061217ser
Zephaniah 3:14-20; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18
I found a story on the internet this week from Barry Robinson, the author of a website entitled “Keeping the Faith in Babylon” that is used in relation to our scripture readings. Robinson writes that one of his favorite stories is the legend of "How St. Francis Taught The People of Gubbio To Feed Their Wolf." It is a strangely humorous story with layer upon layer of meaning according to Robinson.
In a nutshell, the people of Gubbio have a problem. The bloody remains of some of their townsfolk start showing up on the streets of their beautiful city when people awake in the morning. Since the people of Gubbio are very proud people, they are convinced that "a stranger" passing through must be responsible for the terrible crime. Nevertheless, they begin to "lock" their doors at night. When more deaths follow, the same denial "that no one in Gubbio could be responsible for such a thing" is expressed over and over again.
And then, someone sees a wolf wandering the streets of Gubbio one night after everyone has retired; and the people of Gubbio realize that there is a wolf living in the dark woods on one side of Gubbio. Of course, this could not be their wolf; because they never asked this wolf to come to Gubbio. Immediately, they begin to find ways to dispatch this wolf.
After a number of futile attempts, the people get desperate enough to approach the holy man of Assisi who has a reputation for being able "to talk to animals".
St. Francis "speaks" to the wolf and gives the people what appears to be some strange and, not entirely, welcome advice.
He tells the people of Gubbio that they must "feed" their wolf.
At the first, the people are not impressed with this suggestion and begin to wonder why they ever approached the holy man in the first place. And, then, something miraculous happens. Bit by bit, people begin to leave food out for the wolf as he prowls the streets of Gubbio. The violent deaths cease and it is not long before every man, woman and child has learned how to "feed their wolf." As a result, the people of Gubbio are transformed.
They become more easy-going, less arrogant human beings.
Robinson says that people who hear this story for the first time have a variety of reactions to it.
Some are immediately amused by the story and identify with the proud people of Gubbio. They recognize that haughtiness that has to "blame it on strangers" when something goes wrong. The denial and avoidance of the townsfolk are all too familiar. In laughing at the people of Gubbio as they come to terms with their wolf, they realize that they themselves can find healing and freedom by embracing the negative aspects of themselves, their community and their church, that part of the story that is symbolized by the wonderfully vague image of "the wolf."
Other people, however, just don't get it. Or worse, they are offended by the suggestion of a self-identity that incorporates rather than excludes "their" wolf. They decline the invitation to befriend and feed that which they fear most in themselves and each other and miss the opportunity to come to a new and healthier understanding of themselves.
We get equally confounding advice from scripture this third week of Advent. This is Gaudete or Rejoice Sunday, a time when we stop the waiting and watching and preparing of advent and just rejoice.
Paul’s message to us this morning from Philippians is to “rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
And from the ancient prophet Zephaniah we are told, “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!”
Those sound like appropriate Yuletide scriptures. Rejoicing and singing abound.
But then we reach the gospel lesson where John the Baptist preaches, “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”
We’re reminded that God is not Santa Claus who knows whether we’re naughty or nice but Jesus who comes among us and calls us to turn around and follow him. Like the good folk of Gubbio, we need to recognize and feed our wolf. Feeding our wolf, means recognizing those parts that need to be chopped down and thrown into the fire so that we may properly rejoice.
Rejoicing requires that we are not afraid to face our own wolves and feed them so they don’t do further damage. It’s looking deep within ourselves and recognizing the wolf side of us that we don’t like to show in public.
Once we have faced and fed our wolf, we are ready to rejoice. We can then get on with the joy that is part of our lives. We can be like Paul, who writing from prison says that he is ready to rejoice and that in any situation he has learned to be happy.
The Good News of Advent is that God has come, is coming and will continue to come among us, calling us to repentance and to turning ourselves around, as John did among those first century crowds who came to him for baptism.
This advent, take time to rejoice. The waiting and preparing will continue but do so in joy. “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice!”
10 December 2006
Malachi 3:1-4; Luke 1:68-79; Luke 3:1-6
We get two views of John in our readings this morning so attention must be paid. First there is the song/prophesy that his father sings in the first reading from Luke upon the birth of John. And then secondly, there is the introduction to John’s ministry that we heard in the 2nd Luke reading.
As part of the nativity narratives, the birth of John is included. We’re told that Jesus and John are related. Mary and Elizabeth are cousins, likely. John is born late in life for Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah. They had previously been childless but in their later years John came along. And Zechariah knew that this was a special child from the beginning, thus his song that we read together this morning.
Then we get the introduction, a few chapters later, of John’s ministry: a ministry of preparing the way for Jesus. John was calling people to repentance and baptizing in the River Jordan out there in the wilderness. And people were flocking to him from everywhere. John was very popular.
But his was a ministry of preparation. A ministry in which he made the way plain for the one who was to come, that being Jesus, of course. Preparing the people for Jesus’ message.
We know a little about John. He was, as I said, the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah. As an adult, he took to the desert, living a rough life. He ate locusts and wild honey and wore a hair shirt, whether as a sign of his own repentance or whether it was just a sign of how rough his life was, I don’t know.
Luke places him in history with his introduction that lists Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas and Caiaphas. These were real people, who ruled the lands where John did his ministry. Real people who are marked in the history books.
John is all about preparation: preparation for Jesus. So we too are on about preparation this advent. But how are we to prepare? It’s got to be more than just putting up Christmas decorations and making our houses look nice. It’s got to be more than baking and cooking and entertaining. It’s got to be more than shopping and buying and wrapping until our fingers are numb. It’s got to be more than all that.
Malachi gives us a hint of what we’re in for if we’re truly to prepare for Christ’s coming into our world. Preparing for the Messiah is not for the faint of heart. Malachi compares it to the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap. A refiner's fire is the forced-air, white-hot blaze that melts metallic ores and brings their impurities to the surface. Fullers' soap is the strong, lye-based soap used to bleach the impurities from cloth. Soap and fire, fire and soap. That’s what we use to prepare for the Messiah. Not just any fire and soap; super hot fire, super strong soap.
Our impurities are going to surface and be melted away leaving only the pure gold or silver that will shine. Our sins are to be scrubbed away leaving only the cleanest of cloths.
Preparation is not, as I said, for the faint of heart. It is something that is more than all our Christmas readyings and busyness. In fact, it’s quite antithetical. Those things can distract us from the real meaning of Advent. Advent is a time of purification and readying; readying ourselves for a meeting with Christ, with a meeting of Malachi’s Messiah, with the one who comes to save us and redeem us.
We’ve got to put aside the prettiness of Christmas for a moment and deal with hair-shirted John, who is going to level out our rough places and make plain those hills and valleys in our souls. We have to be ready for the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap both.
This is not a Currier and Ives Christmas card preparation. This is a down-on-the knees, soul-searching preparation that leaves us with tears on our cheeks and a shake in our step. This is a preparation that will leave us gasping for breath and weak in the knees. It’s not going to be simple nor will it be pretty. That’s the problem with Advent. We want it to be pretty. But neither refining ore nor lye soaping cloth are pretty.
Nor are they quick, easy processes. They bite and cause us to struggle and just want to get it over with. But both John and Malachi recognize that this is a process; a process that doesn’t end quickly. It is an ongoing and ever-present part of our life that is accentuated at this time of year as we work towards celebrating the birth of the one who would save us.
Yes, both John and Malachi, prophets separated by about 400 years, are making us ready for the Messiah; the world’s Messiah and our own personal Messiah. As a society we are not immune from this cultural preparation any more than we individually should try to escape it. But for our culture to prepare for the coming of the Christ, we each need to do our own preparation.
Prepare for the coming of the Christ-child into your world. Prepare for Christmas. But make sure you leave room for the true preparation that will require fire and soap and rough places made plain and the crooked made straight. It is difficult, but it is important. Make this your Advent of preparation.
We get two views of John in our readings this morning so attention must be paid. First there is the song/prophesy that his father sings in the first reading from Luke upon the birth of John. And then secondly, there is the introduction to John’s ministry that we heard in the 2nd Luke reading.
As part of the nativity narratives, the birth of John is included. We’re told that Jesus and John are related. Mary and Elizabeth are cousins, likely. John is born late in life for Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah. They had previously been childless but in their later years John came along. And Zechariah knew that this was a special child from the beginning, thus his song that we read together this morning.
Then we get the introduction, a few chapters later, of John’s ministry: a ministry of preparing the way for Jesus. John was calling people to repentance and baptizing in the River Jordan out there in the wilderness. And people were flocking to him from everywhere. John was very popular.
But his was a ministry of preparation. A ministry in which he made the way plain for the one who was to come, that being Jesus, of course. Preparing the people for Jesus’ message.
We know a little about John. He was, as I said, the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah. As an adult, he took to the desert, living a rough life. He ate locusts and wild honey and wore a hair shirt, whether as a sign of his own repentance or whether it was just a sign of how rough his life was, I don’t know.
Luke places him in history with his introduction that lists Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas and Caiaphas. These were real people, who ruled the lands where John did his ministry. Real people who are marked in the history books.
John is all about preparation: preparation for Jesus. So we too are on about preparation this advent. But how are we to prepare? It’s got to be more than just putting up Christmas decorations and making our houses look nice. It’s got to be more than baking and cooking and entertaining. It’s got to be more than shopping and buying and wrapping until our fingers are numb. It’s got to be more than all that.
Malachi gives us a hint of what we’re in for if we’re truly to prepare for Christ’s coming into our world. Preparing for the Messiah is not for the faint of heart. Malachi compares it to the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap. A refiner's fire is the forced-air, white-hot blaze that melts metallic ores and brings their impurities to the surface. Fullers' soap is the strong, lye-based soap used to bleach the impurities from cloth. Soap and fire, fire and soap. That’s what we use to prepare for the Messiah. Not just any fire and soap; super hot fire, super strong soap.
Our impurities are going to surface and be melted away leaving only the pure gold or silver that will shine. Our sins are to be scrubbed away leaving only the cleanest of cloths.
Preparation is not, as I said, for the faint of heart. It is something that is more than all our Christmas readyings and busyness. In fact, it’s quite antithetical. Those things can distract us from the real meaning of Advent. Advent is a time of purification and readying; readying ourselves for a meeting with Christ, with a meeting of Malachi’s Messiah, with the one who comes to save us and redeem us.
We’ve got to put aside the prettiness of Christmas for a moment and deal with hair-shirted John, who is going to level out our rough places and make plain those hills and valleys in our souls. We have to be ready for the refiner’s fire and the fuller’s soap both.
This is not a Currier and Ives Christmas card preparation. This is a down-on-the knees, soul-searching preparation that leaves us with tears on our cheeks and a shake in our step. This is a preparation that will leave us gasping for breath and weak in the knees. It’s not going to be simple nor will it be pretty. That’s the problem with Advent. We want it to be pretty. But neither refining ore nor lye soaping cloth are pretty.
Nor are they quick, easy processes. They bite and cause us to struggle and just want to get it over with. But both John and Malachi recognize that this is a process; a process that doesn’t end quickly. It is an ongoing and ever-present part of our life that is accentuated at this time of year as we work towards celebrating the birth of the one who would save us.
Yes, both John and Malachi, prophets separated by about 400 years, are making us ready for the Messiah; the world’s Messiah and our own personal Messiah. As a society we are not immune from this cultural preparation any more than we individually should try to escape it. But for our culture to prepare for the coming of the Christ, we each need to do our own preparation.
Prepare for the coming of the Christ-child into your world. Prepare for Christmas. But make sure you leave room for the true preparation that will require fire and soap and rough places made plain and the crooked made straight. It is difficult, but it is important. Make this your Advent of preparation.
3 December 2006
Luke 21:25-36
A lot has been written about the end times. In fact, a whole series of extremely popular books, Left Behind, has been written about the apocalypse. I can’t say that I have read them. But I have heard enough about them to know they instill fear; fear about not being on the right side of the end times. There are tales, I hear, of war and of people disappearing into nothingness. Of course, I’m sure, I would be on the wrong side when the end times come according to the author. The right side of the end times is reserved for a very few, according to some.
Of course this is tied to Christ’s second coming; or his final coming as I prefer to think of it. Christ is coming to us on a daily basis. So we await his final coming at the end times, I would suggest.
Things needn’t be so frightening though. There doesn’t need to be all this fear instilled in people. Certainly the early church, the original hearers of our gospel passage this morning, were eagerly awaiting this final coming. It’s clear from the Luke passage that these final days are something to be watched for.
Luke’s gospel was written in the 8th or 9th decade of the 1st century: several decades after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. Certainly by then, people were ready for Jesus to come back in glory. In fact, our gospel reading this morning states that it will happen within “this generation,” putting those words in Jesus’ mouth. Clearly, if it’s 60 years after the event of the crucifixion and resurrection and Jesus is quoted as saying these things will happen soon, then the hearers and author of this writing would be most expectant of Jesus showing up to take over the world.
And taking over the world was what was needed. The Roman Empire was typically fierce and oppressive. People lived in the hope that someone would come along and knock them off their high perch. Someone who would rule with justice and righteousness. Someone like Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah.
Perhaps this is why Christianity, this early break off of Judaism, spread so rapidly throughout the Roman Empire. It instilled hope for a peaceful takeover of the beast that was the Roman Empire. It brought the expectation that soon, very soon, something would happen to break the oppressive yoke of the tyranny.
Christianity offered hope: hope for a better world. Its teacher was about love and grace and justice. The early writings all pointed to Christ returning shortly. 1 & 2 Thessalonians, from which we also heard this morning, are among the oldest writings in the New Testament. They are filled with the same expectation of which Luke’s gospel spoke: that Jesus would be coming back soon.
So what are we to do, some 2,000 years later? We are not part of the generations of which Luke and Paul wrote. We aren’t just a few short decades away from Jesus’ ministry. Indeed, much water has flowed under the ecclesiastical bridge since Jesus walked the earth. What do we do with the predictions that Christ’s coming is soon? Ignore them? Say they didn’t happen then and they’re not going to come true now? Or do we go in the other direction and take the current events of the world as signs that the world is ending?
Indeed, the world may be ending, but I think that its demise will be more of a humanly-made event, brought about by our greed and ignorance rather than a triumphant return of Christ. Perhaps those two events will be simultaneous. I don’t know.
And that’s the point: none of us know. And that’s the point of Advent: reminding us that we live in expectation and hope. We truly are people living in darkness and looking for the light of Christ. But we’re called to the darkness right now.
For us in the northern hemisphere, of course, Advent comes at a time of lessening light. As Advent progresses, our light declines. The darkest time in our world arrives as Advent comes to a climax. And appropriately, we live in this darkness progressively lighting candles seeking the true light of our world.
But we stumble along, expecting that…well, expecting what? What do you really expect this Advent? Do you expect Christ to come for the final time to reign in triumph. Do you expect wars to cease and diseases to be cured? Is this a time to expect prisoners to be set free and oppression to end? Or are you just expecting to make it through Christmas?
In the darkness of our life, we are comfortable surrounded by God’s velvety darkness; a darkness in which we see little but know God’s presence and love. We may feel like we are groping our way through our faith at times in this darkness but we keep searching for the light of the Christ.
The waiting of Advent is waiting for justice and righteousness to prevail. But what are we to do in the meantime? Just sit and wait in expectation? I think we are called to work so that justice and righteousness will occur. We can’t just sit back and hope that things will get better. If we want wars to cease and oppression to end, there are things we can do. We can be involved in the work of justice. We can seek the end to oppressions such as racism and homophobia.
Our call is clear. This is Advent. A time of lengthening shadows and growing darkness. Out of the Advent darkness and shadows should be growing the light that we shine of Christ, coming again and again to renew our world.
A lot has been written about the end times. In fact, a whole series of extremely popular books, Left Behind, has been written about the apocalypse. I can’t say that I have read them. But I have heard enough about them to know they instill fear; fear about not being on the right side of the end times. There are tales, I hear, of war and of people disappearing into nothingness. Of course, I’m sure, I would be on the wrong side when the end times come according to the author. The right side of the end times is reserved for a very few, according to some.
Of course this is tied to Christ’s second coming; or his final coming as I prefer to think of it. Christ is coming to us on a daily basis. So we await his final coming at the end times, I would suggest.
Things needn’t be so frightening though. There doesn’t need to be all this fear instilled in people. Certainly the early church, the original hearers of our gospel passage this morning, were eagerly awaiting this final coming. It’s clear from the Luke passage that these final days are something to be watched for.
Luke’s gospel was written in the 8th or 9th decade of the 1st century: several decades after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. Certainly by then, people were ready for Jesus to come back in glory. In fact, our gospel reading this morning states that it will happen within “this generation,” putting those words in Jesus’ mouth. Clearly, if it’s 60 years after the event of the crucifixion and resurrection and Jesus is quoted as saying these things will happen soon, then the hearers and author of this writing would be most expectant of Jesus showing up to take over the world.
And taking over the world was what was needed. The Roman Empire was typically fierce and oppressive. People lived in the hope that someone would come along and knock them off their high perch. Someone who would rule with justice and righteousness. Someone like Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah.
Perhaps this is why Christianity, this early break off of Judaism, spread so rapidly throughout the Roman Empire. It instilled hope for a peaceful takeover of the beast that was the Roman Empire. It brought the expectation that soon, very soon, something would happen to break the oppressive yoke of the tyranny.
Christianity offered hope: hope for a better world. Its teacher was about love and grace and justice. The early writings all pointed to Christ returning shortly. 1 & 2 Thessalonians, from which we also heard this morning, are among the oldest writings in the New Testament. They are filled with the same expectation of which Luke’s gospel spoke: that Jesus would be coming back soon.
So what are we to do, some 2,000 years later? We are not part of the generations of which Luke and Paul wrote. We aren’t just a few short decades away from Jesus’ ministry. Indeed, much water has flowed under the ecclesiastical bridge since Jesus walked the earth. What do we do with the predictions that Christ’s coming is soon? Ignore them? Say they didn’t happen then and they’re not going to come true now? Or do we go in the other direction and take the current events of the world as signs that the world is ending?
Indeed, the world may be ending, but I think that its demise will be more of a humanly-made event, brought about by our greed and ignorance rather than a triumphant return of Christ. Perhaps those two events will be simultaneous. I don’t know.
And that’s the point: none of us know. And that’s the point of Advent: reminding us that we live in expectation and hope. We truly are people living in darkness and looking for the light of Christ. But we’re called to the darkness right now.
For us in the northern hemisphere, of course, Advent comes at a time of lessening light. As Advent progresses, our light declines. The darkest time in our world arrives as Advent comes to a climax. And appropriately, we live in this darkness progressively lighting candles seeking the true light of our world.
But we stumble along, expecting that…well, expecting what? What do you really expect this Advent? Do you expect Christ to come for the final time to reign in triumph. Do you expect wars to cease and diseases to be cured? Is this a time to expect prisoners to be set free and oppression to end? Or are you just expecting to make it through Christmas?
In the darkness of our life, we are comfortable surrounded by God’s velvety darkness; a darkness in which we see little but know God’s presence and love. We may feel like we are groping our way through our faith at times in this darkness but we keep searching for the light of the Christ.
The waiting of Advent is waiting for justice and righteousness to prevail. But what are we to do in the meantime? Just sit and wait in expectation? I think we are called to work so that justice and righteousness will occur. We can’t just sit back and hope that things will get better. If we want wars to cease and oppression to end, there are things we can do. We can be involved in the work of justice. We can seek the end to oppressions such as racism and homophobia.
Our call is clear. This is Advent. A time of lengthening shadows and growing darkness. Out of the Advent darkness and shadows should be growing the light that we shine of Christ, coming again and again to renew our world.
26 November 2006
John 18:33-37
Reign of Christ Sunday
Pilate was in a fix. Torn as it were. Now don’t feel too sorry for him—he is known to have been a cruel and heartless ruler. He was the face of the Roman government in Judea; the envoy of Caesar, reporting directly to Caesar. And he ruled with a particularly heavy and fierce hand.
But on this day, the day we heard about in our gospel reading from John, Pilate faced two realms. He stood there between the realm of Jesus and the kingdom of Caesar. If you read the proceedings of the whole trial, as John puts it in his gospel starting at verse 28 up to verse 16 in the next chapter, you’ll notice that Pilate goes back and forth several times between the crowd outside and Jesus, whom he is interrogating.
He faces the two realms: the world, as played by the crowd, and the realm of God, as exemplified by Jesus. The world is particularly severe in their blood thirst that day. They cry out for Jesus’ crucifixion. Pilate in the meantime is trying to discover what it is about Jesus that warrants death.
Pilate is indeed caught in between the two. On one hand, he doesn’t want a riot on his hands from the crowd. Nor does he want angry letters from the Jewish leadership going back to his boss in Rome. But, on the other hand, he has a man here who seems innocent. And, maybe, just maybe, Pilate caught an ever-so-brief glimpse of Jesus’ realm; that realm of love and peace. Can a man like Pilate catch a glimpse such as that? I suppose so; the question is whether he cares enough about that glimpse to act.
But Pilate continued that day to face the two realms: the one of Caesar, the other of Jesus. Between these two realms, he hovered, sometimes touching down in the world, at other times facing the realm of God as represented by this itinerant Jewish teacher.
Between two worlds. How often do we find ourselves in that position? Facing the world and its enticements on the one hand while recognizing that God’s realm is beckoning us on the other. We stand, astride the two, like the ancient Colossus of Rhodes stood astride the Mediterranean in ancient Greece.
The kingdom of this world uses all its powers to lure us into its web. We just have to watch an hour of tv to find out that we’re not driving the right car, buying our kids the right toys or drinking the right beers. If only we’d buy the right car, all would be well in our world. Our kids would grow up to be the brightest and best with the correct toys. And of course, drinking the right beer gets us the most beautiful babes; or hunks, depending on what you’re looking for.
This world will beguile you with its methods. It’s easy to fall under the spell of this realm. We do it every day, when we ignore a homeless person at our feet; or when we react with contempt and perhaps rage when another driver somehow wrongs us. We are under the spell of this world’s realm when we buy more things to soothe our pain, or when we seek solace through material possessions.
This world’s realm was signified by Caesar in Pilate’s day but now I think that Fifth Avenue is a more likely candidate to represent the realm of our world today. We crave things because we’re bombarded constantly by messages that you’re not good enough until you own more.
I believe it was John D. Rockefeller who was asked how much money is enough and he was quoted as saying, “One more dollar.” We’re never quite there to enough.
We’re entering the time of our most rampant consumption for our culture. Indeed, with “Shopping Friday” already behind us, the time has come, in our culture and society, for us to buy, buy, buy. That is clearly a sign of our world’s realm.
Another sign of our world’s realm would be the wars and fighting that are going on. Christ’s realm doesn’t include war or fighting. Throughout the earth we have battles going on: in the Sudan, Northern Ireland, Afghanistan, Iraq and so many others. The world’s realm continues to be one of greed and fighting: fighting often in the name of greed.
As terrible as I’ve drawn it, we are more comfortable in this world’s realm. We walk a tightrope between the two realms, sometimes favoring one side, sometimes glancing at the other. But clearly we are part and parcel of the world’s realm, catching glimpses, maybe like Pilate, of the other realm; the realm of Jesus.
We, as professed Christians, need to keep Christ’s realm before us always. We need to keep in sight this kingdom of peace and joy. It’s available to us. But it is a decision that we have to make. We have to cast off this world and work for the coming of God’s realm in our time. A time when wars cease and no one, child or adult, goes to bed hungry or without a roof over their head. A time when our elected government doesn’t matter anymore and we are ruled by one whose word is trustworthy and immutable.
It is a balancing act: living in this world but keeping an eye on Christ’s realm. But viewing the beauty of that kingdom will leave us wanting more; it will leave us with an urge to work to bring it to full fruition; work that will take us to the places where God is needed most.
Reign of Christ Sunday
Pilate was in a fix. Torn as it were. Now don’t feel too sorry for him—he is known to have been a cruel and heartless ruler. He was the face of the Roman government in Judea; the envoy of Caesar, reporting directly to Caesar. And he ruled with a particularly heavy and fierce hand.
But on this day, the day we heard about in our gospel reading from John, Pilate faced two realms. He stood there between the realm of Jesus and the kingdom of Caesar. If you read the proceedings of the whole trial, as John puts it in his gospel starting at verse 28 up to verse 16 in the next chapter, you’ll notice that Pilate goes back and forth several times between the crowd outside and Jesus, whom he is interrogating.
He faces the two realms: the world, as played by the crowd, and the realm of God, as exemplified by Jesus. The world is particularly severe in their blood thirst that day. They cry out for Jesus’ crucifixion. Pilate in the meantime is trying to discover what it is about Jesus that warrants death.
Pilate is indeed caught in between the two. On one hand, he doesn’t want a riot on his hands from the crowd. Nor does he want angry letters from the Jewish leadership going back to his boss in Rome. But, on the other hand, he has a man here who seems innocent. And, maybe, just maybe, Pilate caught an ever-so-brief glimpse of Jesus’ realm; that realm of love and peace. Can a man like Pilate catch a glimpse such as that? I suppose so; the question is whether he cares enough about that glimpse to act.
But Pilate continued that day to face the two realms: the one of Caesar, the other of Jesus. Between these two realms, he hovered, sometimes touching down in the world, at other times facing the realm of God as represented by this itinerant Jewish teacher.
Between two worlds. How often do we find ourselves in that position? Facing the world and its enticements on the one hand while recognizing that God’s realm is beckoning us on the other. We stand, astride the two, like the ancient Colossus of Rhodes stood astride the Mediterranean in ancient Greece.
The kingdom of this world uses all its powers to lure us into its web. We just have to watch an hour of tv to find out that we’re not driving the right car, buying our kids the right toys or drinking the right beers. If only we’d buy the right car, all would be well in our world. Our kids would grow up to be the brightest and best with the correct toys. And of course, drinking the right beer gets us the most beautiful babes; or hunks, depending on what you’re looking for.
This world will beguile you with its methods. It’s easy to fall under the spell of this realm. We do it every day, when we ignore a homeless person at our feet; or when we react with contempt and perhaps rage when another driver somehow wrongs us. We are under the spell of this world’s realm when we buy more things to soothe our pain, or when we seek solace through material possessions.
This world’s realm was signified by Caesar in Pilate’s day but now I think that Fifth Avenue is a more likely candidate to represent the realm of our world today. We crave things because we’re bombarded constantly by messages that you’re not good enough until you own more.
I believe it was John D. Rockefeller who was asked how much money is enough and he was quoted as saying, “One more dollar.” We’re never quite there to enough.
We’re entering the time of our most rampant consumption for our culture. Indeed, with “Shopping Friday” already behind us, the time has come, in our culture and society, for us to buy, buy, buy. That is clearly a sign of our world’s realm.
Another sign of our world’s realm would be the wars and fighting that are going on. Christ’s realm doesn’t include war or fighting. Throughout the earth we have battles going on: in the Sudan, Northern Ireland, Afghanistan, Iraq and so many others. The world’s realm continues to be one of greed and fighting: fighting often in the name of greed.
As terrible as I’ve drawn it, we are more comfortable in this world’s realm. We walk a tightrope between the two realms, sometimes favoring one side, sometimes glancing at the other. But clearly we are part and parcel of the world’s realm, catching glimpses, maybe like Pilate, of the other realm; the realm of Jesus.
We, as professed Christians, need to keep Christ’s realm before us always. We need to keep in sight this kingdom of peace and joy. It’s available to us. But it is a decision that we have to make. We have to cast off this world and work for the coming of God’s realm in our time. A time when wars cease and no one, child or adult, goes to bed hungry or without a roof over their head. A time when our elected government doesn’t matter anymore and we are ruled by one whose word is trustworthy and immutable.
It is a balancing act: living in this world but keeping an eye on Christ’s realm. But viewing the beauty of that kingdom will leave us wanting more; it will leave us with an urge to work to bring it to full fruition; work that will take us to the places where God is needed most.
29 October 2006
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
We’ve been following the story of Job for the past three weeks in the lectionary. Today’s reading culminates the lectionary’s selections from Job. Job is part of the wisdom writings in the Hebrew Bible, which are those writings, like the Psalms, Proverbs and others, that don’t fit into the categories of the law and the prophets. Job is a story to remind us of God’s greatness and power. Today’s reading concludes the book of Job and gives it the happy ending we all want.
At the beginning of the book, we first heard how Job was a blameless and upright man: a man with whom God was pleased. But in a sort of bet with God, Satan gets to inflict sores all over Job’s body. Job’s wife wanted Job to just curse God and get it over with. But Job remained a good and righteous man—even through the itching and the scratching. In the process Job loses everything he has, including his family. Over the following two weeks we hear short selections of the 42 books of Job.
The parts that the lectionary left out are long discourses by friends of Job, who show up when they hear of Job’s suffering.. They come and sit in silence for seven days with Job. Just sitting there as he’s rubbing his sores. Maybe they’re stunned by Job’s misfortune. Perhaps they are planning what they’re going to say—because each of them has a lot to say.
The friends of Job basically have three things to say (since there’s three of them it makes sense). According to Anna Grant-Henderson, an Old Testament scholar in Australia, the friends come with three basic premises:
1 “Eliphaz comes with the basic premise that the innocent never suffer permanently. He believes that Job is essentially innocent and consequently his suffering will be over soon (Clines:1989, xl). But even the most innocent of humans must expect to suffer deservedly.
2 Bildad is even more convinced about the doctrine of retribution after seeing the demise of Job's family- they must have been very wicked. However, Job is still alive and there must be some hope for him
3 Zophar has no intention of trying to lessen the sin for Job. He is guilty because he is suffering and even worse, Job refuses to acknowledge it, therefore he is a far worse sinner than anyone could have imagined. Zophar offers little hope.” (http://oldtestamentlectionary.unitingchurch.org.au/2006/October/Pent21Job42_06.htm)
But none of them seem to hit the nail on the head as far as Job is concerned. They all far short. Job hasn’t sinned and Job doesn’t deserve any punishment.
Then, Job raises his voice in question to God, Godself. But he claims he doesn’t know where to find God. God seems to be absent in the midst of all this, Job says. “If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face,” Job says (23:17). I don’t think anyone us fault Job in the midst of all this. Who wouldn’t take his side? Where is God?
Well, God has a few things to say to Job, finally. We heard some of God’s words last week: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements—surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (38:4-7) In other words, do you really think you’re significant enough to question me? God doesn’t really provide an answer to Job or the friends about Job’s suffering.
In today’s reading, as I said, we get the happy ending. Job answers back to God and basically says that he didn’t know what he was talking about and that God’s majesty is beyond human understanding. And then God restored the fortunes of Job, to twice what they were before.
An interesting side note that has scholars and others wondering is that oddly enough, Job’s daughters are named in the book: Jemimah, Keziah and Keren-happuch. But his sons are not named. And the author of Job further goes on to point out that Job included his daughters in his inheritance. This would truly be an unheard of thing during this time period. Did the author of Job want to emphasize how tremendously gracious God had been to Job and that Job was passing that on? We may never know.
The book of Job is all about suffering and God’s place in that suffering. I’m reminded, through all of this, of what I consider to be the worst funeral sermon I’ve ever heard in my life. It was at the funeral of my Uncle Gerald, who had died after a long, difficult and painful struggle with cancer. The preacher at the funeral said, trying to explain why my uncle’s life at the end had to be so difficult, that perhaps it was because of some small sin that he had committed in his childhood. That was not a satisfactory answer to most of my family there that day.
We try to explain suffering. We try to understand why some people suffer and others don’t. We try to attach suffering to actions or behaviors. But none of it makes the sufferer any less unhappy with his or her suffering. But what do we believe about suffering and where do we believe God is in the midst of suffering?
I don’t believe that some evil form personified, such as the devil, goes around and attacks people just to see how faithful they are to God. Nor does God inflict suffering so that God can see how faithful the sufferer remains. Nor do I believe that God metes out suffering to us according to our sinfulness.
We are just mere humans, as Job learned, who have no idea about God’s ultimate majesty. But I do believe that God suffers with us. As each human goes through suffering of whatever kind, God is there with them.
The book of Job is instructive to us. Not because it answers the big questions about suffering, but because it reminds us of God’s power and God’s majesty in the midst of suffering. This is not about justice—it is about God’s mercy. And God’s mercy is wider than we can imagine.
We’ve been following the story of Job for the past three weeks in the lectionary. Today’s reading culminates the lectionary’s selections from Job. Job is part of the wisdom writings in the Hebrew Bible, which are those writings, like the Psalms, Proverbs and others, that don’t fit into the categories of the law and the prophets. Job is a story to remind us of God’s greatness and power. Today’s reading concludes the book of Job and gives it the happy ending we all want.
At the beginning of the book, we first heard how Job was a blameless and upright man: a man with whom God was pleased. But in a sort of bet with God, Satan gets to inflict sores all over Job’s body. Job’s wife wanted Job to just curse God and get it over with. But Job remained a good and righteous man—even through the itching and the scratching. In the process Job loses everything he has, including his family. Over the following two weeks we hear short selections of the 42 books of Job.
The parts that the lectionary left out are long discourses by friends of Job, who show up when they hear of Job’s suffering.. They come and sit in silence for seven days with Job. Just sitting there as he’s rubbing his sores. Maybe they’re stunned by Job’s misfortune. Perhaps they are planning what they’re going to say—because each of them has a lot to say.
The friends of Job basically have three things to say (since there’s three of them it makes sense). According to Anna Grant-Henderson, an Old Testament scholar in Australia, the friends come with three basic premises:
1 “Eliphaz comes with the basic premise that the innocent never suffer permanently. He believes that Job is essentially innocent and consequently his suffering will be over soon (Clines:1989, xl). But even the most innocent of humans must expect to suffer deservedly.
2 Bildad is even more convinced about the doctrine of retribution after seeing the demise of Job's family- they must have been very wicked. However, Job is still alive and there must be some hope for him
3 Zophar has no intention of trying to lessen the sin for Job. He is guilty because he is suffering and even worse, Job refuses to acknowledge it, therefore he is a far worse sinner than anyone could have imagined. Zophar offers little hope.” (http://oldtestamentlectionary.unitingchurch.org.au/2006/October/Pent21Job42_06.htm)
But none of them seem to hit the nail on the head as far as Job is concerned. They all far short. Job hasn’t sinned and Job doesn’t deserve any punishment.
Then, Job raises his voice in question to God, Godself. But he claims he doesn’t know where to find God. God seems to be absent in the midst of all this, Job says. “If only I could vanish in darkness, and thick darkness would cover my face,” Job says (23:17). I don’t think anyone us fault Job in the midst of all this. Who wouldn’t take his side? Where is God?
Well, God has a few things to say to Job, finally. We heard some of God’s words last week: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements—surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (38:4-7) In other words, do you really think you’re significant enough to question me? God doesn’t really provide an answer to Job or the friends about Job’s suffering.
In today’s reading, as I said, we get the happy ending. Job answers back to God and basically says that he didn’t know what he was talking about and that God’s majesty is beyond human understanding. And then God restored the fortunes of Job, to twice what they were before.
An interesting side note that has scholars and others wondering is that oddly enough, Job’s daughters are named in the book: Jemimah, Keziah and Keren-happuch. But his sons are not named. And the author of Job further goes on to point out that Job included his daughters in his inheritance. This would truly be an unheard of thing during this time period. Did the author of Job want to emphasize how tremendously gracious God had been to Job and that Job was passing that on? We may never know.
The book of Job is all about suffering and God’s place in that suffering. I’m reminded, through all of this, of what I consider to be the worst funeral sermon I’ve ever heard in my life. It was at the funeral of my Uncle Gerald, who had died after a long, difficult and painful struggle with cancer. The preacher at the funeral said, trying to explain why my uncle’s life at the end had to be so difficult, that perhaps it was because of some small sin that he had committed in his childhood. That was not a satisfactory answer to most of my family there that day.
We try to explain suffering. We try to understand why some people suffer and others don’t. We try to attach suffering to actions or behaviors. But none of it makes the sufferer any less unhappy with his or her suffering. But what do we believe about suffering and where do we believe God is in the midst of suffering?
I don’t believe that some evil form personified, such as the devil, goes around and attacks people just to see how faithful they are to God. Nor does God inflict suffering so that God can see how faithful the sufferer remains. Nor do I believe that God metes out suffering to us according to our sinfulness.
We are just mere humans, as Job learned, who have no idea about God’s ultimate majesty. But I do believe that God suffers with us. As each human goes through suffering of whatever kind, God is there with them.
The book of Job is instructive to us. Not because it answers the big questions about suffering, but because it reminds us of God’s power and God’s majesty in the midst of suffering. This is not about justice—it is about God’s mercy. And God’s mercy is wider than we can imagine.
22 October 2006
Mark 10: 35-45
James and John were not so off base in their request and Jesus knew it. That’s why his rebuke was softer than it could have been. James and John, as we know from the gospel reading this morning approached Jesus. Their first statement was not the actual request. It was a pre-request, similar to what a child might try with a parent. “Agree to give us whatever we want.” Just like that. Just agree to what we want and we’ll all be happy. Of course the reason they couched it like that was that they knew that Jesus would have problems with their request.
And Jesus, like a good parent, doesn’t agree to give them what they want, but instead just asks what it is that they are requesting. That’s when James and John have to show their hand. “We want to sit next to you, one on the right, one on the left, in glory.” They wanted the best seats in the house when Jesus gets to rule. They wanted the places of importance. Prime real estate.
Unfortunately, to our ears, we think of Jesus reigning in glory post-resurrection: Jesus, the eternal ruler, reigning in heaven. It’s unfortunate because we lose the actual request that James and John were making.
Of course, the disciples, in spite of Jesus’ predictions of his own death, were still counting on Jesus being an earthly ruler. There was still the expectation that Jesus would stride into Jerusalem and take over as ruler of Israel, expelling the outside oppressors and tumbling the corrupt religious rulers of the day. Then Jesus would hold court, with of course, James and John in seats of power, right next to him.
We think that James and John have the same viewpoint that we have—Jesus reigning in glory for all time and they want to be there with him. We miss out on the fact that they were watching for earthly power and glory.
They didn’t understand the suffering aspect of Jesus ascendance to glory. Even though he goes on to explain it. In fact, just prior to these verses which we heard this morning, Jesus predicts his own death. But the disciples can be pretty blind. They miss the references to death and suffering and continue to believe in the limited ruler—a Jesus who just has an earthly rule.
So we have it; James and John seeking, trying to get in before the rush of the other disciples, to get the good seats in the house. Sure, they said they could drink of the cup from which Jesus drinks and be baptized by the same baptism as Jesus, but they didn’t know really what that meant. It’s easy for us to read these words and know exactly what Jesus meant, but the disciples missed what was actually going to happen.
How much like the disciples are we? Especially like James & John? Even with our hindsight, how much do we miss in what Jesus is trying to communicate?
Each of us here would no doubt like a seat in glory next to Jesus. But are we ready to go through the needed steps to get there? Do we really know what we’re asking? Do we know what it means to be followers of Jesus? Do we understand the suffering? Have we got a good grasp on what it means to drink the cup and be baptized by Jesus’ baptism? Are we able to perceive the meaning of Jesus’ words when he tells us he doesn’t rule as earthly rulers rule?
The ten other disciples, we’re told were angry with James & John for their request, no doubt because each of them wanted to request the very same thing. Yet none of them understood what that meant any better than James & John did. No one seems to get Jesus. No one seems to grasp onto his message of serving and suffering on behalf of others.
Do we? Do we really get the message of Jesus when it comes to what we must do as followers? Or are we like the disciples who want the seats of power and glory without the difficult work to get there? Anyone who claims to want to follow Jesus without fear and trembling is missing the point.
What are you expecting of Jesus? Do you know what you’re asking for in your expectations? We put expectations on Jesus that may or may not be fulfilled. And the onus of dealing with those expectations falls on us.
We are more like the disciples than we care to admit. We want Jesus our way—whatever that may mean to each of us. But are we prepared for Jesus, Jesus’ way? We put so many expectations on Jesus, even though we have the benefit of hindsight that the original disciples didn’t have.
Jesus turns power on its head and reminds us that we must be servants to each other. Jesus’ followers, his disciples of whatever age, are set off and against the predominant culture. This is easier to remember for the earliest followers of The Way, as early Christians were called. The distinction between the earliest disciples and their culture was easier to see. But that distinction must be made by us today. We are to set ourselves against our culture. This means that we have to turn our culture on its head.
By doing so, we see that those whom we serve are those to whom Jesus calls us: the poor, the left out, the marginalized. Not those in power, those who rule with their money or those who are at the center of the culture’s celebrity fascination.
Following Jesus may not be easy. It may not be what we expect or want. We may be more like the disciples in our outlook. We may not have the correct expectations of Jesus and seek out perverse variations of Jesus’ power. But we can become true followers of Jesus by serving and preparing to suffer. Then we are truly drinking of the cup from which Jesus drank and sharing in his baptism.
James and John were not so off base in their request and Jesus knew it. That’s why his rebuke was softer than it could have been. James and John, as we know from the gospel reading this morning approached Jesus. Their first statement was not the actual request. It was a pre-request, similar to what a child might try with a parent. “Agree to give us whatever we want.” Just like that. Just agree to what we want and we’ll all be happy. Of course the reason they couched it like that was that they knew that Jesus would have problems with their request.
And Jesus, like a good parent, doesn’t agree to give them what they want, but instead just asks what it is that they are requesting. That’s when James and John have to show their hand. “We want to sit next to you, one on the right, one on the left, in glory.” They wanted the best seats in the house when Jesus gets to rule. They wanted the places of importance. Prime real estate.
Unfortunately, to our ears, we think of Jesus reigning in glory post-resurrection: Jesus, the eternal ruler, reigning in heaven. It’s unfortunate because we lose the actual request that James and John were making.
Of course, the disciples, in spite of Jesus’ predictions of his own death, were still counting on Jesus being an earthly ruler. There was still the expectation that Jesus would stride into Jerusalem and take over as ruler of Israel, expelling the outside oppressors and tumbling the corrupt religious rulers of the day. Then Jesus would hold court, with of course, James and John in seats of power, right next to him.
We think that James and John have the same viewpoint that we have—Jesus reigning in glory for all time and they want to be there with him. We miss out on the fact that they were watching for earthly power and glory.
They didn’t understand the suffering aspect of Jesus ascendance to glory. Even though he goes on to explain it. In fact, just prior to these verses which we heard this morning, Jesus predicts his own death. But the disciples can be pretty blind. They miss the references to death and suffering and continue to believe in the limited ruler—a Jesus who just has an earthly rule.
So we have it; James and John seeking, trying to get in before the rush of the other disciples, to get the good seats in the house. Sure, they said they could drink of the cup from which Jesus drinks and be baptized by the same baptism as Jesus, but they didn’t know really what that meant. It’s easy for us to read these words and know exactly what Jesus meant, but the disciples missed what was actually going to happen.
How much like the disciples are we? Especially like James & John? Even with our hindsight, how much do we miss in what Jesus is trying to communicate?
Each of us here would no doubt like a seat in glory next to Jesus. But are we ready to go through the needed steps to get there? Do we really know what we’re asking? Do we know what it means to be followers of Jesus? Do we understand the suffering? Have we got a good grasp on what it means to drink the cup and be baptized by Jesus’ baptism? Are we able to perceive the meaning of Jesus’ words when he tells us he doesn’t rule as earthly rulers rule?
The ten other disciples, we’re told were angry with James & John for their request, no doubt because each of them wanted to request the very same thing. Yet none of them understood what that meant any better than James & John did. No one seems to get Jesus. No one seems to grasp onto his message of serving and suffering on behalf of others.
Do we? Do we really get the message of Jesus when it comes to what we must do as followers? Or are we like the disciples who want the seats of power and glory without the difficult work to get there? Anyone who claims to want to follow Jesus without fear and trembling is missing the point.
What are you expecting of Jesus? Do you know what you’re asking for in your expectations? We put expectations on Jesus that may or may not be fulfilled. And the onus of dealing with those expectations falls on us.
We are more like the disciples than we care to admit. We want Jesus our way—whatever that may mean to each of us. But are we prepared for Jesus, Jesus’ way? We put so many expectations on Jesus, even though we have the benefit of hindsight that the original disciples didn’t have.
Jesus turns power on its head and reminds us that we must be servants to each other. Jesus’ followers, his disciples of whatever age, are set off and against the predominant culture. This is easier to remember for the earliest followers of The Way, as early Christians were called. The distinction between the earliest disciples and their culture was easier to see. But that distinction must be made by us today. We are to set ourselves against our culture. This means that we have to turn our culture on its head.
By doing so, we see that those whom we serve are those to whom Jesus calls us: the poor, the left out, the marginalized. Not those in power, those who rule with their money or those who are at the center of the culture’s celebrity fascination.
Following Jesus may not be easy. It may not be what we expect or want. We may be more like the disciples in our outlook. We may not have the correct expectations of Jesus and seek out perverse variations of Jesus’ power. But we can become true followers of Jesus by serving and preparing to suffer. Then we are truly drinking of the cup from which Jesus drank and sharing in his baptism.
15 October 2006
Mark 10:17-31
Another difficult passage. Two weeks in a row. And actually together in Mark’s gospel. First we have the passage about divorce and now this about wealth. It’s surprising that we want to call ourselves a Christian nation with these passages as part of the package. I had a seminary professor who said our country was based on denial and greed. And these passages hit right at the heart of each of these.
We spent some time last week on what to do with these difficult verses. Today I hope to delve a little more deeply into this particular passage. It is also difficult to me. One on which I’d rather not preach, I must confess, but one that we ignore at our own peril.
The passage is of course about wealth and getting into the kingdom of God. And it’s not good news. In fact, it turns good news on its ear. At the time that Jesus spoke these words (and to many in our culture) wealth was a sign of God’s favor. If God is pleased with you, you will have possessions. The more God is pleased with you, the more you will have.
This must certainly have been a surprise to the young man who came to see Jesus. As one who had many possessions, he thought he was pretty close to being right there where he needed to be. But then reality sets in. He hears Jesus’ words; he hears those verbs that mean to change his life: go, sell, give, come, follow. Quoting the passage: “Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘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.’” Go, sell, give, come, follow.
The story of the rich young ruler is in all three gospels. Each is a little different though—Matthew tells us he’s young. Luke tells us that he’s a ruler. Mark leaves out those details and sticks to the one fact that’s important: he’s rich.
And he’s a good man; he follows the law and has since his youth. He’s a model citizen. If anyone is bound for heaven, he is. But there’s one thing wrong. Go, sell, give, come, follow.
It saddens him, we’re told. He’s sad because he has many possessions. And no doubt he’s attached to his possessions and the lifestyle that goes with them. He’s comfortable. He lives a life of ease, no doubt. But then there’s suddenly go, sell, give, come, follow.
We don’t know what happened to the young man. Did he do as Jesus said? Did he go, sell, give, come, follow? Or did he return to his life of ease, continuing to follow the commandments except for this one from Jesus? We’ll never know, as nothing more is recorded of him in scripture. We don’t know what became of him.
This scripture strikes home to me. Though I am far from considering myself wealthy, I do seem to have my own bit of possessions. Now if I were to sell them all, I doubt I could do much to help the poor, since most of my possessions aren’t worth that much. But still, I know where my next meal is coming from. I have things that have value to me. I have a regular roof over my head and live fairly easily. Compared to much of the world, I’m wealthy, even though by US standards, I’m not high on the charts of wealth. But compared to God’s children throughout the world, I am doing extremely well.
And I daresay so are most of us in this room this morning. If you’re not worried about how your next meal will find you, if you have more than cardboard or a tarp to keep the elements from yourself, if you have a bank account, with any amount in it, this scripture applies to you.
Go, sell, give, come, follow. Each of those verbs is a commandment to us. They aren’t contextually based in the 1st century solely and don’t apply only to rich, young rulers of the 1st century. They are our verbs; our uncomfortable commandments to figure out what we are to do with them.
This isn’t a stewardship sermon, but it’s sure going to sound like one before I’m through. Because this scripture is all about deciding how we deal with our wealth. Do we use it to help others? Do we invest it in places that need our income rather than those places that will just increase our wealth?
Our giving is of consequence. How and where we use our wealth is important to God. There’s no doubt about it. This scripture makes that clear. Go, sell, give, come, follow. Those verbs just hang there and accuse us.
And of course, it’s not just giving that matters. It’s the come, follow part too that gets us. Not only do we have to deal with our wealth, we must then follow Jesus’ precepts and teachings, which is not the easiest thing to do always. We have to be poor and good? What are you thinking, Jesus?! Isn’t one enough?
Can’t we simply follow you without a concern to our giving? Or how about if we are giving and generous with our wealth but don’t necessarily follow you? Does it have to be both? All those verbs are beginning to get to us. They get in the way of our lives and really distract us from important matters.
But that’s what we’re asked to do. Go, sell, give, come, follow. All parts are important. Jesus not only invites us to do these things but commands it.
The good news of this scripture is that it’s all God’s decision when it comes down to it. Even though we have the image of a camel going through a needle’s eye, an impossible task to all of us here, Jesus tells us and the disciples that anything is possible with God.
But in the meantime go, sell, give, come, follow. These are the words to guide our lives.
Another difficult passage. Two weeks in a row. And actually together in Mark’s gospel. First we have the passage about divorce and now this about wealth. It’s surprising that we want to call ourselves a Christian nation with these passages as part of the package. I had a seminary professor who said our country was based on denial and greed. And these passages hit right at the heart of each of these.
We spent some time last week on what to do with these difficult verses. Today I hope to delve a little more deeply into this particular passage. It is also difficult to me. One on which I’d rather not preach, I must confess, but one that we ignore at our own peril.
The passage is of course about wealth and getting into the kingdom of God. And it’s not good news. In fact, it turns good news on its ear. At the time that Jesus spoke these words (and to many in our culture) wealth was a sign of God’s favor. If God is pleased with you, you will have possessions. The more God is pleased with you, the more you will have.
This must certainly have been a surprise to the young man who came to see Jesus. As one who had many possessions, he thought he was pretty close to being right there where he needed to be. But then reality sets in. He hears Jesus’ words; he hears those verbs that mean to change his life: go, sell, give, come, follow. Quoting the passage: “Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘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.’” Go, sell, give, come, follow.
The story of the rich young ruler is in all three gospels. Each is a little different though—Matthew tells us he’s young. Luke tells us that he’s a ruler. Mark leaves out those details and sticks to the one fact that’s important: he’s rich.
And he’s a good man; he follows the law and has since his youth. He’s a model citizen. If anyone is bound for heaven, he is. But there’s one thing wrong. Go, sell, give, come, follow.
It saddens him, we’re told. He’s sad because he has many possessions. And no doubt he’s attached to his possessions and the lifestyle that goes with them. He’s comfortable. He lives a life of ease, no doubt. But then there’s suddenly go, sell, give, come, follow.
We don’t know what happened to the young man. Did he do as Jesus said? Did he go, sell, give, come, follow? Or did he return to his life of ease, continuing to follow the commandments except for this one from Jesus? We’ll never know, as nothing more is recorded of him in scripture. We don’t know what became of him.
This scripture strikes home to me. Though I am far from considering myself wealthy, I do seem to have my own bit of possessions. Now if I were to sell them all, I doubt I could do much to help the poor, since most of my possessions aren’t worth that much. But still, I know where my next meal is coming from. I have things that have value to me. I have a regular roof over my head and live fairly easily. Compared to much of the world, I’m wealthy, even though by US standards, I’m not high on the charts of wealth. But compared to God’s children throughout the world, I am doing extremely well.
And I daresay so are most of us in this room this morning. If you’re not worried about how your next meal will find you, if you have more than cardboard or a tarp to keep the elements from yourself, if you have a bank account, with any amount in it, this scripture applies to you.
Go, sell, give, come, follow. Each of those verbs is a commandment to us. They aren’t contextually based in the 1st century solely and don’t apply only to rich, young rulers of the 1st century. They are our verbs; our uncomfortable commandments to figure out what we are to do with them.
This isn’t a stewardship sermon, but it’s sure going to sound like one before I’m through. Because this scripture is all about deciding how we deal with our wealth. Do we use it to help others? Do we invest it in places that need our income rather than those places that will just increase our wealth?
Our giving is of consequence. How and where we use our wealth is important to God. There’s no doubt about it. This scripture makes that clear. Go, sell, give, come, follow. Those verbs just hang there and accuse us.
And of course, it’s not just giving that matters. It’s the come, follow part too that gets us. Not only do we have to deal with our wealth, we must then follow Jesus’ precepts and teachings, which is not the easiest thing to do always. We have to be poor and good? What are you thinking, Jesus?! Isn’t one enough?
Can’t we simply follow you without a concern to our giving? Or how about if we are giving and generous with our wealth but don’t necessarily follow you? Does it have to be both? All those verbs are beginning to get to us. They get in the way of our lives and really distract us from important matters.
But that’s what we’re asked to do. Go, sell, give, come, follow. All parts are important. Jesus not only invites us to do these things but commands it.
The good news of this scripture is that it’s all God’s decision when it comes down to it. Even though we have the image of a camel going through a needle’s eye, an impossible task to all of us here, Jesus tells us and the disciples that anything is possible with God.
But in the meantime go, sell, give, come, follow. These are the words to guide our lives.
17 September 2006
060917ser
Mark 8:27-38
Put yourself in Peter’s shoes in our reading from Mark this morning. One minute he’s flying high because he got it right—he proclaimed Jesus as the Messiah. “Who do you say I am,” asked Jesus. And Peter responds, “You are the Messiah.” “You are the Christ.” “You are the anointed one.” “You are the savior.”
It was quite a moment. There they were in Caesarea Philippi and Jesus is alone with the disciples at this point. And Peter gets it right. Though the other disciples, echoing the voices of the crowds, declare that Jesus is John the Baptist come back to life or Elijah come back to earth or one of the prophets, Peter, speaking for the rest of the disciples states quite openly that Jesus is the messiah.
The Jewish messiah was the one who was anointed to save: to save Israel—to save it from foreign domination. The messiah would be the one who would bring back the glory of Israel, of God’s kingdom on earth, and bring to fruition God’s promises to the ancient Hebrew people of a land.
There hadn’t been a country of Judah or Israel for centuries. Ever since the 6th century bc the political entity of Judah had been taken over by others, except for a brief period of time. So the Jews were looking for an anointed one to save them; to bring them back to the glory of David’s kingdom.
That’s the context in which Peter makes his declaration of Jesus’ messiahship. Now whether Peter believed that Jesus was going to restore the kingdom of Judah or Israel, we don’t know. But certainly if that’s what he believed, he would be no different that anyone else in Israel at the time. All were looking for a messiah to come and save them from the Roman empire, the current oppressors. So you can’t fault Peter if he had high expectations of what a messiah would do.
That’s why the rebuke that Peter received just following this moment must have been so surprising to him. For Jesus went on to explain, immediately following this declaration of messiahship, that he was going to suffer and die. The messiah would suffer? The messiah would die? Impossible!
The juxtaposition is strong. Declared the messiah at one point and then pronouncing his own suffering, death & resurrection. It didn’t make sense. That’s when Peter blows it. Peter, riding on the high of getting it right, goes ahead and rebukes Jesus. What a thing to do. It’s not a word we use often but it’s found twice in this passage. Peter rebukes Jesus.
To Peter, and most Jews, the messiah cannot suffer, none the less die at the hands of the political and religious leaders of the day. The messiah is untouchable when it comes to suffering. To think that the one who is anointed to save Israel would undergo any suffering was, once again, impossible. And Peter wastes no time in pointing this out.
But Jesus turns around and does his own rebuking. And does it in a forceful and unwavering way: “Get behind me Satan,” he says. “For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
Peter (and probably the others, to be fair) is thinking of the messiah in human terms, but Jesus has God’s plan in mind; God’s plan which involves all of creation; all humankind; not just the political state of Israel. A messiah who will defeat not the enemies of the Jewish state, but a messiah who will defeat the final enemy: death. That’s the messiah that Jesus knew himself to be. Though Jesus was a good Jewish teacher he envisioned a mission broader than the one that Peter and the other disciples saw; that they could only see because of their limited, human scope.
So Peter goes from the high of getting it right by proclaiming Jesus as the messiah but then finds himself being rebuked and even called “Satan” within moments of his astute proclamation. It must have been quite a precipitous fall.
How often do we do that? We catch a glimmer of the Truth, with a capital T, and then moments later waste that Truth by turning it into earthly terms. How often are we like Peter, glimpsing and proclaiming some vastly wonderful piece of information only to use it in some way that is less than heavenly?
It’s like catching a glimpse of God’s all-powerfulness in a moment of clarity and then immediately using it to ask for a parking space. We don’t have any idea of how abusing such power might affect ourselves or others.
We live in an age in which many would like to tell us who Jesus is. Just like the disciples answering that others think Jesus is John the Baptist, Elijah or a prophet. We have those who insist on a formulaic answer to who Jesus is and leave little room for other responses.
But we have to decide for ourselves who we think Jesus is and then figure out what that means. If we declare Jesus the messiah, that just isn’t enough. For, if we’re not careful, we can be like Peter and begin to rebuke Jesus when he doesn’t turn out to be what we expected. We have to pay attention to Jesus himself as he tells us who he is and what he must go through.
We don’t like a suffering messiah. We want an unscarred hand on our shoulder. We don’t want to know that our messiah suffers like the rest of us. Our image is too rapped up in the old westerns where the hero gets shot in the shoulder and bravely goes on anyways. That’s the hero we want and we want our messiah to be a hero. The one who saves us needs to be impermeable and teflon-coated.
But Jesus has other ideas. He knows that messiahship is messy. It’s not a pretty game. He knows what he has to go through. And nothing in our attitude or Peter’s desires can stop it.
But where does that leave us? With a messiah with scarred hands that have been wounded. And unlike Peter, we have the benefit of hindsight that puts some balm on the sting of rebuke that we might feel. But we can feel those scarred hands healing and comforting us. And we know that our messiah has conquered death.
We need to ask ourselves, “Who do you say Jesus is?” We need to be continually asking ourselves that question. We may not like what Jesus says to us in reply, but we are continually comforted by those scarred hands of the messiah.
Mark 8:27-38
Put yourself in Peter’s shoes in our reading from Mark this morning. One minute he’s flying high because he got it right—he proclaimed Jesus as the Messiah. “Who do you say I am,” asked Jesus. And Peter responds, “You are the Messiah.” “You are the Christ.” “You are the anointed one.” “You are the savior.”
It was quite a moment. There they were in Caesarea Philippi and Jesus is alone with the disciples at this point. And Peter gets it right. Though the other disciples, echoing the voices of the crowds, declare that Jesus is John the Baptist come back to life or Elijah come back to earth or one of the prophets, Peter, speaking for the rest of the disciples states quite openly that Jesus is the messiah.
The Jewish messiah was the one who was anointed to save: to save Israel—to save it from foreign domination. The messiah would be the one who would bring back the glory of Israel, of God’s kingdom on earth, and bring to fruition God’s promises to the ancient Hebrew people of a land.
There hadn’t been a country of Judah or Israel for centuries. Ever since the 6th century bc the political entity of Judah had been taken over by others, except for a brief period of time. So the Jews were looking for an anointed one to save them; to bring them back to the glory of David’s kingdom.
That’s the context in which Peter makes his declaration of Jesus’ messiahship. Now whether Peter believed that Jesus was going to restore the kingdom of Judah or Israel, we don’t know. But certainly if that’s what he believed, he would be no different that anyone else in Israel at the time. All were looking for a messiah to come and save them from the Roman empire, the current oppressors. So you can’t fault Peter if he had high expectations of what a messiah would do.
That’s why the rebuke that Peter received just following this moment must have been so surprising to him. For Jesus went on to explain, immediately following this declaration of messiahship, that he was going to suffer and die. The messiah would suffer? The messiah would die? Impossible!
The juxtaposition is strong. Declared the messiah at one point and then pronouncing his own suffering, death & resurrection. It didn’t make sense. That’s when Peter blows it. Peter, riding on the high of getting it right, goes ahead and rebukes Jesus. What a thing to do. It’s not a word we use often but it’s found twice in this passage. Peter rebukes Jesus.
To Peter, and most Jews, the messiah cannot suffer, none the less die at the hands of the political and religious leaders of the day. The messiah is untouchable when it comes to suffering. To think that the one who is anointed to save Israel would undergo any suffering was, once again, impossible. And Peter wastes no time in pointing this out.
But Jesus turns around and does his own rebuking. And does it in a forceful and unwavering way: “Get behind me Satan,” he says. “For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
Peter (and probably the others, to be fair) is thinking of the messiah in human terms, but Jesus has God’s plan in mind; God’s plan which involves all of creation; all humankind; not just the political state of Israel. A messiah who will defeat not the enemies of the Jewish state, but a messiah who will defeat the final enemy: death. That’s the messiah that Jesus knew himself to be. Though Jesus was a good Jewish teacher he envisioned a mission broader than the one that Peter and the other disciples saw; that they could only see because of their limited, human scope.
So Peter goes from the high of getting it right by proclaiming Jesus as the messiah but then finds himself being rebuked and even called “Satan” within moments of his astute proclamation. It must have been quite a precipitous fall.
How often do we do that? We catch a glimmer of the Truth, with a capital T, and then moments later waste that Truth by turning it into earthly terms. How often are we like Peter, glimpsing and proclaiming some vastly wonderful piece of information only to use it in some way that is less than heavenly?
It’s like catching a glimpse of God’s all-powerfulness in a moment of clarity and then immediately using it to ask for a parking space. We don’t have any idea of how abusing such power might affect ourselves or others.
We live in an age in which many would like to tell us who Jesus is. Just like the disciples answering that others think Jesus is John the Baptist, Elijah or a prophet. We have those who insist on a formulaic answer to who Jesus is and leave little room for other responses.
But we have to decide for ourselves who we think Jesus is and then figure out what that means. If we declare Jesus the messiah, that just isn’t enough. For, if we’re not careful, we can be like Peter and begin to rebuke Jesus when he doesn’t turn out to be what we expected. We have to pay attention to Jesus himself as he tells us who he is and what he must go through.
We don’t like a suffering messiah. We want an unscarred hand on our shoulder. We don’t want to know that our messiah suffers like the rest of us. Our image is too rapped up in the old westerns where the hero gets shot in the shoulder and bravely goes on anyways. That’s the hero we want and we want our messiah to be a hero. The one who saves us needs to be impermeable and teflon-coated.
But Jesus has other ideas. He knows that messiahship is messy. It’s not a pretty game. He knows what he has to go through. And nothing in our attitude or Peter’s desires can stop it.
But where does that leave us? With a messiah with scarred hands that have been wounded. And unlike Peter, we have the benefit of hindsight that puts some balm on the sting of rebuke that we might feel. But we can feel those scarred hands healing and comforting us. And we know that our messiah has conquered death.
We need to ask ourselves, “Who do you say Jesus is?” We need to be continually asking ourselves that question. We may not like what Jesus says to us in reply, but we are continually comforted by those scarred hands of the messiah.
27 August 2006
The City of Ephesus sat on the western shore of what is now Turkey. It had been, in its glory days, an important trade center. By the time the epistle which I read a few minutes ago was written, Ephesus was little more than a tourist stop. But what a tourist stop it was. Ephesus was the site of the Temple of Artemis, one of the 7 wonders of the ancient world—the best of all seven some have said. Ephesus relied on the tourists who came to see and worship at the Temple of Artemis for its survival.
Now imagine if a group came along and threatened the very tourism on which the city existed. Of course that would be the Christians—followers of Jesus who do away with idols and false gods. It’s like someone in San Francisco wanting to straighten out Lombard Street, get rid of Coit Tower and reduce Fisherman’s Wharf to, well, to a wharf for fishermen. It wouldn’t be popular. And neither were the Christians.
It’s a pretty standard story for early Christians—followers of the Way as they were known. They threatened the status quo. The worshiped not the emperor, as all in the Roman territories were supposed to do, but this other guy, this Jesus. They were aligned with the Jews who were another odd lot. At this point Christianity was still decades away from being accepted by the emperor as the official religion of the realm. Christians were still a persecuted lot.
And so we find the state of things as we read today’s words from Ephesians. The lectionary has brought us a bit of Ephesians for the past 7 weeks. If you’ve been paying attention to the lectionary readings we’ve covered most of the book. And today’s reading is right near the end of the book.
The authorship of Ephesians is doubted. Though it begins and ends with greetings and salutations from Paul, it wasn’t uncommon in those days to create writings that pretended to be by someone else. Thus there are several books in the epistles that purport to be by Paul though scholarship doubts that authorship and attributes it to one of his followers. Scholars have decided that Ephesians is one such book.
Now this doesn’t make it any less worthy of our attention. Obviously, if the lectionary is going to cover it in such depth over 7 weeks, it must be worth looking at. The book itself is short—only 6 chapters long and easily readable in one short sitting. Our reading this morning is the culmination of the book—the ending except for some personal salutations.
The book of Ephesians brings in many of Paul’s frequent themes—the grace of God, gifts that we are given that are to be used, assiduous avoidance of the ways of the secular world. But today’s scripture caught me because it was a little different. It’s a discussion of how to live the Christian life but with a military metaphor.
I’m not one to be hooked by a military theme. I’ve never served in the military and though I respect those who have served and do serve, the words by this unknown author which dress the Christian in the military clothing of the day both engage and repel me. If we try to update the reading to modern day, we might be talking about the Kevlar vest righteousness, the combat boots of peace and the AK-47 of faith. That’s very jangling to my ears.
But I think the author of Ephesians has a point. We aren’t up against flesh and blood enemies, but against cosmic forces of evil that would bring us down. And we can ignore those forces only at our own peril.
It’s tempting to live a Christian life that does not recognize the existence of evil. It’s tempting to just assume that God will take care of us and that no wrong will come to us. But it just doesn’t always work that way.
There is evil that is always around us and it needs to be faced. It needs to be acknowledged and reckoned with. The problem of evil is a long-standing one. There are those who would wish to deny its existence; those who would have us believe that all is well.
Our author of this morning’s reading clearly believes that evil exists and that it’s part of the Christian’s job to face it. But not just acknowledge it and move on but deal with it in some way.
Why else would we need all the protective and battle gear that the author describes? If we were allowed to turn and just run away from evil, averting our eyes from it, we would need none of these things that were depicted.
I am adverse to war—I think most of you realize that. That is part of my trouble with this passage. But I assure you, if I suddenly, somehow found myself in battle I’d be wishing for the Kevlar vest, the helmet, the combat boots and other ways to protect myself. The battle imagery is not entirely to my suiting but it may just be the right imagery to speak of our battle with evil. For if Santa Clara County for some reason suddenly decided to march north and attack, we would be in desperate need of gear that would first protect us and secondly help to repel the attack.
It is no different when we deal with evil—evil attacks us whether we are prepared or not. And the point this author is making is that it’s best to be prepared. That’s all. Be ready for the fight against the evils that surround us.
And there are plenty of evils alive and well in our culture: the evils of racism, sexism, homophobia, ageism and…and…and. And that’s not to mention the evils of greed and idolatry that seem to be quite alive and well, not only in our culture but also in the time that Ephesians was written, according to the author if you read the whole book.
These evils, and plenty of others, are alive and well all around us. And it is our duty as Christians to confront them and do what we can to eliminate them. It takes recognition on our part first off. Hardest of all, we must examine ourselves to see how we might participate in evil so that we can eliminate it from our own behaviors and inner thoughts.
Once we can confront the evils that we participate in, we are ready to take on the evils that are part of our culture. And as the author of the letter says, it’s going to take truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation and the Spirit to protect us and arm us.
You can name the evils that surround you. It doesn’t take much reflection to know what sorts of things you are up against. I have named a few but you can certainly come up with others.
Be prepared for a fight, a mighty struggle, once you confront evil though. It doesn’t go down easily. That’s why some of these evils have lasted for centuries and centuries. But, we can be assured, God is on our side.
Now imagine if a group came along and threatened the very tourism on which the city existed. Of course that would be the Christians—followers of Jesus who do away with idols and false gods. It’s like someone in San Francisco wanting to straighten out Lombard Street, get rid of Coit Tower and reduce Fisherman’s Wharf to, well, to a wharf for fishermen. It wouldn’t be popular. And neither were the Christians.
It’s a pretty standard story for early Christians—followers of the Way as they were known. They threatened the status quo. The worshiped not the emperor, as all in the Roman territories were supposed to do, but this other guy, this Jesus. They were aligned with the Jews who were another odd lot. At this point Christianity was still decades away from being accepted by the emperor as the official religion of the realm. Christians were still a persecuted lot.
And so we find the state of things as we read today’s words from Ephesians. The lectionary has brought us a bit of Ephesians for the past 7 weeks. If you’ve been paying attention to the lectionary readings we’ve covered most of the book. And today’s reading is right near the end of the book.
The authorship of Ephesians is doubted. Though it begins and ends with greetings and salutations from Paul, it wasn’t uncommon in those days to create writings that pretended to be by someone else. Thus there are several books in the epistles that purport to be by Paul though scholarship doubts that authorship and attributes it to one of his followers. Scholars have decided that Ephesians is one such book.
Now this doesn’t make it any less worthy of our attention. Obviously, if the lectionary is going to cover it in such depth over 7 weeks, it must be worth looking at. The book itself is short—only 6 chapters long and easily readable in one short sitting. Our reading this morning is the culmination of the book—the ending except for some personal salutations.
The book of Ephesians brings in many of Paul’s frequent themes—the grace of God, gifts that we are given that are to be used, assiduous avoidance of the ways of the secular world. But today’s scripture caught me because it was a little different. It’s a discussion of how to live the Christian life but with a military metaphor.
I’m not one to be hooked by a military theme. I’ve never served in the military and though I respect those who have served and do serve, the words by this unknown author which dress the Christian in the military clothing of the day both engage and repel me. If we try to update the reading to modern day, we might be talking about the Kevlar vest righteousness, the combat boots of peace and the AK-47 of faith. That’s very jangling to my ears.
But I think the author of Ephesians has a point. We aren’t up against flesh and blood enemies, but against cosmic forces of evil that would bring us down. And we can ignore those forces only at our own peril.
It’s tempting to live a Christian life that does not recognize the existence of evil. It’s tempting to just assume that God will take care of us and that no wrong will come to us. But it just doesn’t always work that way.
There is evil that is always around us and it needs to be faced. It needs to be acknowledged and reckoned with. The problem of evil is a long-standing one. There are those who would wish to deny its existence; those who would have us believe that all is well.
Our author of this morning’s reading clearly believes that evil exists and that it’s part of the Christian’s job to face it. But not just acknowledge it and move on but deal with it in some way.
Why else would we need all the protective and battle gear that the author describes? If we were allowed to turn and just run away from evil, averting our eyes from it, we would need none of these things that were depicted.
I am adverse to war—I think most of you realize that. That is part of my trouble with this passage. But I assure you, if I suddenly, somehow found myself in battle I’d be wishing for the Kevlar vest, the helmet, the combat boots and other ways to protect myself. The battle imagery is not entirely to my suiting but it may just be the right imagery to speak of our battle with evil. For if Santa Clara County for some reason suddenly decided to march north and attack, we would be in desperate need of gear that would first protect us and secondly help to repel the attack.
It is no different when we deal with evil—evil attacks us whether we are prepared or not. And the point this author is making is that it’s best to be prepared. That’s all. Be ready for the fight against the evils that surround us.
And there are plenty of evils alive and well in our culture: the evils of racism, sexism, homophobia, ageism and…and…and. And that’s not to mention the evils of greed and idolatry that seem to be quite alive and well, not only in our culture but also in the time that Ephesians was written, according to the author if you read the whole book.
These evils, and plenty of others, are alive and well all around us. And it is our duty as Christians to confront them and do what we can to eliminate them. It takes recognition on our part first off. Hardest of all, we must examine ourselves to see how we might participate in evil so that we can eliminate it from our own behaviors and inner thoughts.
Once we can confront the evils that we participate in, we are ready to take on the evils that are part of our culture. And as the author of the letter says, it’s going to take truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation and the Spirit to protect us and arm us.
You can name the evils that surround you. It doesn’t take much reflection to know what sorts of things you are up against. I have named a few but you can certainly come up with others.
Be prepared for a fight, a mighty struggle, once you confront evil though. It doesn’t go down easily. That’s why some of these evils have lasted for centuries and centuries. But, we can be assured, God is on our side.
6 August 2006
It helps to remember last week’s Hebrew Bible lectionary reading in order to make sense of today’s reading. So a recap might be in order.
Last week, David, King of Israel, with a harem of wives, saw Bathsheba bathing from his roof. He desired her and, being the king, got her. The problem was that she was married and David got her pregnant. No problem actually; as king, David had her husband sent to the front lines of battle and killed. Then he was free to marry her as another of his wives. So David took Uriah’s wife as his own after Uriah died in battle.
And that’s where we pick up today’s scripture. Now, I have no doubt that the whole of Jerusalem knew what was going on, human nature being what it is. Tongues will wag. But who is going to confront the king? No one in the entire kingdom is going to raise his or her voice against King David.
Except one…God. God is willing to voice a complaint against the king. God knows what’s going on and will speak up. God will raise judgment against David without fear. But God needs someone to be God’s voice. God needs a prophet to speak for God. And Nathan is just that prophet.
Now Nathan knows that he has to bring the word—God’s word—to the highest power in the land. He takes his orders directly from God. But he also knows that a direct attack on the king could spell disaster. So he comes up with a story, which he tells to King David: a story about a rich man and a poor man. A rich man who is greedy and a poor man who has nothing. Yet the rich man, when faced with serving a guest a meal, decides against taking from his many flocks and instead yanks the only thing that the poor man has—a ewe who has grown up with his children and is treated like one of the family. The rich man ignores his own vast holdings and instead steals the one thing of value in the poor man’s household.
David is incensed by this story. He declares that because of his greed, the rich man should die. The rich man’s power has corrupted him, David decides. He has gone beyond the realm of civilized behaviour.
This is when Nathan must have summoned all his courage. For his words are simple and direct: “You are the man,” he says. “You are the man,” he declares before David, indicting David of his crime of stealing the wife of Uriah and then sending him to die.
It took a lot of nerve for Nathan to do such a thing. Even with the indirect assault of the story, to say, “you are the man” must have taken every morsel of strength and courage in his body. For he still is talking to the king and the king could have him executed immediately for his presumptuousness.
But he didn’t. David, after Nathan explains that God has seen David’s actions in this whole affair, simply repents. His words back to Nathan and God are “I have sinned against the Lord.” Simply yet effective words.
How often are we in the place of David—justifying our actions and thinking no one notices how off base we might be? Thinking that what we are doing is all right when we know it’s wrong? Supposing that we can hide behind our justifications?
Many of us act that way. There are a few souls who have the opposite problem—everything that happens is their fault. They take the blame for everything and don’t try to justify anything. This scripture—and sermon—are not for them. This is for the rest of us who try to hide ourselves behind our justifications.
Like David, we can be caught in the web of justifications. I’m right because I have the power to be right. No one will challenge me. We may not be king or queen or a powerful ruler, but we can still use the power we have to justify what we do.
And this justification is rampant in our society today it seems, all the way to the top of the power chain. We ignore God’s ways and think we can hide from the truth of it.
Yet God sees. And God can get behind our justifications—God knows what’s going on with us even when we can hide it from others.
Now most of our justifications probably aren’t worth the trouble that Nathan took with David. It may be that we drove a little too fast because we were late for a meeting. Or that we didn’t go back to the grocery when we found out we were undercharged. There are plenty of choices each and every day when we find ourselves justifying our way out of making the right on.
But it’s the big ones that require the intervention of our own Nathan’s—usually known as our conscience. It’s when our conscience intervenes that we know the prophet of God is at work. It’s only occasionally that we actually get a real, live prophet to come up to us as Nathan did with David.
It’s when your conscience is pulling you that you know you haven’t escaped God’s notice. It’s that little voice inside of you that tells you that God is present and sees through your justifications, as God indeed can do.
Of course, the way around it all is to lead a life that is perfect in every way. Most of us, I would guess, can’t do that. So instead watch for that prophet inside yourself and know that your justifications may not be truly valid.
Last week, David, King of Israel, with a harem of wives, saw Bathsheba bathing from his roof. He desired her and, being the king, got her. The problem was that she was married and David got her pregnant. No problem actually; as king, David had her husband sent to the front lines of battle and killed. Then he was free to marry her as another of his wives. So David took Uriah’s wife as his own after Uriah died in battle.
And that’s where we pick up today’s scripture. Now, I have no doubt that the whole of Jerusalem knew what was going on, human nature being what it is. Tongues will wag. But who is going to confront the king? No one in the entire kingdom is going to raise his or her voice against King David.
Except one…God. God is willing to voice a complaint against the king. God knows what’s going on and will speak up. God will raise judgment against David without fear. But God needs someone to be God’s voice. God needs a prophet to speak for God. And Nathan is just that prophet.
Now Nathan knows that he has to bring the word—God’s word—to the highest power in the land. He takes his orders directly from God. But he also knows that a direct attack on the king could spell disaster. So he comes up with a story, which he tells to King David: a story about a rich man and a poor man. A rich man who is greedy and a poor man who has nothing. Yet the rich man, when faced with serving a guest a meal, decides against taking from his many flocks and instead yanks the only thing that the poor man has—a ewe who has grown up with his children and is treated like one of the family. The rich man ignores his own vast holdings and instead steals the one thing of value in the poor man’s household.
David is incensed by this story. He declares that because of his greed, the rich man should die. The rich man’s power has corrupted him, David decides. He has gone beyond the realm of civilized behaviour.
This is when Nathan must have summoned all his courage. For his words are simple and direct: “You are the man,” he says. “You are the man,” he declares before David, indicting David of his crime of stealing the wife of Uriah and then sending him to die.
It took a lot of nerve for Nathan to do such a thing. Even with the indirect assault of the story, to say, “you are the man” must have taken every morsel of strength and courage in his body. For he still is talking to the king and the king could have him executed immediately for his presumptuousness.
But he didn’t. David, after Nathan explains that God has seen David’s actions in this whole affair, simply repents. His words back to Nathan and God are “I have sinned against the Lord.” Simply yet effective words.
How often are we in the place of David—justifying our actions and thinking no one notices how off base we might be? Thinking that what we are doing is all right when we know it’s wrong? Supposing that we can hide behind our justifications?
Many of us act that way. There are a few souls who have the opposite problem—everything that happens is their fault. They take the blame for everything and don’t try to justify anything. This scripture—and sermon—are not for them. This is for the rest of us who try to hide ourselves behind our justifications.
Like David, we can be caught in the web of justifications. I’m right because I have the power to be right. No one will challenge me. We may not be king or queen or a powerful ruler, but we can still use the power we have to justify what we do.
And this justification is rampant in our society today it seems, all the way to the top of the power chain. We ignore God’s ways and think we can hide from the truth of it.
Yet God sees. And God can get behind our justifications—God knows what’s going on with us even when we can hide it from others.
Now most of our justifications probably aren’t worth the trouble that Nathan took with David. It may be that we drove a little too fast because we were late for a meeting. Or that we didn’t go back to the grocery when we found out we were undercharged. There are plenty of choices each and every day when we find ourselves justifying our way out of making the right on.
But it’s the big ones that require the intervention of our own Nathan’s—usually known as our conscience. It’s when our conscience intervenes that we know the prophet of God is at work. It’s only occasionally that we actually get a real, live prophet to come up to us as Nathan did with David.
It’s when your conscience is pulling you that you know you haven’t escaped God’s notice. It’s that little voice inside of you that tells you that God is present and sees through your justifications, as God indeed can do.
Of course, the way around it all is to lead a life that is perfect in every way. Most of us, I would guess, can’t do that. So instead watch for that prophet inside yourself and know that your justifications may not be truly valid.
16 July 2006
I recently ran across this quote about worship from author Annie Dillard:
"Does anyone have the foggiest idea of what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews" (in Teaching a Stone to Talk).
Indeed is that how you feel as you enter worship? Like it’s an amusement park ride that you don’t know where it’s going? Or is it all tame and calm and that’s just how you like it?
Well we know what side David, by this point King of the Israelites, would fall on. David is exuberant in his worship during today’s Hebrew Bible reading. And exuberant he should be. Because the ark is coming to Jerusalem.
The ark, which contained the tablets on which Moses received the ten commandments, had been living elsewhere. David, in this move, merged together the religious and political centers of his country. No wonder he was excited.
Up to recently, Israel had been a loose confederation of the various tribes. Each had its own border skirmishes and they relied on each other for help. There was no central leader but rather a series of judges who ruled as needed.
As the country came together to form a more cohesive political unit, there was the need for a king. At first, Saul ruled over the newly united kingdom. But he fell out of favor with God and lost his kingship. Eventually he lost his life in a battle with the Philistines. Last week we heard David’s lament over the death of Saul and his son Jonathan.
David had been anointed as king and strove to unite the kingdom while fighting against the Philistines, who were the Israelite’s neighbors to the south. David chose Jerusalem as his capital, which was smart as it sat on the border between the northern tribes and the southern tribes.
And then David decided to further unite his kingdom by bringing the ancient Ark of the Covenant, holding those holy tablets, to his capital. Now David’s Jerusalem would be both the political and religious center of his kingdom’s life. David was no dummy.
So no wonder he was excited about the coming of the Ark to Jerusalem. So excited in fact that he, the king of Israel, danced in front of the ark as it came into the city. Danced only in a linen ephod. I’ve read two varying accounts of what an ephod is. Some say that David was basically dancing in his underwear—that a linen ephod was an undergarment. The other interpretation, which was more likely, is that an ephod is a garment worn only by a priest. It was an apron-like garment and worn with other priestly garments. In any case, it wasn’t the whole outfit of a priest and David must have made an impression wearing only it as he danced in front of the ark.
His excitement was high. And his wife, Michal, Saul’s daughter, was disgusted at the show he was putting on. We’re told that she looked down from her window and saw her husband dancing and twirling in the scantiest of outfits and “despised him in her heart.”
As a group, we’re fairly used to being fairly complacent in our worship. We too might have looked askance on David as he led the procession into Jerusalem. As white protestants, we don’t normally find the opportunities to express the joy of our worship, in our worship. The most movement we do is to stand up to sing hymns and then to come forward during communion.
But sometimes we need to be reminded of the joy that worship brings. Which brings us back to the quote with which I began this sermon. David knew the power of God that he was invoking. He not only danced but sacrificed in front of the ark as they went along. In our worship, as we call upon God to send the Spirit among us and be a part of us, we are invoking that same power that David recognized. We should be issued life preservers and signal flares! Who knows where our worship of God will take us. Lash us to our seats; we’re going to ask God to be among us and take us to God only knows where.
Worship should be filled with the joy that David experienced as he brought the ark in the kingdom. But aren’t we more often like Michal as we peer down on the party and frown our disgust? Isn’t our worship more often like fancy hats rather than crash helmets? Don’t we find that we would rather sit back and enjoy the ride or the view while someone else does the dancing?
Yes, worship can be an exciting event. We needn’t be complacent in our approach to worship. Yes, there is need for quietude and for calm relaxing meditation. But worship is invoking the Spirit of God to be among us and you just never know what will happen what you do that. Be prepared to be moved as you worship God.
And in being moved be prepared for what the Spirit may lead you to do outside these walls once you’ve hooked into the power of worship.
"Does anyone have the foggiest idea of what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews" (in Teaching a Stone to Talk).
Indeed is that how you feel as you enter worship? Like it’s an amusement park ride that you don’t know where it’s going? Or is it all tame and calm and that’s just how you like it?
Well we know what side David, by this point King of the Israelites, would fall on. David is exuberant in his worship during today’s Hebrew Bible reading. And exuberant he should be. Because the ark is coming to Jerusalem.
The ark, which contained the tablets on which Moses received the ten commandments, had been living elsewhere. David, in this move, merged together the religious and political centers of his country. No wonder he was excited.
Up to recently, Israel had been a loose confederation of the various tribes. Each had its own border skirmishes and they relied on each other for help. There was no central leader but rather a series of judges who ruled as needed.
As the country came together to form a more cohesive political unit, there was the need for a king. At first, Saul ruled over the newly united kingdom. But he fell out of favor with God and lost his kingship. Eventually he lost his life in a battle with the Philistines. Last week we heard David’s lament over the death of Saul and his son Jonathan.
David had been anointed as king and strove to unite the kingdom while fighting against the Philistines, who were the Israelite’s neighbors to the south. David chose Jerusalem as his capital, which was smart as it sat on the border between the northern tribes and the southern tribes.
And then David decided to further unite his kingdom by bringing the ancient Ark of the Covenant, holding those holy tablets, to his capital. Now David’s Jerusalem would be both the political and religious center of his kingdom’s life. David was no dummy.
So no wonder he was excited about the coming of the Ark to Jerusalem. So excited in fact that he, the king of Israel, danced in front of the ark as it came into the city. Danced only in a linen ephod. I’ve read two varying accounts of what an ephod is. Some say that David was basically dancing in his underwear—that a linen ephod was an undergarment. The other interpretation, which was more likely, is that an ephod is a garment worn only by a priest. It was an apron-like garment and worn with other priestly garments. In any case, it wasn’t the whole outfit of a priest and David must have made an impression wearing only it as he danced in front of the ark.
His excitement was high. And his wife, Michal, Saul’s daughter, was disgusted at the show he was putting on. We’re told that she looked down from her window and saw her husband dancing and twirling in the scantiest of outfits and “despised him in her heart.”
As a group, we’re fairly used to being fairly complacent in our worship. We too might have looked askance on David as he led the procession into Jerusalem. As white protestants, we don’t normally find the opportunities to express the joy of our worship, in our worship. The most movement we do is to stand up to sing hymns and then to come forward during communion.
But sometimes we need to be reminded of the joy that worship brings. Which brings us back to the quote with which I began this sermon. David knew the power of God that he was invoking. He not only danced but sacrificed in front of the ark as they went along. In our worship, as we call upon God to send the Spirit among us and be a part of us, we are invoking that same power that David recognized. We should be issued life preservers and signal flares! Who knows where our worship of God will take us. Lash us to our seats; we’re going to ask God to be among us and take us to God only knows where.
Worship should be filled with the joy that David experienced as he brought the ark in the kingdom. But aren’t we more often like Michal as we peer down on the party and frown our disgust? Isn’t our worship more often like fancy hats rather than crash helmets? Don’t we find that we would rather sit back and enjoy the ride or the view while someone else does the dancing?
Yes, worship can be an exciting event. We needn’t be complacent in our approach to worship. Yes, there is need for quietude and for calm relaxing meditation. But worship is invoking the Spirit of God to be among us and you just never know what will happen what you do that. Be prepared to be moved as you worship God.
And in being moved be prepared for what the Spirit may lead you to do outside these walls once you’ve hooked into the power of worship.
18 June 2006
Samuel was most assuredly not happy with his latest assignment, which we heard about in the Hebrew Bible reading this morning. He was undoubtedly caught between a rock and a hard place as the saying goes.
On the one hand he had Saul, the king of the Hebrew people watching his every move. Samuel was the chief priest—the head honcho in the Temple. And kings worry about such a person. On the other hand Samuel had God. And you don’t ignore God—especially if you’re the chief priest.
And God was asking Samuel to do a very hard thing. A dangerous thing. He was to anoint the new king. While the old king was still around.
Saul had been made king and was ruling over the kingdom of Israel. But then Saul displeased God and God withdrew God’s support of Saul’s kingship.
Now you can imagine that such a thing would not be pleasing to Saul; to have that all that power and then have it removed from you? No, Saul isn’t happy and isn’t going to be pleased with anyone who goes along with this new plan.
So Samuel has his instructions—go to Bethlehem and from among the sons of Jesse, one of the local bigwigs no doubt, he was to anoint a new king. Sounds simple except as Samuel says, if Saul hears of it, he’ll kill Samuel. Not what chief priests have in mind when they sign up for the job. But that’s often the job of religious figures isn’t it—to fly in the face of the politicians? But that’s probably another sermon.
So Saul goes to Bethlehem. He takes a heifer with him as a cover. If anyone asks, he’s going there to sacrifice to God—that’s all. And the townspeople are nervous to have this august person come to their tiny little village. The elders rush out to meet him and say “have you come peaceably?” He reassures them that he’s only there for a sacrifice to God.
It’s at the sacrifice that God is going to reveal to Samuel who among Jesse’s sons is to be anointed as the new king. So everyone is there for the big sacrifice and Samuel has Jesse parade his sons before him. Samuel is sure that he’s found the right one as soon as he sees Eliab. Eliab is undoubtedly the eldest. He was probably tall in stature, good looking and ready for whatever God threw at him. But Samuel was wrong. This is not the son of Jesse that God has chosen. Neither are Abinadab nor Shammah. In fact, 7 of Jesse’s sons pass before Samuel and God says, “Nope, not that one,” to each of the 7.
At this point Samuel must be wondering if God is playing some trick on him. All these young men, fine specimens of Hebrew manhood, come before him and each of them, in his turn, is rejected by God. Samuel must be thinking, “Come on, God—give me a break. You give me this impossible task and then don’t give me the support I need. Couldn’t you just pick one?!”
Probably out of desperation, he asks if all of Jesse’s sons are here. Jesse replies, probably somewhat embarrassedly that, well, yes, there is one more. He’s the youngest—the least important of all—but he’s out tending the sheep. He’s got one of the lowliest jobs around. That’s what youngest children often end up doing—the jobs no one else wants.
So they bring him in from the fields and of course, as we all know, this is the one that God has chosen. The author of 1 Samuel makes a point of telling us how good looking he is—he’s got a ruddy complexion and is handsome and has killer eyes. Of course this is David, the future king of Israel, against whom all future kings are measured. David is so important in fact that our Christian scriptures trace Jesus’ lineage back through him. And we’ll learn more about David’s story in the coming weeks through the lectionary readings. Right now I want to focus on David’s call to be king.
Remember last week, in the Hebrew Scriptures which we read? We heard about Isaiah’s call to be a prophet. In short, God asks whom God will send out to be a prophet among the Hebrew people and Isaiah responds “Here I am, send me.” Well, David’s call to kingship is completely the opposite. Not that he resisted but David, out there among the sheep, had no idea that he would make the transition from pasture to palace. God chose David as the next king.
This is clearly two forms of call—one in which the person who is called responds by filling a need. The other in which God chooses someone to do a job that’s completely unexpected. Either way, there is a job that needs doing and the need is filled.
I read a quote recently, I forget who said it, but it went something along these lines: “What if God calls everyone into ministry and makes do with those of us who say yes?” It’s an interesting thought. What if we are all called into ministry and only some of us respond?
Of course, we are all called into ministry—each one of us here is called to ministry. The ministries differ of course: Isaiah wasn’t called to be king and David wasn’t called to be a prophet. But each of us is called to ministry in some form. And most of us here today have already said yes to calls. We’re here today, that’s one good sign of call acceptance. We’ve responded, in no small way, to God’s call to be among a community of God’s people to worship God this Sunday morning.
But what about the larger calls? Are you listening carefully for where God might be calling you? Are you prepared, like Isaiah, to say here I am, send me? Or maybe you’re out in the sheep pasture, minding your own business, and there’s an urgent call for you to come into the sacrifice where you will, unexpectedly, be anointed.
Calls are funny things. Maybe our call isn’t to be prophet to an entire nation or leader of a country. Likely it isn’t. But we have calls each and every day from God that lead us into situations where God’s work is needed. Perhaps it’s to do the work of Interfaith Hospitality Network or tutoring with Homework Central. Perhaps it’s to be an officer in this congregation or with Peninsula Interfaith Action. Perhaps it’s to speak out on a local level about an issue that confronts your community.
There are so many ways that God calls each and every one of us. It is our job to be attentive and to listen carefully. And then of course, to come in from the sheepfold and actually get to work on doing whatever it is God calls you to.
On the one hand he had Saul, the king of the Hebrew people watching his every move. Samuel was the chief priest—the head honcho in the Temple. And kings worry about such a person. On the other hand Samuel had God. And you don’t ignore God—especially if you’re the chief priest.
And God was asking Samuel to do a very hard thing. A dangerous thing. He was to anoint the new king. While the old king was still around.
Saul had been made king and was ruling over the kingdom of Israel. But then Saul displeased God and God withdrew God’s support of Saul’s kingship.
Now you can imagine that such a thing would not be pleasing to Saul; to have that all that power and then have it removed from you? No, Saul isn’t happy and isn’t going to be pleased with anyone who goes along with this new plan.
So Samuel has his instructions—go to Bethlehem and from among the sons of Jesse, one of the local bigwigs no doubt, he was to anoint a new king. Sounds simple except as Samuel says, if Saul hears of it, he’ll kill Samuel. Not what chief priests have in mind when they sign up for the job. But that’s often the job of religious figures isn’t it—to fly in the face of the politicians? But that’s probably another sermon.
So Saul goes to Bethlehem. He takes a heifer with him as a cover. If anyone asks, he’s going there to sacrifice to God—that’s all. And the townspeople are nervous to have this august person come to their tiny little village. The elders rush out to meet him and say “have you come peaceably?” He reassures them that he’s only there for a sacrifice to God.
It’s at the sacrifice that God is going to reveal to Samuel who among Jesse’s sons is to be anointed as the new king. So everyone is there for the big sacrifice and Samuel has Jesse parade his sons before him. Samuel is sure that he’s found the right one as soon as he sees Eliab. Eliab is undoubtedly the eldest. He was probably tall in stature, good looking and ready for whatever God threw at him. But Samuel was wrong. This is not the son of Jesse that God has chosen. Neither are Abinadab nor Shammah. In fact, 7 of Jesse’s sons pass before Samuel and God says, “Nope, not that one,” to each of the 7.
At this point Samuel must be wondering if God is playing some trick on him. All these young men, fine specimens of Hebrew manhood, come before him and each of them, in his turn, is rejected by God. Samuel must be thinking, “Come on, God—give me a break. You give me this impossible task and then don’t give me the support I need. Couldn’t you just pick one?!”
Probably out of desperation, he asks if all of Jesse’s sons are here. Jesse replies, probably somewhat embarrassedly that, well, yes, there is one more. He’s the youngest—the least important of all—but he’s out tending the sheep. He’s got one of the lowliest jobs around. That’s what youngest children often end up doing—the jobs no one else wants.
So they bring him in from the fields and of course, as we all know, this is the one that God has chosen. The author of 1 Samuel makes a point of telling us how good looking he is—he’s got a ruddy complexion and is handsome and has killer eyes. Of course this is David, the future king of Israel, against whom all future kings are measured. David is so important in fact that our Christian scriptures trace Jesus’ lineage back through him. And we’ll learn more about David’s story in the coming weeks through the lectionary readings. Right now I want to focus on David’s call to be king.
Remember last week, in the Hebrew Scriptures which we read? We heard about Isaiah’s call to be a prophet. In short, God asks whom God will send out to be a prophet among the Hebrew people and Isaiah responds “Here I am, send me.” Well, David’s call to kingship is completely the opposite. Not that he resisted but David, out there among the sheep, had no idea that he would make the transition from pasture to palace. God chose David as the next king.
This is clearly two forms of call—one in which the person who is called responds by filling a need. The other in which God chooses someone to do a job that’s completely unexpected. Either way, there is a job that needs doing and the need is filled.
I read a quote recently, I forget who said it, but it went something along these lines: “What if God calls everyone into ministry and makes do with those of us who say yes?” It’s an interesting thought. What if we are all called into ministry and only some of us respond?
Of course, we are all called into ministry—each one of us here is called to ministry. The ministries differ of course: Isaiah wasn’t called to be king and David wasn’t called to be a prophet. But each of us is called to ministry in some form. And most of us here today have already said yes to calls. We’re here today, that’s one good sign of call acceptance. We’ve responded, in no small way, to God’s call to be among a community of God’s people to worship God this Sunday morning.
But what about the larger calls? Are you listening carefully for where God might be calling you? Are you prepared, like Isaiah, to say here I am, send me? Or maybe you’re out in the sheep pasture, minding your own business, and there’s an urgent call for you to come into the sacrifice where you will, unexpectedly, be anointed.
Calls are funny things. Maybe our call isn’t to be prophet to an entire nation or leader of a country. Likely it isn’t. But we have calls each and every day from God that lead us into situations where God’s work is needed. Perhaps it’s to do the work of Interfaith Hospitality Network or tutoring with Homework Central. Perhaps it’s to be an officer in this congregation or with Peninsula Interfaith Action. Perhaps it’s to speak out on a local level about an issue that confronts your community.
There are so many ways that God calls each and every one of us. It is our job to be attentive and to listen carefully. And then of course, to come in from the sheepfold and actually get to work on doing whatever it is God calls you to.
Trinity Sunday Sermon, 11 June 2006
When we were in Tuscany just a few weeks ago, we saw at least a couple of paintings and frescoes which attempted to portray the trinity. Typically these showed an older, gray-bearded man in the back, who was, of course, God the Father. In front would be Jesus on the cross, representing the redemptive 2nd person of the trinity. And somewhere in between would be a dove, showing the Spirit.
This is Trinity Sunday—the day when we are supposed to concentrate on the three-in-oneness of our God. If I had played my cards right, Kacey would have been preaching on this day too, but I blew it! So here I am, dealing with the sometimes difficult-to-grasp doctrine of the trinity.
The difficulty is that there is no specific reference to the trinity in the scriptures. This is a doctrine the early church came up with. It’s something new as far as religions go. It’s still monotheism and it’s definitely not the polytheism of the Greeks and Romans. It’s proclaiming the oneness of God yet recognizing the different ways that God appears to us.
My problem with the Trinity is that I see God in far vaster ways than just a trinity. I see God as a multi-faceted, ever-turning gem who shows different faces at different times, always amazing and astounding us. I suppose that would make me something of a heretic, but who’s surprised at that?
There is one thing to be clear of when speaking about the trinity. Traditionally, we have spoken about the three persons of the trinity. The word “persons” makes it difficult sometimes to understand. But if you realize that the word “person” comes from the Latin word “persona” it makes it a little easier. For the “persona” referred to the mask worn by Greek and Roman actors. The mask was the persona, which they wore to indicate different characters. So the three persons of God can be thought of as the masks God wears when dealing with humanity.
But here on Trinity Sunday, the lectionary attempts to make it all clear by cobbling together verses that give us a glimpse of some of these facets of God. The trinity as it were. The three aspects of God that have historically been a part of our Christian beliefs. So let’s take a look at these verses to see what we can discover about God. Let’s start with Isaiah.
This is one of my favorite verses. It’s the story of Isaiah’s call to prophesy to the Israelites. It’s a clear acceptance of God’s call but with it we get a glimpse into the magnitude of God’s greatness according to Isaiah.
Isaiah begins by right off telling us that the hem of God’s robe fills the temple. The temple in Jerusalem at this point would have been the biggest building around. And it can contain only the hem of God’s robe. That’s how amazingly big God is. It’s unimaginable.
God is continually being praised by the angels—the cherubim & seraphim—who surround the throne. They sing out “holy, holy, holy.” In Hebrew, to express the superlative, you repeat the word three times. Thus when they sing out “holy, holy, holy,” they are saying that God is the holiest of all.
God also has the power to forgive, as evidenced by the coal which touches Isaiah’s lips and frees him from guilt. God is always ready to do this for us—forgive us of our sins and send us forth guiltless. Isaiah himself declared his lips unclean and immediately he was made clean.
Finally, from this Isaiah passage, we learn that God calls us into God’s service. “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” God cries out to Isaiah as, indeed, God cries out to us. God is continually in need of those who will respond to the call with “Here am I; send me!” It’s funny to think of God in need but indeed that’s where we find God in this scripture—needing those who will act on God’s part in this world.
In Romans we learn about the Spirit of God which makes us children of God. It is through the adoptive nature of the Spirit that we become God’s children.
The Spirit moves and dances among us. It is the very being of God in our midst always and ever-present. And according to the verses we heard earlier from John, it is this very Spirit that births us into Christian life. We are to be “born from above,” John writes. The Holy Spirit then is the initiator of our lives of faith—adopted in yet born into the life of faith.
The Spirit is the one who sustains us through the difficult times of our lives—who lifts us up when we are perilously close to falling, who propels us forth when we respond with a “yes” to God’s call. The Spirit comes to surround us with loving protection and a nurturing presence in times of trial.
And what can we say about the third person of the trinity—Jesus? Jesus shows up in our gospel reading as a teacher—a well-known and respected teacher. He brings signs from God, according to Nicodemus. As Christians this aspect of God is central. We claim the divinity of Christ as central to our faith. In fact, the age-old Disciples claim of “no creed but Christ” is a clear part of the centrality of Christ in our beliefs.
Jesus is the man who walked the earth—it is Christ who represents us and intercedes for us. Jesus, as a brother to all of us, is often seen as our friend—our compatriot in the struggles our faith can lead us to. Jesus, as God’s son, as the gospel proclaimed this morning, is seen, in traditional Christian doctrine, as fully human, fully divine.
This person of the trinity knows completely what it is to be human. Jesus felt pain and suffering and joy and sorrow and was moved by the emotions of others. He walked the face of the earth and knew real pain—including the pain of a tortuous death.
As John tells us, Jesus came not for condemnation but for saving. Jesus is one who saves us—from the evils that can be found in this world, from the depths to which we can sink, from ourselves.
The three persons of the Trinity have been known historically as the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Feminist theology has recast the three persons as Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer, referring more to the actions of God. However you refer to God, however you view the trinity, however God comes to you and acts in your life, know that God—the almighty one, the Spirit who makes us part of the family and Jesus the Christ who saves us—is ready to call you forth and sustain you in your efforts on God’s behalf.
This is Trinity Sunday—the day when we are supposed to concentrate on the three-in-oneness of our God. If I had played my cards right, Kacey would have been preaching on this day too, but I blew it! So here I am, dealing with the sometimes difficult-to-grasp doctrine of the trinity.
The difficulty is that there is no specific reference to the trinity in the scriptures. This is a doctrine the early church came up with. It’s something new as far as religions go. It’s still monotheism and it’s definitely not the polytheism of the Greeks and Romans. It’s proclaiming the oneness of God yet recognizing the different ways that God appears to us.
My problem with the Trinity is that I see God in far vaster ways than just a trinity. I see God as a multi-faceted, ever-turning gem who shows different faces at different times, always amazing and astounding us. I suppose that would make me something of a heretic, but who’s surprised at that?
There is one thing to be clear of when speaking about the trinity. Traditionally, we have spoken about the three persons of the trinity. The word “persons” makes it difficult sometimes to understand. But if you realize that the word “person” comes from the Latin word “persona” it makes it a little easier. For the “persona” referred to the mask worn by Greek and Roman actors. The mask was the persona, which they wore to indicate different characters. So the three persons of God can be thought of as the masks God wears when dealing with humanity.
But here on Trinity Sunday, the lectionary attempts to make it all clear by cobbling together verses that give us a glimpse of some of these facets of God. The trinity as it were. The three aspects of God that have historically been a part of our Christian beliefs. So let’s take a look at these verses to see what we can discover about God. Let’s start with Isaiah.
This is one of my favorite verses. It’s the story of Isaiah’s call to prophesy to the Israelites. It’s a clear acceptance of God’s call but with it we get a glimpse into the magnitude of God’s greatness according to Isaiah.
Isaiah begins by right off telling us that the hem of God’s robe fills the temple. The temple in Jerusalem at this point would have been the biggest building around. And it can contain only the hem of God’s robe. That’s how amazingly big God is. It’s unimaginable.
God is continually being praised by the angels—the cherubim & seraphim—who surround the throne. They sing out “holy, holy, holy.” In Hebrew, to express the superlative, you repeat the word three times. Thus when they sing out “holy, holy, holy,” they are saying that God is the holiest of all.
God also has the power to forgive, as evidenced by the coal which touches Isaiah’s lips and frees him from guilt. God is always ready to do this for us—forgive us of our sins and send us forth guiltless. Isaiah himself declared his lips unclean and immediately he was made clean.
Finally, from this Isaiah passage, we learn that God calls us into God’s service. “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” God cries out to Isaiah as, indeed, God cries out to us. God is continually in need of those who will respond to the call with “Here am I; send me!” It’s funny to think of God in need but indeed that’s where we find God in this scripture—needing those who will act on God’s part in this world.
In Romans we learn about the Spirit of God which makes us children of God. It is through the adoptive nature of the Spirit that we become God’s children.
The Spirit moves and dances among us. It is the very being of God in our midst always and ever-present. And according to the verses we heard earlier from John, it is this very Spirit that births us into Christian life. We are to be “born from above,” John writes. The Holy Spirit then is the initiator of our lives of faith—adopted in yet born into the life of faith.
The Spirit is the one who sustains us through the difficult times of our lives—who lifts us up when we are perilously close to falling, who propels us forth when we respond with a “yes” to God’s call. The Spirit comes to surround us with loving protection and a nurturing presence in times of trial.
And what can we say about the third person of the trinity—Jesus? Jesus shows up in our gospel reading as a teacher—a well-known and respected teacher. He brings signs from God, according to Nicodemus. As Christians this aspect of God is central. We claim the divinity of Christ as central to our faith. In fact, the age-old Disciples claim of “no creed but Christ” is a clear part of the centrality of Christ in our beliefs.
Jesus is the man who walked the earth—it is Christ who represents us and intercedes for us. Jesus, as a brother to all of us, is often seen as our friend—our compatriot in the struggles our faith can lead us to. Jesus, as God’s son, as the gospel proclaimed this morning, is seen, in traditional Christian doctrine, as fully human, fully divine.
This person of the trinity knows completely what it is to be human. Jesus felt pain and suffering and joy and sorrow and was moved by the emotions of others. He walked the face of the earth and knew real pain—including the pain of a tortuous death.
As John tells us, Jesus came not for condemnation but for saving. Jesus is one who saves us—from the evils that can be found in this world, from the depths to which we can sink, from ourselves.
The three persons of the Trinity have been known historically as the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Feminist theology has recast the three persons as Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer, referring more to the actions of God. However you refer to God, however you view the trinity, however God comes to you and acts in your life, know that God—the almighty one, the Spirit who makes us part of the family and Jesus the Christ who saves us—is ready to call you forth and sustain you in your efforts on God’s behalf.
Easter Sermon 2006
Mark 16:1-8
There’s something I like about this recounting of the resurrection from Mark. It’s the sparsest of all the gospels. Just the basics. Just the facts, ma’am. It leaves the most to the imagination.
And this is the end, according to some manuscripts, of Mark’s gospel entirely. Ending on fear. Not what we expect from the good news we read. We’re supposed to go off on a good note. But not with Mark….he leaves us gripped in the fear & awe of the women at the tomb.
The hard thing about preaching on Easter morning is talking about resurrection in a world where death is very real. Death which occurs all across our globe, all too often. Death that is for the most part avoidable. Children who disappear in the Sudan and Uganda. Starvation which kills in Somalia and other drought-stricken areas of Africa. The violence of war in Iraq and Afghanistan and throughout the world. Not to mention the death of hundreds of homeless people on the streets of our own country—a so-called developed nation.
What does resurrection mean in these situations? How does one preach eternal life when earthly life can seem so short and difficult? Does this short story of some women at an empty tomb give us hope or just cause more despair? Mark doesn’t give us the comfort of an appearance by Jesus. Just an empty tomb, from which we’re supposed to figure out, I suppose, what’s gone on.
But maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to Mark’s ending…it’s speaks of fear and amazement in the face of resurrection, which are emotions I can identify with. There’s plenty of fear and amazement to go around these days that we can all identify with.
But is this the stuff of Easter? Aren’t we supposed to be focused on the beauty of spring, the joy of bunnies, the fun of colored eggs? This isn’t a time to be intent on social justice issues. Not today—not now. Let’s keep Easter light.
Christ is risen. This is what is the focus. It’s how we began our service. “Jeez,” I can hear you saying, “if you were going to be so glum, Gerry, you should have done it during Lent, when it’s appropriate. Not now.”
But now is when we should be focusing on the problems of the world. Easter gives us the hope we need to carry on in a sometimes desolate and saddened world. Without resurrection we are devoid and despairing.
Resurrection, especially as Mark presents it, is God’s comment on death; on Jesus’ crucifixion. Death is not the final answer; the forces of this earth do not win after all.
We live, sadly, in a world, that hasn’t changed much from the violence of the 1st century when Jesus did walk this earth. The only thing that has changed, it seems is that the methods of violence have changed and transmorphed technologically. Instead of crosses, we have electric chairs and injectable, death-producing drugs. Instead of swords, we get tanks and bazookas. The violence has remained the same.
But what has changed from those early days is that we believe that God came in and intervened in death. Resurrection is the answer to the gloomy nature of this sermon.
Resurrection, that empty tomb that first frightened the women, gives us all hope for whatever is going on in the world. It, resurrection, is the balm that we apply to the wounds of this earth. It doesn’t solve anything or make us turn away from the hard facts of our world, but it is a new lens through which to view them.
Resurrection impels us to act to ensure that death isn’t the final answer in the Sudan, Somalia, Iraq, and all around our globe. If we truly believe in resurrection, we are driven toward acting on our beliefs to make death less a threat to thousands and millions of people who face it on a daily basis.
We turn with fear and amazement from the empty tomb, with the two Marys and Salome. Fearful because we have never seen such a thing before and can’t believe it’s happened. Amazed because it changes everything about our world. Fearful and amazed because we know this means nothing is the same—and we cannot act as we always have. We must take action now. We must act against death and despair.
Resurrection indeed gives us hope: a hope that will carry us through any situation. A hope that is not shallow but digs deeply into our faith. A hope that faces death and knows that it is not the final answer. Yet a hope that acts and does what is needed to prevent death. Be that writing to congressional representatives and senators and presidents to do all that can be done. Or be it giving money to causes that are working to prevent the death and despair.
Be fearful and amazed but don’t be stuck there. Live in hope instead. A hope that changes the world and carries resurrection forth.
There’s something I like about this recounting of the resurrection from Mark. It’s the sparsest of all the gospels. Just the basics. Just the facts, ma’am. It leaves the most to the imagination.
And this is the end, according to some manuscripts, of Mark’s gospel entirely. Ending on fear. Not what we expect from the good news we read. We’re supposed to go off on a good note. But not with Mark….he leaves us gripped in the fear & awe of the women at the tomb.
The hard thing about preaching on Easter morning is talking about resurrection in a world where death is very real. Death which occurs all across our globe, all too often. Death that is for the most part avoidable. Children who disappear in the Sudan and Uganda. Starvation which kills in Somalia and other drought-stricken areas of Africa. The violence of war in Iraq and Afghanistan and throughout the world. Not to mention the death of hundreds of homeless people on the streets of our own country—a so-called developed nation.
What does resurrection mean in these situations? How does one preach eternal life when earthly life can seem so short and difficult? Does this short story of some women at an empty tomb give us hope or just cause more despair? Mark doesn’t give us the comfort of an appearance by Jesus. Just an empty tomb, from which we’re supposed to figure out, I suppose, what’s gone on.
But maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to Mark’s ending…it’s speaks of fear and amazement in the face of resurrection, which are emotions I can identify with. There’s plenty of fear and amazement to go around these days that we can all identify with.
But is this the stuff of Easter? Aren’t we supposed to be focused on the beauty of spring, the joy of bunnies, the fun of colored eggs? This isn’t a time to be intent on social justice issues. Not today—not now. Let’s keep Easter light.
Christ is risen. This is what is the focus. It’s how we began our service. “Jeez,” I can hear you saying, “if you were going to be so glum, Gerry, you should have done it during Lent, when it’s appropriate. Not now.”
But now is when we should be focusing on the problems of the world. Easter gives us the hope we need to carry on in a sometimes desolate and saddened world. Without resurrection we are devoid and despairing.
Resurrection, especially as Mark presents it, is God’s comment on death; on Jesus’ crucifixion. Death is not the final answer; the forces of this earth do not win after all.
We live, sadly, in a world, that hasn’t changed much from the violence of the 1st century when Jesus did walk this earth. The only thing that has changed, it seems is that the methods of violence have changed and transmorphed technologically. Instead of crosses, we have electric chairs and injectable, death-producing drugs. Instead of swords, we get tanks and bazookas. The violence has remained the same.
But what has changed from those early days is that we believe that God came in and intervened in death. Resurrection is the answer to the gloomy nature of this sermon.
Resurrection, that empty tomb that first frightened the women, gives us all hope for whatever is going on in the world. It, resurrection, is the balm that we apply to the wounds of this earth. It doesn’t solve anything or make us turn away from the hard facts of our world, but it is a new lens through which to view them.
Resurrection impels us to act to ensure that death isn’t the final answer in the Sudan, Somalia, Iraq, and all around our globe. If we truly believe in resurrection, we are driven toward acting on our beliefs to make death less a threat to thousands and millions of people who face it on a daily basis.
We turn with fear and amazement from the empty tomb, with the two Marys and Salome. Fearful because we have never seen such a thing before and can’t believe it’s happened. Amazed because it changes everything about our world. Fearful and amazed because we know this means nothing is the same—and we cannot act as we always have. We must take action now. We must act against death and despair.
Resurrection indeed gives us hope: a hope that will carry us through any situation. A hope that is not shallow but digs deeply into our faith. A hope that faces death and knows that it is not the final answer. Yet a hope that acts and does what is needed to prevent death. Be that writing to congressional representatives and senators and presidents to do all that can be done. Or be it giving money to causes that are working to prevent the death and despair.
Be fearful and amazed but don’t be stuck there. Live in hope instead. A hope that changes the world and carries resurrection forth.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
