Sermon, Sunday, 1 February 2009

Mark 1:21-28

A few years ago, Allen and I went to see a strange, fun little movie called The Queen of Outer Space which was playing at the time in San Francisco at either the Castro Theatre or the Red Vic Theater. Wherever it was that we saw it, The Queen of Outer Space’s star was none other than the glamorous and fabulous Zsa Zsa Gabor. It was released over 50 years ago now in 1958.

The film was memorable, to me at least, for how silly it was; what little plot it had was quite odd and, of course, if you’ve got Zsa Zsa Gabor as your star, as the Queen of Outer Space herself, the camp factor is bound to be high. The story, as related on the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com) is that American astronauts are “mysteriously” drawn to the planet Venus, which is inhabited, naturally, by beautiful women and their “despotic” queen.

The scene I remember the best, and pretty much the only scene I can actually conjure up in my memory of the moive, was a shot of a spacecraft hurtling through space. Now remember, this was 1958:

• special effects master George Lucas was only 14 years old;
• the Soviet Union had sent Sputnik up only one year earlier;
• and in fact, NASA, our country’s space program, only came into being in 1958, the very same year that Zsa Zsa was alluringly ruling over all those beauties on Venus.

So the shot of the spacecraft that I’m remembering was out of the imagination of the Hollywood movie makers of what space travel might look like.

Sadly though, the reason that this scene with the spacecraft is so memorable is not because it is a forward-looking vision of things to come from the vantage point of 1958. No, it was the fact that up there on the big screen, you could see that the spacecraft hung on strings as it hurtled its way to Venus. Yes, there were strings or wires or threads or something attached to that spaceship which were very much in plain view for all of us in the audience to see. Those strings really required a lot of suspension of disbelief. One can only surmise that that 14-year-old George Lucas went to see the movie and thought to himself “I can do better than that.”

Of course, the San Francisco audience in which we sat some forty years after the film was released howled when they saw that. (Actually, we all got a pretty big kick out of most of the movie because it is so ludicrous.) In those four decades though between the original release and our viewing, we, the audience, had become more sophisticated…more discerning as viewers. I have no idea how Zsa Zsa and her fellow actors were received in 1958 because I was toddling about and not really interested in movies yet. Most of us though have grown up on the Star Wars movies and have advanced along with them and the special effects they employed. We expect our special effects today to be seamless; we don’t see the strings and can’t tell that the crowd scene is actually made up of colored q-tips. In our sophistication and discernment, we have left behind some of the innocence that the 1950s movie-going public enjoyed.

Well, if that kind of shift can happen in 40 or 50 years, a mere half century, imagine what two millennia can do. We hear stories like the one from Mark this morning and our 21st century minds immediately look for and chuckle knowingly at the strings we think we see. In the meantime though we miss some of the magic and the mystery that was a part of these narratives originally.

So today we’ve got Jesus in a synagogue in Capernaum. Now, we don’t really think much about Capernaum these days. In and of itself, it really wasn’t all that important. It sat on the Sea of Galilee and was probably established about 200 years before Jesus came along. From the gospels, we know that several of the disciples whom Jesus called were from Capernaum.

It’s the town where Jesus moved and set up his ministry from the beginning. Nazareth, where he grew up, was too small, too insignificant really for what he needed to do. He needed a more populated setting; a somewhat more urban location so that he could reach people, which was the point of him being here, after all. Sure Capernaum wasn’t Jerusalem, but it was a far cry from provincial Nazareth.

Mark is our most concise and terse gospel writer. He takes just 16 chapters to cover the same story about Jesus as the others take in 28, 24, and 21 chapters. Mark wastes little or no time in his writing and his favorite words or phrases are “immediately” or “just then” or “at once.” Mark keeps the story moving and allows us little chance to catch our breath. He has his purpose in telling this all this that he spells out right at the beginning in verse one, chapter one: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” and Mark is off and running.

The wheres and whens of Mark’s version of things are important. In this case, in the sparse verses preceding, Mark tells us how Jesus is baptized by John, is immediately driven into the wilderness where he is tempted and then he begins his Galilean ministry. He then calls his first disciples: those fishermen, Simon, Andrew, James, and John, who dropped everything right away in good Markan fashion to follow him. They go to Capernaum where, we heard, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath and was teaching.

Our account this morning is really two stories intertwined. We start off with is the teaching that Jesus was doing. Mark, unlike the other writers, does not actually tell us what Jesus was saying. We’re either supposed to know that already or it’s just not important to Mark. What is important in this first narrative is the effect of Jesus’ teaching on those sabbath synagogue goers: they are astounded, Mark says. Jesus teaches with authority, and, getting a jab in at the local ecclesiastical authorities, Mark lets everyone know that this teaching is not like that of the scribes.

That story, about Jesus teaching, is abruptly interrupted, just as the proceedings that day were interrupted. We hear Mark’s trademark “just then”, cluing us in to a shift in the narrative, as a man disrupts the synagogue by crying out accusations about Jesus. This man with the unclean spirit loudly questions Jesus: “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” Notice the use of the plural there—what have you to do with us. Who is the us? The people of Capernaum? One might think that he’s referring to the unclean spirits, but Mark, just a few words before, clearly states that the man has an unclean spirit…singular; no s at the end. Who is this us?

The story continues on in the plural: “Have you come to destroy us?” is the very next thing that the man barks out. Everything and everyone in the synagogue is in an uproar at this point, without a doubt. They don’t have the luxury of reading this account and noticing little things like grammatical number usage.

And right about here is where those strings that we saw in The Queen of Outer Space come in to play: we want, in our sophisticated 21st century way, two thousand years after this narrative first made it onto paper or papyrus or however it was captured, to categorize that shrieking, pitiful man with our own contemporary label so that we can grasp onto the story better. We smile knowingly as we nod our heads, stroke our chins, and say,”oh, he must have been suffering from dementia, poor guy” or schizophrenia or any number of modern maladies. We take comfort in assigning something we can recognize onto the situation. We think we see all too well the strings that Mark uses in this story.

But I think we miss out if we do that. I believe we have to do the best we can to go back as we encounter a story like this to a time and place as different as different can be from our own and just let the story be what it is. Mark had a point to make in his rush of immediacy to get his gospel out. And that point, echoing Mark’s very first words in his gospel, comes this time from none other than the one whom we’re ready to say is mentally ill or unbalanced. After the pandemonium that occurs in the synagogue, and the man with the unclean spirit confuses everyone with his use of ‘us’, out of his mouth comes “I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”

Whoa! Right there and then, with everyone standing around with their mouths agape and ready to dial 911 on their cell phones, right at the very start of Jesus’ ministry, Mark has him proclaimed the “Holy One of God”, by someone we’re ready to discount and ignore because we think we see the strings. Mark doesn’t wait for Peter to figure it out and make some grand proclamation or for Jesus to have been around for awhile teaching, preaching, and healing and getting his credentials. No, Mark in his immediacy puts Jesus’ identity out on the table right away. Whatever strings we thought we saw in this story turn out to be merely chimera; illusions that throw us off guard and make us the unbalanced ones.

Of course, in this very public setting, in which Jesus has already impressed the locals and really didn’t need to do more, he orders the unclean spirit (back to the singular again) out of the poor guy, which happens with convulsing and yelling in a most dramatic way that would make George Lucas proud. As if the authority of Jesus’ teaching before all the commotion wasn’t enough, this little scene really gets the synagogue crowd’s attention and they can’t wait to get out of there and tell anyone who will listen what they just witnessed, incredible as it is. “There’s a new thing happening” they’re proclaiming, “wait til you hear it for yourself.”

If you encounter these marvelous, mystery-laden stories which make up our bible and spend your time looking for the strings, you’re missing out. Jesus teaches with a new authority, Mark reminds us several times in these seven short verses. It’s different from any preacher or teacher you or I have ever heard undeniably. If you see the strings, if you see the strings though, don’t worry about it. Sit back and marvel instead at the new authority that is right before you.

Artwork credit: Healing the Sick, metal relief sculpture by Ulrich Henn
St. James Cathedral, Seattle, WA 2008
Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN, https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-search.pl

Faith Stories that have brought us where we are

When I asked our first guest interviewee, Doral Main, to send me a brief biography, one of the things she said about herself, which I then asked her about on Sunday, was that she was a fourth-generation Disciple. She could trace her faith lineage back to her great-grandparents in our denomination.

This has always intrigued me because I am something of a denominational mongrel in my ancestry as well as having been a bit nomadic in my own faith journey. As many of you know, I was baptized in a Methodist church, became Presbyterian in my teens, attended a joint UCC/American Baptist seminary, and was ordained and find myself at home in the Disciples of Christ now. But it doesn't stop there: In my family, we are represented still among both the Methodists and the Presbyterians. My Mother was brought up Presbyterian and my Father was Methodist and Congregationalist. My grandparents came from German Reformed (one of the predecessor denominations of the present day UCC), Congregationalist (another denomination in the UCC mix), Methodist, and Lutheran backgrounds.

I know in Chalice we have folks who were brought up in American Baptist, Roman Catholic, Methodist, Congregational, and Southern Baptist churches and some have little or no church involvement in their childhood and youth. And, yes, we have those dyed in the wool Disciples who, like Doral, trace their faith ancestry back to folks who may have known Alexander Campbell or Barton Stone. (I know I'm likely leaving out someone's background so I apologize if yours isn't in the list.)

But here we are, a wonderful mix of God's people, called together in one body. Naming and claiming our background in faith does not make us more or less Christian or even more or less Disciples. But our background, history, and heritage are important parts of our make-up as people of faith, seeking to hear God's call and to let the Light of Christ burn within us and from us.

Take a moment to remember those whose faith stories are intertwined with your own. Some, like my own Methodist/Congregationalist minister grandfather who died many years before I was born, we may have never met; some have been as close to us physically as our own breath; some are related by blood; some we claim as members of our family of faith. Remember those whose lives are inextricably woven into the fabric of your faith story. Remember and give thanks and know that the Light within you has been sparked by them.

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

Stories

Newsletter article, 21 January 2009

There is definitely excitement in the air following Tuesday's inaugural celebrations. Millions of people descended on Washington D.C. to be part of the history while millions upon millions more of us watched or listened over the radio, television, or internet.

There was a very human moment, in the midst of all the pomp and ceremony when, during the swearing of the oath of office, there was a mix up of the words between Supreme Court Chief Justice Roberts and President Obama. It was nothing major but I heard on the radio that the oath swearing was repeated later on to make sure they got it right; there was no leaving of anything to chance. I also heard that this had happened in the past; a second swearing in ceremony had to take place because the words weren't repeated exactly as they are laid down in the U.S. Constitution.

This mindset, strict adherence to an exacting way of looking at things, has all too often been brought into our faith world as Christians make the Bible a rule book with a precision that severs out those who don't agree with a particular telling of the Story. At the retreat last weekend, we talked about the richness of reading the Bible with Story in mind. Stories are not exacting or demanding. They allow flow and changes and even contradictions to be coexist within them. Stories do not deny rules and often contain them. But Story recognizes that words and images are heard differently by different people.

Stories, our stories, come from all parts of our lives: from the excitement and awe that welled up within us as our nation's 44th president stood before all those millions of people to the very personal tales of how our faith has held us and enriched us. Tell a story; make sure your story is told; listen to others' stories. Know that God resides within them.

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

11 January 2009, the 1st Sunday after the Epiphany/the Baptism of Christ

Following the scripture readings this week, I showed this clip on YouTube from the movie "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" which you can see by clicking here.

Mark 1:4-11

Water flows throughout scripture:

• the waters roiling from the very beginning as God creates everything in the universe;
• the waters rising and covering the earth as Noah, his family, and all those pairs of animals float above the sinfulness that God was attempting to drown out;
• Moses parting the Red Sea allowing liberation and freedom for a people;
• those same people, the Israelites in the wilderness, having their thirst slaked with water flowing from a rock;
• the Psalmist reminding us that God’s voice can be like the tumultuous roar of a waterfall;
• Amos exhorting justice to roll down like a mighty water;
• water becoming wine at Cana;
• the waters in the pool Bethsaida churning so that someone may be cured;
• and I’m sure you can think of others but our attention is called to the waters of the Jordan in which Jesus sought out John for baptism.

Water is important, both in the physical and spiritual realms. Thirst is a much more difficult thing to bear than hunger; we can go much longer without food than we can without water. But probably the closest analogy between the physical and spiritual uses of water comes from birth, when a new life, a new human, actually breaks forth out of water and emerges from the safety of the womb into a noisy, bright, and most confusing world.

And so it is with baptism. The noise, brightness, and confusion are no less jarring when, as baptized people, we look all around us and yearn for a world in which sin does not reign and the clamor of greed and power do not drown out our attempts at quiet, spiritual lives. We think of Jesus there in the Jordan, and ache for that same dove-descending, water-rippling moment in our lives.

If we really look at the text, if we pay close attention to the gospel accounts of this amazing moment, especially the version from Mark that is the lectionary reading for today, the peace might be shattered a bit.

First of all, there is John. John is not a peaceful individual. The last time we heard from John was when he was leaping in his mother Elizabeth’s womb as the pregnant Mary approached. Well, now it’s some thirty years later and John has grown into a really interesting character. So interesting in fact that Mark, our sparest gospel writer, takes the time to tell us about John’s diet and wardrobe. He’s a societal outsider with his camel hair and leather and locusts and honey.

But even more so, John is operating way outside the religious establishment with his baptism of repentance. People were flocking to the Jordan to be washed clean of their sins. But you know what? That was the religious authorities job. Wild-eyed John was usurping the clout of the priests and scribes and rattling the cages of the big boys.

And it is to John, this power-appropriating outsider, that Jesus shows himself one day for baptism with all the other seekers and those looking for new life, a new beginning. And John, without really much fanfare from Mark, does just that; he baptizes Jesus.

What happens next though is interesting: Mark tells us that Jesus sees the heavens torn apart and the Spirit coming down upon him. Mark uses the Greek word for ‘torn apart’ only twice in his gospel: here and when the curtain in the temple is torn in two at Jesus’ crucifixion. The action bookends Jesus’ ministry for Mark.

This is not the skies just opening up to let the Spirit out; this is a violent, physical event. If you think back to a little over a month ago, you might remember that Isaiah implored God to “tear open the heavens” the very first week Advent. Isaiah was praying that God would get Godself down here to earth and take care of the whole mess through a ripped open heaven.

Well, here at the Jordan, centuries later, Isaiah’s prayers are finally answered. The heavens are torn apart; ruptured by the rush of the Spirit getting down to earth for this momentous event.

Baptism is not an easy-going, calm event. Baptism is earthy; it is tumultuous; it is, if one listens, life-changing. It is both cleansing and initiative; by washing clean the slate so far, those who are baptized enter into new life, a new start.

They got it right in the movie clip I started this sermon with from the movie “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”. The film follows three escaped convicts as they seek to get to a treasure before a dam is built and the waters of the reservoir cover the treasure forever. Delmar, the slowest-witted of the trio, rushes headlong into the water, bypassing all the white-robed folks waiting their turns, jumping at the chance for a new start, ignoring the believers in their neat lines. The wrongs and sins from his past are over and gone; forgotten, he’s certain, by God and therefore, he believes, by everyone else. He is starting anew and, later in the movie, shows that new start.

We too often look back on our baptisms as placid affairs, done because it was the expected thing to do perhaps. Don’t feel badly though; centuries of art have portrayed it that way, as we see in this sculpture from the late 15th or early 16th century. The artist missed too the earth-shattering event that was going on as we catch a glimpse of Jesus just before the water hits him. So our tendency to thinking of this episode as a calm one is backed up by many years of others doing exactly the same thing.

In the taming of this feral event though, we miss the renting of the heavens and the voice telling us just how beloved we are. I have no doubts that Delmar saw and heard and experienced the whole messy affair as he put the robbing of the Piggly-Wiggly behind him and even the lies that he told in asserting his innocence. But we, in our calm, composed lives that probably have more in common with the authorities in Jerusalem than they do with some wilderness guy named John who needs a haircut and has a dandy recipe for locusts with honey, miss out somehow on the truly exciting, heaven-rending occasion that is baptism.

Baptism is a one-time event for most of us. Of our two sacraments, it is the single occurring one while communion is the on-going experience. So what’s done is done and there’s no turning back the hands of time to see if we can capture that experience of baptism that folks from Jesus through to Delmar have had.

But all is not lost; because we are called to remember and relive our baptisms daily, hourly, and even more frequently. We wade into the baptismal waters when we work to end poverty and when we aid those who are the least among us and when we comfort those who grieve, and there is plenty of grieving going on all around us these days.

It doesn’t matter how you were baptized or how old you were when it happened. It doesn’t matter if you have no recollection of the actual event whatsoever. It doesn’t matter if it was in a lake or a pool or a tub or beside a fount. What matters is that you remember and in remembering you are born into new life.

And as you do so, in the whole earthy, messy, outside-the-realm-of-social-convention-and-religious-authority practice of it, listen…listen carefully. A voice, perhaps a still, small voice, is going to be saying, “oh loved one…you really make me happy.”

The Baptism of Christ sculpted by Andrea Sansovino around 1500 in the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo in Florence, Italy. (Sansovino only did the sculptures of Christ and John; the angel was a later addition.)

Epiphany Sunday, 4 January 2009

The Star of Bethlehem
Edward Burne-Jones
1888-1891



Epiphany Sunday
Matthew 2:1-12 (Click the link to read the scripture.)


The Christmas Show at Radio City Music Hall in New York City can only be described as a spectacle, and that word does not do justice to the event that happens there on stage at the corner of 50th Street and 6th Avenue (or Avenue of the Americas, as they’ve tried to rename it, though true New Yorkers tend to refuse that mouthful of a moniker). In fact, the official title of the show is “The Radio City Christmas Spectacular” which has played for over 75 years according to their website. (http://www.radiocitychristmas.com//) Of course, the Rockettes are a big draw as they high-kick their way through the holiday season. While Allen & I lived in New York I took my Mom to see the show once, and I continue to marvel at all that happened on that stage.

Besides the Rockettes, the big happening of the Radio City Christmas Spectacular is the telling of the Christmas story…you know the Christmas story with Joseph, Mary, & Jesus in it; not one of those more recent Christmas stories that involve elves or talking snowmen or other inventions of the marketing mind. For me, even as an adult some 15 years ago, part of the wonder of this theatrical occasion was that they used real animals in the show; right up there, on stage, in New York City, of all places, where the animals we were used to seeing were mainly pigeons and rats though if you had a chance to venture into Central Park you might find some squirrels begging for food.

But there they were up on stage: cows and sheep and goats and who knows what else. But probably the most memorable creatures to be part of the action, at least for me, were the camels; real, live, hump-backed camels.

Those dromedaries make their entrance, on cue naturally, with the Magi toward the end of the tableau in the midst of all the wonderful, dripping Art Deco interior that is Radio City Music Hall. No pigeons, rats or squirrels for these theatre-goers (though assuredly, I was in the minority as a New York resident in the audience…this show is mostly for out-of-towners I think I can safely assert). Camels; actual camels up there on stage.

So at the climax of this theatrical vision of visions, we have three actors made up to look like kings or magi or whatever corporate, ticket-selling America thinks they are, entering with their camels to complete the picture.

And that theatrical entrance, entering stage left if I recall correctly, is what we’re on about today. Epiphany: The tale of the wise men who traveled from distant points to pay homage at the birth of a child who was destined to be a king. There is much lore that surrounds this narrative. It doesn’t say that there are three wise men but tradition has put it at that number because of the fact that we’re told they brought three gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Once they were thought of as kings themselves; royalty who came to see this baby Jesus and pay homage to the king who was greater than they and thus the carol “We Three Kings” always comes to mind this time of year. But really, the proper translation is more along the lines of wise men. But we don’t know who they were or anything much about them; we don’t even really know if they had camels, but that’s such a good part of the Radio City show that why would we leave it out?

I don’t think it’s any coincidence that we celebrate Epiphany at the start of each new year. Epiphany is traditionally observed on the 12th day of Christmas, which is always the 6th of January for those of us who follow the western Christian calendar. A lot of churches, like ours, does not have a special Epiphany day service but mark the occasion on the Sunday just before or after, like we’re doing today. But Tuesday is really Epiphany, if you want to get technical.

But here we are, just barely into 2009, and our thoughts turn toward watching the night sky for a star to guide us. And who among us does not need that sort of celestial, heavenly guidance? Who has not stopped for a moment over the past few days and wondered what the oncoming months will bring?

True, this whole demarcation of time thing is humanly-created to fit our own human needs. At first we needed, as the supposedly intelligent creatures in the global neighborhood, to know when we were going to require shelter from summer’s scorching sun or winter’s cold. We needed to know when we should be out reaping from the plants that grew for the time ahead when food would not be readily available. Then we needed to know when to plant and when to harvest crops. So we came up with systems of marking time.

And today most of us mark time more with the ebb and flow of holidays and credit card bills than we do with agricultural concerns or the movement of those celestial bodies. And we’ve come to note when earth has gone around the sun in a full orbit. Of course, we can do that every day; every moment is twelve months, give or take a second or two I understand, from when we were at this particular point in relation to the course around our own local star. But custom has been handed down that we celebrate and note one precise moment in the orbit and say, “Now. Right now…at this point in the orbit…here is the start of a year.” And so we take time to reflect and ponder the future as calendars are replaced and champagne corks are popped.

Furthermore, we, of the western Christian ilk, have the opportunity for a double shot of that future-pondering. Because Epiphany, following on the heels of New Years Day, is when we seek, when we hope to learn, to discover. It’s when we look to the heavens, mimicking wise ones from centuries ago, for signs of new life and new hope; when we look for those stars that foretell change and new possibilities.


The word ‘epiphany’ comes to us from the Greek language.* It’s made up of two words: first, epi, which means ‘to’ or ‘on’; and then, phainein, which means ‘to show’. This celebration is indeed when God’s incarnation was shown to the whole of the world, represented by those gentiles, or non-Jews, whom we call the magi who came and recognized Jesus as God on earth. Those Magi, however many there were, stand in for all the rest of us who weren’t among the first century Jews.

Around 1300, there was another name used for this holiday: it was called, are you ready for this?, ‘Tiffany’. Yep, that’s right, the name that every other kindergarten girl seems to have these days comes from this festival. It got to be a name, in fact, because girls born on Epiphany, or Tiffany, were often named after the holiday.

Tiffany is itself a shortened name. It stands in for the longer word ‘Theophany”. Theophany…epiphany; notice the resemblance? That same root is at the end, our old friend phainein, to show. But standing in for that little word epi, we have theo which is the Greek word for God. Theophany means, essentially, ‘to show God’ or 'the showing forth of God', which of course is what was happening in that quixotic episode that Matthew recounts. God is shown to the world in the form of a kid in diapers, just as newborn offspring are shown to fathers standing with joy and thoughts of the future at the window of the hospital nursery…or at least that’s how they used to do it in the movies.

So the future-pondering in which we take part is not just idle speculation about the next five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes and what fate may bring to us during the course of them. No, this is one of those times when we get to stand apart from our culture, as seems to be occurring more and more often these days. As people of faith, claiming Christianity as our route to God, we are scanning the heavens not to see what the stars tell us of our future as a newspaper astrologer might, but for what most of us would consider the more-important search for Theophany…for a ‘God-showing’.

We pause amidst the spectacle of camels in Manhattan and let our eyes leave the fabulous Art Deco surroundings and even suspend for a moment the high-kicks of the Rockettes, holding the champagne corks and pausing in our calendar replacing for an instant, to notice that the stars lead to a baby whose birth we just celebrated; the very same baby who is our Theophany…who is our Tiffany…who is our Epiphany.

Yes, we will wonder about the weeks ahead in 2009, but don’t lose sight of your search in the heavens for a star, for a sign that will lead you to God-among-us.



* Etymology of Ephipany, Theophany, & Tiffany came from http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?search=epiphany&searchmode=none.