Johnson saying, “We can either have an open canon with closed interpretation or we can have a closed canon with open interpretation.” In other words, without a canon we tend to create our own, which tends to be far narrower (or so infinite it amounts to nothing). Or, or we can take a finite set of documents and engage them expansively, even playfully, leading, ironically, to a far broader perspective, all because we are continually drawn back, drawn back to a starting place – a set of stories, some interpreted history, some poems, some wisdom teachings, some letters, and some dreams. Together these call us back home, they pull on us spiritually, but also socially, economically, even politically—we like to excise that one, but the gospel speaks to our whole life—all of us gets pulled back if not always to an easy answer, than at least to some common questions we have been asking since every book in this divine collection of books has been written: Who is my neighbor? What does God want from us and for us? How shall we live together in the midst of difference?
The book of 1 Samuel is no exception. The context for today’s story is of a prophet who has been desperately trying to hold the people accountable as they stray from God’s will. As the book opens, the people are obsessed with having a king rule over them, and Samuel warns them:
“ ‘These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots; 12and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plough his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. 13He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. 14He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. 15He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers. 16He will take your male and female slaves, and the best of your cattle and donkeys, and put them to his work. 17He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. 18And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the Lord will not answer you in that day’” (1 Sam 8:11-18)
When today’s portion of the story picks up, the people are onto the selection process for a successor to king Saul, whose tenure, not surprisingly, did not go well. Samuel goes to Jesse and asks him to bring out his sons so that he might see who is fitting. Seven sons pass by in this audition procession, but none of them suffice, until an eighth son, not even seen as worthy to compete is brought forward, eight being a special number, the number of completion plus one (creation plus one, the same number used for circumcision). That one is David, about whom more is written than any other figure in the Older Testament.
The story is indeed prophetic, challenging cultural standards, ignoring typical attributes of beauty or strength. “The LORD,” it says, instructed Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature,” regarding an earlier more likely candidate (1 Sam. 16:7). God “does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart” (v. 7). As one commentator puts it, “The election of David is now presented as an exercise in right ‘seeing.’”[1] That’s a familiar lesson enough for many of us, that we should not judge by appearances, instead by character. The commentator reminds us that “God ‘sees’ possibilities when others do not” and points to Paul’s New Testament reminder that God choose unlikely characters to challenge what the world values.[2] Indeed, a far-reaching theme of the tradition is the literally challenging relationship between God’s way and the world’s. In his famous Christ & Culture, H. Richard Nieburh’s advocates for an ethic that recognizes that Christ doesn’t ultimately stand against culture or accommodate it, or stand above it, or even sit in paradox with it. Ultimately, Christ transforms culture. Niebuhr calls for a “conversion of existent society…a radical revolution.”[3]
This radical change of culture seems to be happening in our story when the unlikely King David is chosen, the standards have been changed, but here’s where our story gets strange. When David appears, he too is described in terms of physical beauty, “Now he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome” (v. 12). After all that. After an “exercise of right seeing,” we’re back to appearances? What’s going on?
I don’t know. Knowing is such a strong term, but I wonder. I wonder if there is an understanding of God’s comment about looking at the heart beyond simply not “judging a book by its cover.” I wonder if there’s a conversion of the entire construct of judging, of meritocracy, of separation. What if what separated David from the other brothers was not about what separated him at all? What if it wasn’t that David’s heart made him different from everyone else, it’s that having a heart (without other extraordinary characteristics) makes David like everyone else? This may sound heretical, questioning the reason for David’s chosenness, but remember, “closed canon, open interpretation.”
Before you dismiss this notion, consider this great king, about whom more is written than any other figure in the Older Testament, about whom Psalms are attributed. This beloved one of God broke every one of the 10 Commandments, all of them. If David was chosen because his heart was more pure, I’d love to know what kind of fun, I mean trouble, his brothers go into. No, what if God choosing to look at the heart is God’s way of choosing to look first at that which everyone everyone has. This strange story of distinction might at its heart be about commonality, our common core.
When our starting point is our common core, when looking at people means recognizing they have at the center of them beating a heart that is an echo of the pulse that began the universe, our interactions change. I saw a fascinating interview with Glenn Beck this week. I’m not sure Glenn Beck has ever figured into one of my sermon illustrations before. If you’ve followed him over the last couple of years, however, you will have observed quite a transformation, some might say a conversion, not entirely politically, but certainly tonally, and I would say theologically. He was on with Tavis Smiley from PBS and talking about the world he played a part in creating, one in which we so demonize one another, has so forgotten the fundamental truth that we are neighbors. I so love that image, that of being neighbors, because it does not deny or diminish difference—that’s a comfort move by the powerful to minimize the legitimate different experience of the disempowered. No, neighborliness recognizes distinction and places it in a context of shared fate and what is ultimately a common project.
This collection of books feels strange because it is strange when compared to a world that doesn’t always recognize when it has wandered too far from home. This lent, let us let it pull us back. Amen.
[1] The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol 2. p. 1097.
[2] Ibid, 1099.
[3] H. Richard Niebuhr, Christ & Culture (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 2001) p., liv.
I had a colleague, a lovely Baptist man, who used to begin all his prayers by quoting the 121st Psalm in the King’s English, “I lift mine unto the hills, from whence cometh my help?” I often heard it as a divine hill blessing. Of course, that’s the opposite of what the Psalm is intended to do.
Psalm 121 is actually a critique of finding God in the hills, though allow me to provide some background before those of you who rightfully report to find God in nature storm out to hit the trail. The Israelites were enemies with a people known as the Samaritans. You may have heard of the Samaritans from New Testament passages such as Jesus’ parable of the “Good Samaritan.” That parable is shocking precisely because the hero is not a Jew, but a Samaritan. One difference between the two peoples was where they worshiped. The Israelites worshiped God in the Temple. In fact, God was understood to inhabit that space, live there. The Samaritans, on the other hand, worshipped God on the mountain. This Psalm reminded the Israelites where they found God. As mentioned, this Psalm was a marker of their identity, stating who they were in opposition to who they were not. That may sound awfully exclusive to you and me, but when you are a small group, a minority people, maintaining identity is important lest you disappear, assimilating into oblivion.
This psalm was a pilgrimage chorus, sung by those making their way to Jerusalem. Having worked on pilgrimage for some time now, I know first-hand how a good song can get you through some of either the difficult, or simply mind-numbing portions, of a pilgrimage. The Psalm was a prayer for divine direction and presence on the way. When on pilgrimage, religious or not, one often looks for some sort of leading.
There are a lot of life lessons you learn on the supposedly artificial exercise of pilgrimage. You learn to prepare – you plan, you train, and declare intention. You learn to pack lightly, and quickly realize how little you truly need. You learn the power of ritual which carries you when you don’t have it in you to go on, connecting you to a larger purpose. You learn to rely on others, broken free at some point from the illusion of self-reliance. Empowerment is one thing, and you find plenty of it on pilgrimage, but trying to do it all on your own is quite another. Some of the greatest blessings come when you are broken down to the point you must accept help from another, and that’s when something so simple as someone else’s water or a shared piece of bread and cheese, a bandage or directions can become downright sacramental. You learn to encounter grace and receive it, be it a temporary clearing in the sky from rain and the warm sun or finally a downhill segment. You learn your own body, which is a grace in and of itself. You push your limits and accept them at the same time. You learn to delight in simplicity, lying in the shade, with your head on your pack and not a need in the world. You learn that when the rest is over, you need a good walking partner from time to time, someone with whom you can sing, or talk, or with whom you can be quiet, someone who can lend a gentle hand to lift your pack just enough to make that hill manageable.
Recently in my reading, I came across an account of walking the Camino by Catholic Sister Joyce Rupp, and she included among the many lessons of pilgrimage the requirement of getting lost. Being lost encapsulates so much of what you learn – recognizing your own limits, reminding you of your dependence on others, challenging you to trust in the midst of the unknown, choosing a sense of adventure over fear. Perhaps most powerfully, lost gives you the experience of found, finding your way, or having the way find you. Have you ever had an experience where you were totally lost and through no explainable way you managed to get yourself back to where you needed to be? It doesn’t have to be on pilgrimage. I remember studying abroad in Germany in college, and coming home one night after public transportation had stopped. I wandered, actually jogged, for God knows how long, through unknown neighborhoods, and yet somehow I found my way home. How does that happen? Are we being led? Is God leading us?
The Psalm seems to say that we are protected on our journeys: 5The LORD is your keeper; the LORD is your shade at your right hand. 6The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. 7The LORD will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. It’s an amazing Psalm for the people of Israel to sing, they who had endured captivity when this was written, they who had generations pass away without tasting freedom, they who throughout history endured both captivity and exile. Yet, God keeps us safe…except when God doesn’t.
We all know people who have suffered more than the sun by day and the moon by night. You probably have heard my family pray here in worship for a young pastor, Scott Hauser, no relation except as a colleague, who looked healthy before a persistent cough led to a cancer diagnosis. Just a couple weeks ago, after just a month with the disease, he died. He was 37, and left four children behind. Could I show you his picture? (show pic) I know this is from the back—I’ll show you his face in a minute—but we love this picture. It’s of him walking three of his children to school. His fourth is only a baby. Here they are looking back at the camera (show pic). Where was God for him? Where is God for his family?
The way I see there are three possibilities with respect to the promises of this psalm. Either it’s not true, it was true only for ancient pilgrims on the way to Jerusalem, or it’s truth is deeper than what appears on the surface. You can tell where my beliefs lie. Of course your foot will be moved. It’s a pilgrimage psalm! Of course the sun will strike you by day, and the moon by night (unless you only make pilgrimage to Seattle). Of course you will encounter evil. Those roads would have been dangerous to travel. The question is do you encounter it alone. Are our journeys aimless and in vain? Are we destined ultimately to be lost?
The Psalm says “No.” You will be kept, maybe not kept safe, but ultimately kept, accompanied.8The LORD will keep your going out and your coming in.
Knowing most of life is lived in the going out and the coming in, this God promises to go the road too, every road. Some say God is on the mountain. Others the Temple, and while this writer is clearly in one camp, they seem to be saying most of all, God is on the road. Now is this further poetry, hyperbole? We would like life to work out according to our plan, but when it doesn’t we have to decide what to make of it.
Jayber Crow is a novel by Wendell Berry, and it tells the story of a man in a small Kentucky town some time ago. It journeys through his beginning as an orphan through his formal study of the Bible, his vocation as a barber, a gravedigger and church custodian. He says this of life’s journey.
“If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line -starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King's Highway past the appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circling or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led - make of that what you will.”[1]
This is Lent, when Jesus went into the wilderness to wander with only what he could carry. Have we so shrouded Jesus with lace and church that we don’t think he was afraid to face the tempter, face his demons? Do we think it was easy for him to enter the wilderness disarmed, depending on God for his sustenance? Or, do we think he came through because in the face of it all, in the face of all of it, he was led? Jesus was able to journey with God as his walking partner.
I’d like to show you one more picture of Scott Hauser (show pic – splashing water from the baptismal font up in the air). This is him presiding over worship at the baptismal font. I presume he didn’t know he was sick when this was taken, but do you think he would do it any differently if he had? From those who knew him better, I can tell you that I don’t believe he would have changed his pose one bit, because his faith wasn’t based on some simplistic notion that nothing would ever go wrong, that no sun would strike him, that no evil would have been in his faith. No, his faith was grounded on the trust that go would go with him on the road no matter where it lead. Notice you can’t really tell in the picture whether the water is going up or coming down. Blessing in this strange world flows in both directions. Grace happens on the road, and so does death. We get to see mountain vistas, and we travel through the valley of the shadow. Resurrection comes at the end of the road, but in its own way, it also comes all along the way, knocking over the tombstones of the dead places of this world. Of course God’s found on the mountain. Of course God lives in the Temple. Of course you don’t have to wait until you get there to experience Him or Her.
Scott, like so many, has walked on ahead, and the shape of the place we don’t exactly know where that path leads, but the only thing that keeps me from being lost is that feeling that I am led. Make of that what you will. Amen.
[1] Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow
In a New Light
A member of my preaching group pointed me to a story about a 19th century farmer whose wife went into labor one night. As the doctor attended to her in her home, he asked the husband to hold the lantern as it was the only available light. Soon the woman gave birth to a healthy baby boy. “Wait a moment,” the doctor called out, “another one is coming,” and out came a second child. Then the doctor called out again, but before it could be born the husband started to walk out of the room. “Hey,” said the doctor, “come back here with that lantern!
“Oh no,” said the man, “it's the light that attracts ‘em!”
It may not work exactly like that, but the light is attractive. Even more attractive is being the light, that to which others are drawn. It's part of our cultural DNA, and can be traced if not in origin, then certainly in naming, to the famed address of Puritan John Winthrop, “A Model of Christian Charity,” which the layman delivered while still on the ship sailing to the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1630. “For wee must consider that wee shall be as a citty upon a hill. The eies of all people are upon us.” Clearly intended as an attempt to set the tone for the new beginning for the Puritans, to draw the best out of them by reminding them that they will be watched by others, it could also be read to connote a good bit of hubris. In the time since, it has often been appropriated to signal this land was a chosen land, its people—not its native people, but its colonizers—a chosen people, from which all the world should watch and learn.
Winthrop draws this imagery from Scripture. Isaiah 42, from which you heard today, reads: “I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations” (v. 6-7). That's awfully presumptuous. We all know people who conduct themselves like they are God's gift to the world, and it's exhausting. This is why Jesus' act in receiving baptism, which we commemorate today, is so profound. Here is Jesus, about which rumors were flying that he was the chosen one, at least someone capable of strange and wonderful things. Yet, Jesus submits himself to John to receive baptism, a blessing. The symbolic act of handing his body over to another human to be immersed in the water for ritual cleansing, is the ultimate act of divesting himself of his power, a pattern we see time and again in the life of Jesus.
Still, we manage to retell this story through the screen glory rather than humility. We talk about the skies opening up, the Spirit descending like a dove in a grand scene as a voice thunders from heaven, “This is my son with whom I am well pleased.” It's a pronouncement of special status for all the world to see and perhaps at which all the world should tremble, “so that,” as Paul later says, “at the name of Jesus every knee should bend…and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord...” (Phil. 2:10). Except, that's not really how the story goes, nor therefore perhaps what the story means. The story appears in some form in all the gospels, but nowhere does it say that everyone saw this grand event. In fact, in Mark and Matthew, from which you heard today, it's explicit only that Jesus sees the heavens open and the dovelike Spirit, and Jesus who hears the voice. It's not a moment of God drawing attention to Jesus, it's a moment of drawing Jesus' attention to the God and the divine affirmation and call on his life.
His ability to recognize the divine in his midst is set in motion through not an act of displayed dominance, but through humility. This calling, this experience of God, though in public, may well have happened privately. It would be different if we thought Jesus were powerless—then submission would be abusive and a public affirmation would have been supportive—but we read the story assuming Jesus has limitless power. He demonstrates he is willing to let that go of that power in order to be more connected to God. That's when he gets his call and his true identity in God. What if it is that humility to which every knee shall bend, that power need not be lorded over others even by the Lord?
Jesus isn't given a big scene, he gives himself over to a new way of seeing, hearing, and feeling. This is what defines his daily life. He seems to have cultivated an ability to recognize the movement of the sacred in the world around him, to draw it out in people, to prompt their own healing and transformation and to encourage people to trust in it. We remember Jesus as “the light of the world” (Jn. 8:12), but Jesus first showed us how to find the sacred light around us, in others, and in ourselves. It's not an altogether easy task, for there are all kinds of light from which to choose. We have spoken already of wanting attention to shine on us, the limelight. David Brooks has written about how people of our era are far more interested in fame than our predecessors. Others have pointed to a rise in narcissism. It's not surprising considering all the ways for us to get our image out. People bear the burden of constructing their image in the public forums of social media. Our youth director, Jeff, clued me in on “bots,” basically manufactured “likes” or online mentions you can purchase to make it look as though you are getting more attention than you actually are. Remember, ours is a culture in which there are people who are famous for being famous.
There is the alluring light of hollow promises of riches. I was attending church in Wisconsin where I was in graduate school and the pastor was preaching about proposed gambling sites coming nearer to Madison. He told a story about someone who had taken their children through an area with casinos to expose them to all the glam and glitter, all the bright lights, as a way of trying to introduce them early to the blindness it can create in people. The person got far more than they bargained for (this was obviously not in Wisconsin). It was in the morning. They had finished their bright lights tour and were walking on a beach. There they came upon a couple sitting in the sand, unbuttoned tuxedo and hanging tie, somewhat disheveled wedding dress, just sitting there. Married the night before, they had gambled away everything, literally fortunes. The light within them had gone out.
Then, of course there are the more outright dangerous forms of light, the light of nuclear weapons, for example, blinding, disintegrating light.
The light we are to look for in God, and which we receive from God, is not the sort that brings fleeting pleasure at the price of lasting suffering, or instantaneous destruction. Rather, it brings an abiding strength, a mysterious assurance even in the midst of suffering. This light leads us to a more fulfilling life of drawing from within to relate to and care for what's around us. This light shows us our fundamental oneness.
As with Jesus, Isaiah and Winthrop knew this too. What does Isaiah say is the purpose of being a light to the nations? To restore sight to the blind, to bring the prisoners out of the dungeon (Is. 42:7). It is not to dominate, but to bless. Isaiah's people had known captivity, had known powerlessness. Upon receiving power, they would have cause to reciprocate in violence, offer payback, but Isaiah calls them to a higher light, a brighter one than the burning fire of revenge. Isaiah offers them hope in a difficult time, and a challenge for them to show something better to the world than it had shown them.
Similarly, Winthrop's message, at its core, is not one of hubris. It's one of humble intention, that newfound freedom will not be squandered chasing the wrong kinds of light. Like Isaiah's people, the Puritans had been under violent rule. They knew what it was like to suffer under those whose version of the light blotted others out. In fact, his words, which might seem to us self-righteous, are meant to invoke quite the opposite, lest they be drawn to the false promises of basking in their own light.
Before daring to call his people to be a city on a hill, Winthrop says, “Wee must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of other's necessities. Wee must uphold a familiar commerce together in all meekeness, gentlenes, patience and liberality. Wee must delight in eache other; make other's conditions our oune; rejoice together, mourne together, labour and suffer together, allwayes haueving before our eyes our commission and community in the worke, as members of the same body. Soe shall wee keepe the unitie of the spirit in the bond of peace.” His challenge to them, before they would even set foot on this newfound soil, was to remember which light had guided them to new life.
Baptism, in the end, or I should say in the beginning, is precisely that, new life. Even for Jesus, it is not about how you are seen, your status in the world, but how you open yourself to seeing the world. In this tradition, we often make that commitment for our children, that we might raise them to see the world differently, through eyes that claim the lens of meekness, gentleness, patience and liberality.
It's one thing to claim that lens, quite another to don it day after day, in the face of so many other options and so many temptations. We must choose it daily. Another pastor colleague of mine shared this teaching, humbly, from another tradition. It's a Cherokee lesson about an elder teaching their grandson:
An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy.
"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego." He continued, "The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
The same is true of light. That which you seek will become your guide. And, unlike the farmer, the light you hold up will truly determine what you birth into the your life and the world. Amen.