I didn't preach on Christmas Sunday but rather showed a marvelous video of the Christmas Nativity Story as told by children. Here's the link to the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zduwusyip8M
Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!
The Straight Path
John 1:6-8, 19-28
The Bible is filled with all sorts of interesting characters. From David the king to Rahab the prostitute, from Isaiah the prophet to Paul the self-appointed apostle, there are all sorts of folks in scripture who can edify, enrage, and even entertain you. We heard about one of those special characters in today’s gospel reading: John the Baptist.
Now my Baptist friends are probably quick to claim him as one of their own, but John really belongs to all of us. But sometimes I wonder if we really want him. From the other gospels, we know that he was an odd character: rough clothing, strange diet. He lived out in the wilds and one can just imagine him with disheveled, unkempt hair and a big, bushy beard.
But he knew how to draw a crowd and indeed he was drawing crowds. People were flocking to John out there in the wilderness to get baptized; to get themselves cleansed and made right. And John was willingly doing it. But you know how someone who is successful independent of the authorities can be viewed by those same authorities: they’re distrustful and want to know why people are listening to him and not them.
It was the same with John. The religious authorities of the day were scratching their heads about John. Who is he and why is he so popular? It made those authorities sit up and take notice and get more than just a little worried. In fact, as we know, poor John was imprisoned and executed by Herod in not too much time after today’s scripture took place. It can be a dangerous thing when you make the authorities jealous.
John knows who he is though. He’s asked if he is the Messiah, the one who’s come to save Israel and John says, “Nope, not me.” They ask him if he’s Elijah, since Elijah was taken up into heaven and he says the same thing. Then they ask if he’s the prophet and again John tells them no.
“Well, if you’re not any of those, who the heck are you then?” they wanted to know. They were looking for credentials and the proper authority behind John’s popularity. “If you’re not the Messiah, Elijah, or the prophet, what right do you have to do what you’re doing?” And that’s when John quotes scripture and tells them exactly what’s going on. Actually, John changes the scripture just a little to suit his purpose. But that’s neither here nor there. John in all his burly, wooly, earthiness let’s them know that he is making the way straight. What way? Well, the way for the Lord.
John is out in the wilderness making the path straight. Now mind you the wilderness to them is nothing like our wildernesses. We think of rugged mountainsides covered in trees when we think of wilderness areas. But to John and the others of his time, the wilderness is where he spent all his time. It was the desert: dry, barren, rocky. Travel is hard there and one doesn’t venture out into it without a little trepidation.
But John’s job, out there in the wilderness, is to make a straight path. But John, of course, isn’t talking about a physical path. He’s preparing the people for the coming of the Messiah. But the Messiah isn’t going to be the one that everyone expects. They’re waiting for a political savior; a mighty, army man who will free Israel once and for all. But John knows, and maybe the only one who knows at this point, what sort of Messiah is coming.
John is making the way straight through the baptisms he is doing. He is preparing the masses of people who are coming to him by preaching about repentance and turning to God. He’s making the way plain not necessarily so God can easily get to the people. God doesn’t really need that. No, John is making the way straight for the people to get to God.
The straight path that John is laying out is one for the people of Israel. He preached about repentance and turning to God, which is evidently what the people needed to hear at that time.
John the Baptist was a particular individual at a particular point in history. But there are John the Baptists all around us. They are the ones who are making the way plain for us to reach out to God. They’ve created a path for us to travel that leads to God. Take a moment to stop and think about those people who have created paths for you to find God. Perhaps it was a Sunday School teacher from your childhood. Maybe it was a parent, grandparent, or other relative. Perhaps it was even a preacher, but that’s almost too shocking to be true!
We all have John the Baptists in our past and perhaps some even in our present. They are the ones who are working to create a path that is straight from you to God. They are removing obstacles and filling in holes so your way is easy and direct. Maybe you, like those Pharisees from the first century, don’t recognize the importance of the people who have done all this. You might think that the way is easy because it just is. But stop and recognize the work that has gone into getting you to the point you’re at today. Recognize all that has gone into making you the faithful person that you are. It may have been a lifelong process or a journey of a few years.
Whoever those John the Baptists in your life are, remember this Advent to give thanks for them. You may not be able to thank them directly for any number of reasons, but raise your gratitude to God for all those people in your life who have made the path straight and plain for you.
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.
This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, "Who are you?" He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, "I am not the Messiah." And they asked him, "What then? Are you Elijah?" He said, "I am not." "Are you the prophet?" He answered, "No." Then they said to him, "Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?" He said,
"I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,
'Make straight the way of the Lord,'"
as the prophet Isaiah said.
Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. They asked him, "Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?" John answered them, "I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal." This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.
The Bible is filled with all sorts of interesting characters. From David the king to Rahab the prostitute, from Isaiah the prophet to Paul the self-appointed apostle, there are all sorts of folks in scripture who can edify, enrage, and even entertain you. We heard about one of those special characters in today’s gospel reading: John the Baptist.
Now my Baptist friends are probably quick to claim him as one of their own, but John really belongs to all of us. But sometimes I wonder if we really want him. From the other gospels, we know that he was an odd character: rough clothing, strange diet. He lived out in the wilds and one can just imagine him with disheveled, unkempt hair and a big, bushy beard.
But he knew how to draw a crowd and indeed he was drawing crowds. People were flocking to John out there in the wilderness to get baptized; to get themselves cleansed and made right. And John was willingly doing it. But you know how someone who is successful independent of the authorities can be viewed by those same authorities: they’re distrustful and want to know why people are listening to him and not them.
It was the same with John. The religious authorities of the day were scratching their heads about John. Who is he and why is he so popular? It made those authorities sit up and take notice and get more than just a little worried. In fact, as we know, poor John was imprisoned and executed by Herod in not too much time after today’s scripture took place. It can be a dangerous thing when you make the authorities jealous.
John knows who he is though. He’s asked if he is the Messiah, the one who’s come to save Israel and John says, “Nope, not me.” They ask him if he’s Elijah, since Elijah was taken up into heaven and he says the same thing. Then they ask if he’s the prophet and again John tells them no.
“Well, if you’re not any of those, who the heck are you then?” they wanted to know. They were looking for credentials and the proper authority behind John’s popularity. “If you’re not the Messiah, Elijah, or the prophet, what right do you have to do what you’re doing?” And that’s when John quotes scripture and tells them exactly what’s going on. Actually, John changes the scripture just a little to suit his purpose. But that’s neither here nor there. John in all his burly, wooly, earthiness let’s them know that he is making the way straight. What way? Well, the way for the Lord.
John is out in the wilderness making the path straight. Now mind you the wilderness to them is nothing like our wildernesses. We think of rugged mountainsides covered in trees when we think of wilderness areas. But to John and the others of his time, the wilderness is where he spent all his time. It was the desert: dry, barren, rocky. Travel is hard there and one doesn’t venture out into it without a little trepidation.
But John’s job, out there in the wilderness, is to make a straight path. But John, of course, isn’t talking about a physical path. He’s preparing the people for the coming of the Messiah. But the Messiah isn’t going to be the one that everyone expects. They’re waiting for a political savior; a mighty, army man who will free Israel once and for all. But John knows, and maybe the only one who knows at this point, what sort of Messiah is coming.
John is making the way straight through the baptisms he is doing. He is preparing the masses of people who are coming to him by preaching about repentance and turning to God. He’s making the way plain not necessarily so God can easily get to the people. God doesn’t really need that. No, John is making the way straight for the people to get to God.
The straight path that John is laying out is one for the people of Israel. He preached about repentance and turning to God, which is evidently what the people needed to hear at that time.
John the Baptist was a particular individual at a particular point in history. But there are John the Baptists all around us. They are the ones who are making the way plain for us to reach out to God. They’ve created a path for us to travel that leads to God. Take a moment to stop and think about those people who have created paths for you to find God. Perhaps it was a Sunday School teacher from your childhood. Maybe it was a parent, grandparent, or other relative. Perhaps it was even a preacher, but that’s almost too shocking to be true!
We all have John the Baptists in our past and perhaps some even in our present. They are the ones who are working to create a path that is straight from you to God. They are removing obstacles and filling in holes so your way is easy and direct. Maybe you, like those Pharisees from the first century, don’t recognize the importance of the people who have done all this. You might think that the way is easy because it just is. But stop and recognize the work that has gone into getting you to the point you’re at today. Recognize all that has gone into making you the faithful person that you are. It may have been a lifelong process or a journey of a few years.
Whoever those John the Baptists in your life are, remember this Advent to give thanks for them. You may not be able to thank them directly for any number of reasons, but raise your gratitude to God for all those people in your life who have made the path straight and plain for you.
Keeping Awake
Mark 13:24-37
Well, we’ve survived another “Black Friday.” I don’t know if any of you were among those who waited eagerly for doors to open at midnight or earlier on Thursday, or just avoided the whole rush of consumerism that now annually follows Thanksgiving. And so the starter’s pistol has gone off and we’ve begun the mad rush to the 25th of December. We’re all familiar with what has become the cultural celebration of this season--the parties, the celebrations, the search for gifts, the cards, the decorating, all of it. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not separating myself out from this culture and looking down my nose at all the preparations. Even though I sat out “Black Friday,” I’m as much a participant in our cultural orgy of decorations and holiday festivities.
Before we wrap ourselves up in red and green ribbon though, let’s stop and look around us at the blues and purples that adorn our worship space. Those blues and purples of Advent which indicate that it’s that time of year that begins the church year and leads us up to Bethlehem. Blues and purples to indicate penitence and repentance. Blues and purples to lead us into a time of retrospection and anticipation.
Here at the start of Advent the lectionary scriptures don’t have us facing Bethlehem or Christmas lights or any of the cultural trappings of the season. No, we are facing the end of the world. Well, and a Merry Christmas to you.
As Matthew Skinner, professor of New Testament at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota wrote, “It's time for Christians to declare that God's previous incursion into human affairs through Jesus Christ is not the end of the story but the foundation for a future hope of God bringing ultimate promises to fruition.” (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/matthew-l-skinner/mark-13-danger-of-advent_b_1106409.html) We are all about anticipation right now, but not anticipating the Christmas event necessarily and certainly not about anticipating what we’ll find underneath the tree. But we are anticipating a time when God’s realm is made real here on earth. That’s a mighty big thing to be watching for.
Which could be why our Gospel reading this morning ends with the warning to “keep awake.” Jesus has just compared the inbreaking of God’s realm to a home owner returning from a journey. The doorkeeper needs to be awake and alert to let the master back into the house.
Did you notice that at the very start of our reading from Mark this morning that Jesus used the phrase, “after that suffering?” What suffering is he talking about? The suffering he is referring to is the desolation that he had just described in the verses preceding, including the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Jesus is separating out his predictions of the end of time from this desolation.
To the early hearers of Mark’s gospel, the fumes of the destruction of Jerusalem in the siege that destroyed the city and the Temple in the year 70 would still be in their nostrils. They would be wondering, those who were Christian, why Jesus didn’t return to take control and save the city. They would be wondering why God didn’t intervene.
But Jesus had already told them, that, in spite of what the Left Behind series of books say, God isn’t returning in the midst of war and desolation. God comes triumphant to be sure, but not in the midst of war. Jesus has just told us this in the passage from Mark.
To those early Christians, the destruction of Jerusalem was an important and potent event. And Jesus is moving away from that power; an earthly power to be sure, but not God’s power.
In the verses leading up to Jesus’ words today, he warns of false messiahs and false prophets. Certainly today we have signs that we could say portend the end of the world: Iran’s nuclear activity, Osama bin Laden’s death, the collapse of the world’s economy, the Occupy movement. All these things and more could certainly be seen as signs and portends about the end of time and the incoming of God’s realm.
But again, we’re looking at it through human eyes; not through God’s eyes. These are events and activities of human power, not God’s power. They are worrisome or inspiring or hope-producing to be sure, but they don’t necessarily predict the end of time, a time when God’s realm truly comes in in all its fullness.
We, however, as Christians in the 21st century are not about passively waiting around for all this to happen. We have Advent to remind us to remain alert and awake, waiting for God’s inbreaking. And it’s a reminder that we are to carry throughout the whole year. Advent is indeed a busy time for us, but it’s not the busyness of putting up trees and stringing lights and finding new holiday clothes. Advent, if we commemorate it properly, is about watching and waiting actively. We watch and wait for when God’s realm finally breaks through and true justice and true peace reign.
What is active waiting? I remember as a kid going with my younger brother to a matinee of a play or movie or some event aimed at us kids. Mom was picking us up at the end of the event. As we waited outside, the crowd of kids grew smaller and smaller until there were only a handful of us left waiting. I remember very clearly peering down the street, watching, waiting for that blue Plymouth to come into view. And I recall the relief which came over me as it arrived.
Our waiting and watching is similar...we’re peering down the street in anxious anticipation of God’s blue Plymouth to turn the corner and arrive to announce that God’s realm is here, finally here, in all its fullness, with lights flashing and horns blaring.
I’m grateful that Advent occurs in our hemisphere during the time when the light lessens until we reach the darkest day of the year. As is the tradition, we light candles against the darkness; tiny, feeble, piteous lights against the huge darkness. But those tiny lights, lit as they are in defiance of the night, signal our hope; a hope that lasts through the darkest darkness that can come at us and signals that we are indeed watching and waiting.
This Advent, get in the practice of waiting and watching. The time is coming. We need to be prepared and awake.
"But in those days, after that suffering,
the sun will be darkened,
and the moon will not give its light,
and the stars will be falling from heaven,
and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.
Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in clouds' with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.
"From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
"But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake."
Well, we’ve survived another “Black Friday.” I don’t know if any of you were among those who waited eagerly for doors to open at midnight or earlier on Thursday, or just avoided the whole rush of consumerism that now annually follows Thanksgiving. And so the starter’s pistol has gone off and we’ve begun the mad rush to the 25th of December. We’re all familiar with what has become the cultural celebration of this season--the parties, the celebrations, the search for gifts, the cards, the decorating, all of it. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not separating myself out from this culture and looking down my nose at all the preparations. Even though I sat out “Black Friday,” I’m as much a participant in our cultural orgy of decorations and holiday festivities.
Before we wrap ourselves up in red and green ribbon though, let’s stop and look around us at the blues and purples that adorn our worship space. Those blues and purples of Advent which indicate that it’s that time of year that begins the church year and leads us up to Bethlehem. Blues and purples to indicate penitence and repentance. Blues and purples to lead us into a time of retrospection and anticipation.
Here at the start of Advent the lectionary scriptures don’t have us facing Bethlehem or Christmas lights or any of the cultural trappings of the season. No, we are facing the end of the world. Well, and a Merry Christmas to you.
As Matthew Skinner, professor of New Testament at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota wrote, “It's time for Christians to declare that God's previous incursion into human affairs through Jesus Christ is not the end of the story but the foundation for a future hope of God bringing ultimate promises to fruition.” (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/matthew-l-skinner/mark-13-danger-of-advent_b_1106409.html) We are all about anticipation right now, but not anticipating the Christmas event necessarily and certainly not about anticipating what we’ll find underneath the tree. But we are anticipating a time when God’s realm is made real here on earth. That’s a mighty big thing to be watching for.
Which could be why our Gospel reading this morning ends with the warning to “keep awake.” Jesus has just compared the inbreaking of God’s realm to a home owner returning from a journey. The doorkeeper needs to be awake and alert to let the master back into the house.
Did you notice that at the very start of our reading from Mark this morning that Jesus used the phrase, “after that suffering?” What suffering is he talking about? The suffering he is referring to is the desolation that he had just described in the verses preceding, including the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Jesus is separating out his predictions of the end of time from this desolation.
To the early hearers of Mark’s gospel, the fumes of the destruction of Jerusalem in the siege that destroyed the city and the Temple in the year 70 would still be in their nostrils. They would be wondering, those who were Christian, why Jesus didn’t return to take control and save the city. They would be wondering why God didn’t intervene.
But Jesus had already told them, that, in spite of what the Left Behind series of books say, God isn’t returning in the midst of war and desolation. God comes triumphant to be sure, but not in the midst of war. Jesus has just told us this in the passage from Mark.
To those early Christians, the destruction of Jerusalem was an important and potent event. And Jesus is moving away from that power; an earthly power to be sure, but not God’s power.
In the verses leading up to Jesus’ words today, he warns of false messiahs and false prophets. Certainly today we have signs that we could say portend the end of the world: Iran’s nuclear activity, Osama bin Laden’s death, the collapse of the world’s economy, the Occupy movement. All these things and more could certainly be seen as signs and portends about the end of time and the incoming of God’s realm.
But again, we’re looking at it through human eyes; not through God’s eyes. These are events and activities of human power, not God’s power. They are worrisome or inspiring or hope-producing to be sure, but they don’t necessarily predict the end of time, a time when God’s realm truly comes in in all its fullness.
We, however, as Christians in the 21st century are not about passively waiting around for all this to happen. We have Advent to remind us to remain alert and awake, waiting for God’s inbreaking. And it’s a reminder that we are to carry throughout the whole year. Advent is indeed a busy time for us, but it’s not the busyness of putting up trees and stringing lights and finding new holiday clothes. Advent, if we commemorate it properly, is about watching and waiting actively. We watch and wait for when God’s realm finally breaks through and true justice and true peace reign.
What is active waiting? I remember as a kid going with my younger brother to a matinee of a play or movie or some event aimed at us kids. Mom was picking us up at the end of the event. As we waited outside, the crowd of kids grew smaller and smaller until there were only a handful of us left waiting. I remember very clearly peering down the street, watching, waiting for that blue Plymouth to come into view. And I recall the relief which came over me as it arrived.
Our waiting and watching is similar...we’re peering down the street in anxious anticipation of God’s blue Plymouth to turn the corner and arrive to announce that God’s realm is here, finally here, in all its fullness, with lights flashing and horns blaring.
I’m grateful that Advent occurs in our hemisphere during the time when the light lessens until we reach the darkest day of the year. As is the tradition, we light candles against the darkness; tiny, feeble, piteous lights against the huge darkness. But those tiny lights, lit as they are in defiance of the night, signal our hope; a hope that lasts through the darkest darkness that can come at us and signals that we are indeed watching and waiting.
This Advent, get in the practice of waiting and watching. The time is coming. We need to be prepared and awake.
Wilderness Water
Exodus 17:1-7
The wilderness can be an interesting place; an interesting, terrifying, uncomfortable place. The wilderness is where we wander, sometimes for much longer than we would like. But the wilderness is where we meet God and receive God’s care. Let’s look at the experience of the ancient Israelites in the wilderness.
If you’ve been following the lectionary, you’ll know that they have just left Egypt where they had been enslaved for generations. Through Moses, God intervened to bring liberation to the people, with a series of miracles and supernatural events culminating in the parting of the Red Sea. The Egyptians gave up at that point when their army was consumed by the sea. The Israelites were free and were making their way to the land which had been promised to their ancestors all the way back to Abraham.
But there was an in-between time; a time after they had secured their release from Egypt before they reached the land. Of course, this in-between time was lengthened but that’s tale from another reading for another day. But when we find the Israelites in today’s reading they still had the memory of being servants in Egypt and were looking forward to claiming their land. Yet to come was the giving of the law on Mount Sinai and their disobedience that lengthened their wilderness experience to forty years.
So this ragtag band of former slaves is in the midst of the wilderness. There are many types of wilderness of course, but the one that the Israelites found themselves in was a hot, dry, arid place. It seems quite reasonable and natural that they would be complaining about a lack of water. Water is vital stuff. It gives life and, without it, life can ebb away. And they were in a place in which there was a decided lack of water.
Just prior to this reading, the Israelites had complained about a lack of food which was taken care of by the giving of manna or bread from heaven. So there is a track record of God’s care here. God hears the problems that are being faced and does something about them.
Moses, on the other hand, is less caring, it seems. He hears grumbling among the people and frets and worries because of it. Perhaps he is afraid of his leadership position being threatened. Perhaps he doesn’t understand the caring that God can provide and worries about approaching God with this latest, freshest complaint of the people. In any case, Moses comes off as a bit petulant and fretful.
God, as we know, provides. The people are thirsty so God provides water, and from a rather unexpected source: a rock. Moses, using the same staff with which he struck the Nile and turned it to blood and the same staff that he held up to part the Red Sea, hit the rock with his staff and voila, water for all. The same staff that had earlier taken away life-giving water in the Nile, now provides it for the Israelites in the midst of the wilderness.
Chalice could be said to be in its own wilderness experience at the moment. We don’t know what the future holds; there’s a lot of uncertainty and we are wandering, wondering if we’ll find some sort of promised land or we’ll die from thirst in the midst of the wilderness. It’s not a particularly pleasant place to be, certainly.
But here we are. Thirsty, hot, and wondering if we’ve been abandoned. Wasn’t life better back in Egypt, even if we were slaves? At least there was some security, some sense of well-being, whatever the price. God, where is our water that will refresh us and provide us with the energy to go on?
The wilderness is a place of God’s caring. God cares about God’s people and shows it most in the wilderness. God provides manna from above and water from a rock. Unexpected but still exactly what was needed at that time.
The Hebrew people had to change who they were through their wilderness experience though. Their identities as servants of the Egyptian people had to change. Though they might not have known who they were becoming, they had to change there in the wilderness. It was inevitable.
The change couldn’t have happened though without God’s care; without water from a rock. They likely would have died of thirst in the wilderness without the divine care that got them through. But God took care of that part of their needs and they survived and were able to go on to receive the law that was to become the bedrock of their faith.
God is with us, right here, right now, in our wilderness experience. If we are thirsty, God will provide, I believe. We may not expect what is to come and we don’t know how we’ll end up in our identity. But God’s care for us will be available to us in the wilderness.
From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. The people quarrelled with Moses, and said, "Give us water to drink." Moses said to them, "Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?" But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, "Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?" So Moses cried out to the Lord, "What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me." The Lord said to Moses, "Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink." Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarrelled and tested the Lord, saying, "Is the Lord among us or not?"
If you’ve been following the lectionary, you’ll know that they have just left Egypt where they had been enslaved for generations. Through Moses, God intervened to bring liberation to the people, with a series of miracles and supernatural events culminating in the parting of the Red Sea. The Egyptians gave up at that point when their army was consumed by the sea. The Israelites were free and were making their way to the land which had been promised to their ancestors all the way back to Abraham.
But there was an in-between time; a time after they had secured their release from Egypt before they reached the land. Of course, this in-between time was lengthened but that’s tale from another reading for another day. But when we find the Israelites in today’s reading they still had the memory of being servants in Egypt and were looking forward to claiming their land. Yet to come was the giving of the law on Mount Sinai and their disobedience that lengthened their wilderness experience to forty years.
So this ragtag band of former slaves is in the midst of the wilderness. There are many types of wilderness of course, but the one that the Israelites found themselves in was a hot, dry, arid place. It seems quite reasonable and natural that they would be complaining about a lack of water. Water is vital stuff. It gives life and, without it, life can ebb away. And they were in a place in which there was a decided lack of water.
Just prior to this reading, the Israelites had complained about a lack of food which was taken care of by the giving of manna or bread from heaven. So there is a track record of God’s care here. God hears the problems that are being faced and does something about them.
Moses, on the other hand, is less caring, it seems. He hears grumbling among the people and frets and worries because of it. Perhaps he is afraid of his leadership position being threatened. Perhaps he doesn’t understand the caring that God can provide and worries about approaching God with this latest, freshest complaint of the people. In any case, Moses comes off as a bit petulant and fretful.
God, as we know, provides. The people are thirsty so God provides water, and from a rather unexpected source: a rock. Moses, using the same staff with which he struck the Nile and turned it to blood and the same staff that he held up to part the Red Sea, hit the rock with his staff and voila, water for all. The same staff that had earlier taken away life-giving water in the Nile, now provides it for the Israelites in the midst of the wilderness.
Chalice could be said to be in its own wilderness experience at the moment. We don’t know what the future holds; there’s a lot of uncertainty and we are wandering, wondering if we’ll find some sort of promised land or we’ll die from thirst in the midst of the wilderness. It’s not a particularly pleasant place to be, certainly.
But here we are. Thirsty, hot, and wondering if we’ve been abandoned. Wasn’t life better back in Egypt, even if we were slaves? At least there was some security, some sense of well-being, whatever the price. God, where is our water that will refresh us and provide us with the energy to go on?
The wilderness is a place of God’s caring. God cares about God’s people and shows it most in the wilderness. God provides manna from above and water from a rock. Unexpected but still exactly what was needed at that time.
The Hebrew people had to change who they were through their wilderness experience though. Their identities as servants of the Egyptian people had to change. Though they might not have known who they were becoming, they had to change there in the wilderness. It was inevitable.
The change couldn’t have happened though without God’s care; without water from a rock. They likely would have died of thirst in the wilderness without the divine care that got them through. But God took care of that part of their needs and they survived and were able to go on to receive the law that was to become the bedrock of their faith.
God is with us, right here, right now, in our wilderness experience. If we are thirsty, God will provide, I believe. We may not expect what is to come and we don’t know how we’ll end up in our identity. But God’s care for us will be available to us in the wilderness.
Sowing Seeds
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| Sower by Vincent Van Gogh |
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| The Sower by Lee Lawrie |
While I was growing up in the country back in rural Northeastern Pennsylvania, we had large yards around our home; front, back and sides. In the big back yard, we always had a garden. Actually there were several gardens; some with flowers some with vegetables. I remember clearly planting the vegetable gardens: corn, and zucchini, and lettuce, and beans, and tomatoes, and so on.
Most of it, of course, was planted from seeds in the spring. And what I remember was that we would create long furrows in the dirt. And then, according to the directions on the seed packets we would put one or two seeds every few inches. As spring wore on to summer and the chance of frost was but a memory, the seeds would sprout and small plants would appear in the soil. We would weed to eliminate any competition for the rain and nutrients in the soil. With enough care and tending, by the end of summer there would be fresh corn, zucchini, lettuce, beans, and tomatoes.
Of course, all this was done by hand; we dug up the garden and hoed the furrows and placed the seed in by ourselves; a far cry, I’m certain, from the practices of modern agribusinesses. Our little plot was nothing compared to the acres of farming that requires tractors and other machinery to do what we did by hand. But the basis of the growing process remains the same: create rows of holes in the dirt where seeds can go.
How different from the method that Jesus describes in his parable of the seeds. Then, the seeds were scattered by a sower who flings the seeds across a field, much like the statue of The Sower by Lee Lawrie which sits atop the tower of the Nebraskan capitol building or the painting by Van Gogh. No straight rows, no holes dug. Just hurl the seeds and wait.
And it was that waiting period that Jesus talked about. Some seeds get flung on a pathway with soil too compacted for any roots to take hold so they become bird feed. Some get flung in rocky soil, where there isn’t enough room for their roots and the sun scorches them. Some are thrown among thorns and weeds which allow the plant to grow a little but soon crowd out the young plant and choke it off. Finally, some of the seeds get tossed onto good soil: no rocks, no weeds or thorns and soil loose enough for roots to burrow down into the nutrient rich earth. These seeds of course are the ones that provide for the sower and yield the grain or vegetables that they were meant to produce.
Now why would Jesus talk in parables, which can be hard to understand and difficult to comprehend? Their meaning is as difficult to hold onto as grasping a fistful of sand. It seeps out of every opening in your hand until you are left with a few grains of sand and air.
Remember that Jesus was outside teaching this to the crowds. Early on, such as at the time of the sermon on the mount, Jesus was direct, as he was with his disciples in private. But why this switch to confounding parables at this point.
Possibly, Jesus’ renown was gaining attention in many quarters, including those arenas that would be a danger to his life, as we know happened. In large crowds, there could be followers and supporters but there could also be spies for the religious authorities and even the empire. In the NRSV Bible passage which we heard this morning, Jesus begins and ends this parable by saying “listen” a clue perhaps to his followers that they’re going to have to do some of the work here to understand what’s going on. “Let anyone with ears, listen.”
Jesus does, later in chapter 13, go on to explain this parable to his disciples who come out and ask him why he’s talking so confusingly in these parables. In his explanation, which we also heard this morning, he focuses on the seeds and what they do, where they land and how they are like us hearing the Word and reacting in various ways. It’s not about judging what kind of soil others have landed in, though the temptation to do could be strong. It’s about looking at the soil around you and where you yourself have landed that counts. To the tiny Christian community that Matthew was addressing, surely these words would have been comforting. In the face of opposition by the Jewish authorities and the great Roman Empire, surely they, those early Christians, must have wondered if they were going to survive, both individually and collectively. Finding yourself in good soil gives hope. And we, unlike seeds, have some say over what sort of soil we find ourselves in.
But what if it’s not all about us? What if the parable is about the sower, who, in this case, is God? As Barbara Brown Taylor says, “What if it is not about our own successes and failures and birds and rocks and thorns but about the extravagance of a sower who flings seed everywhere, wastes it with holy abandon…confident that there is enough seed to go around, that there is plenty, and that when the harvest comes in at last it will fill every barn in the neighborhood to the rafters?" (from UCC Samuel website: http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/july-10-2011-fifteenth-sunday.html)
Where does that leave us with this parable, if we focus on God the extravagant sower rather than on us and on the soil in which we find ourselves? That shift in focus, turns our attention to God’s grace and love which God flings about as if it weren’t the most precious thing in the world, even though it is. God’s seeds are indeed God’s grace and love which the world, whether it realizes it or not, desperately needs. God is profligate in distributing these seeds, even to us.
Of course, shifting the focus back to us for a moment, we can do what we please with these seeds of love and grace; we can hold onto them tightly and not let them out of our grasp or we can be find ways to pass them on, realizing that this God of ours is going to fling more seeds our way. In a sense we become the soil, not the seed. We can try to hold back the love and grace that God hurls about but if we are the good soil, we’ll allow it to take root and grow within us and then pass it on as a grown plant produces seed for the next generation of its species.
God will continue to fling the seeds of grace and love all over the world. It’s up to us what happens to the seeds that come our way. What will you do with your seeds?
We all are curious about our beginnings. We want to know where we came from; who we are; whose we are; what went on before we our own memories kick in. I’ve realized, since my mother’s death this spring, that since she was the last of her generation to die, carrying on the family stories now lies in my generation. If we don’t tell them, they will be lost.So it was with some interest that, in doing a major cleaning job in our apartment, Allen ran across my baby book, which my mom filled in after I was born. Now I have to admit that my mother was fairly spotty about filling it in. There are lots of blanks, holes in my story that I’ll never know. But then there is other information that is nice to learn or relearn. I know, for instance, that I was 7 pounds, 12 ounces and 22 inches at birth.
There’s a list of the first people who came to visit me though I don’t know what day...maybe on my birth day since I was born very early in the morning. I know that when I was nine weeks old, I went to church for the first time. Though who took me, what the minister and other people said remains a mystery. I don’t know; maybe mom was trying to shield me from some unkind remarks. And maybe I got there on my own. I doubt it, looking at this picture taken around that time. It doesn’t look like I did much at all on my own, precocious though I may have been.So it is with each of us. We are curious about our beginnings because beginnings are important. And as true as this is for us individually and personally, it’s all the more-so for us collectively. Thus it is that there are a wide variety of creation stories to match the various cultures out of which they spring.
Some scholars think that the creation narrative we heard today sprang up during the time of the Babylonian exile. The Jewish oppressors, the Babylonians, had violent, gory creation myths. Our narrative, which each of us knows so well, may have been an antidote to those Babylonian creations myths. Instead of violence, we have a creative God who brings into being creation; much more suitable to tell young Jewish children living far from their homeland.
The Hebrew word for “created” is bara. The very first words of our Bible are b’ray-o-sheet bara elohim….” (בְּרֵאשִׁ֖ית בָּרָ֣א אֱלֹהִ֑ים) “At the very start, God created…” Throughout the Hebrew Bible, the word bara is used only in conjunction with God. God creates; humans make or form, but they don’t bara. That is left to God. And on these six days of creation, God certainly did bara. God brought into being all of creation: the universe, the stars, the earth, all the creatures that inhabit it, including, of course, we human creatures. God’s activity is one of creative energy that causes all of everything to come into being; certainly not something that we humans can do.
And God saved us for last. God created humans last and, in doing so, did so in God’s own image. Our curiosity about our beginnings is satisfied, to a point. It’s a bit like my baby book; there is some important information, but still there are blanks. What does it mean to be created in God’s image? And what does “dominion” actually mean? These are important and serious questions that we are left to ponder on our own. I am, though, regularly encouraged, as I stop for a nap, to remember that God needed rest after all the work of creation that God did!
If we are in God’s image, how is it we’re like God and how are we unlike God? An image is only a partial capture of the thing it is imaging, after all. I do appreciate that in this account of creation (there’s a second account that follows this one), God’s image includes both genders; God created male and female at the same time. That’s why I think gender-neutral language about God is so important: God is at once both genders, without a single gender. It’s a bit mind-blowing, but one that leaves us with no good pronoun for God. “God” will simply have to suffice when talking about God.
When God gives us dominion over all the earth, God did a dangerous thing, the effects of which we see in particular over the past few decades. We’ve taken dominion to mean that we can do anything we want with creation. According to Merriam-Webster dictionary, dominion means to have supreme authority over something. Certainly, in giving humanity dominion God did not mean for us to recklessly have our way with the world, stripping it of its resources in a few short generations. Dominion, I believe, implies responsibility as much as it means control.
But have we been responsible? Have we exercised our dominion in an accountable way over the past decades? I think perhaps not. And this lack of responsibility has led to all sorts of difficulties in our world, most recently evidenced by natural disasters that many scientists are claiming are the result of global warming. Global warming, of course, is a result of dominion run rampant. We are paying for the results of years of our overuse of the planet on which we find ourselves.
If we are created in God’s image, it’s up to us to exercise our dominion with responsibility. We aren’t Babylonians with a violent creation story; our creation myth involves a loving God who created everything and put us in charge, handing us the keys, as it were. As the image of God, we should use caution as we become the dominate force in the world around us.
Dominion and image are only two aspects of our communal creation story that we should pay attention to. There is a variety of riches to be mined from these verses at the very beginning of our scriptures. These stories remind us of the vastness of the universe which we are a part of and our part in it.
Creation stories are important: our creation story, my creation story, your creation story. Those stories tell us who we are. We recognize where we came from. And they tell us who we belong to. We learn that we are made in God’s image, both collectively and individually. And as such, we need to recognize the great responsibility that we carry because of that. All of us are created in God’s image. Let’s live like it.
Martyrs & Witnesses
Acts 7:55-60 (NRSV)
“Will they beat us too?” is a thought I would have thought myself had I been there. Standing up for rights and freedom is not always an easy task, as the Freedom Riders found out fifty years ago this month. They were breaking the laws and more importantly they were disturbing the social norms and mores of the time.
One thing I noted in watching the PBS program was that faith was clearly a part of the lives of these Freedom Riders. I noted that several had gone into the ministry since their time as a Freedom Rider. Additionally, when the community of Birmingham, Alabama met to support them, it occurred in a church with several clergy leading the meeting including Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Were the Freedom Riders martyrs? None of them, to my knowledge, did lose their lives because of what they did. In the narrow definition of martyr, they weren’t then. But in the broader definition, where we think of those who witness, they were definitely martyrs.
No one sets out to be a martyr. I think of other 20th century martyrs, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Oscar Romero, and Martin Luther King. None of them set out to be martyrs. None were planning that they would die because of their faith. They were simply witnessing to their faith which brought about their martyrdom.
I do wonder how any of us here today would react if martyrdom or even violence were facing us because of our faith. I’m not calling for martyrs here. We don’t really need anyone to set out to be a martyr. But how many of us can claim that broader definition of martyr; how often do we witness to our faith? How often do we take our faith into uncomfortable situations?
I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t raised to be a martyr and I don’t intend to be one. But, God helping me, I was raised to be a person of faith who witnesses to that faith in my actions and my words. The opportunities to witness as the Freedom Riders did may be fewer and further between since the Jim Crow laws and segregation are officially behind us. But that doesn’t mean that racism is dead. And there are hosts of other problems that face us that demand a response based on our faith. Issues such as homophobia or welcoming the immigrant stranger. These issues and many others face us today and seek witnesses to our faith to respond and react.
I pray that none of us ever needs to give our life for our faith. I hope we all live out relatively happy lives until our final days arrive. But in the meantime we must be prepared to witness to our faith, in the tradition of Stephen, the Freedom Riders and all the other martyrs who surround us.
But filled with the Holy Spirit, he [Stephen] gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. "Look," he said, "I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!" But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them." When he had said this, he died.
Martyr. It’s a word which evokes a variety of emotions and connotations though has a fairly straightforward meaning. Martyr, of course, means giving one’s life for one’s faith or beliefs. The origins of the word are a little less straightforward. Martyr comes to us from the Greek language via Late Latin and Old English. Originally it meant “witness.” That’s all. Someone who witnesses to their faith.
Today we heard about the first Christian martyr, Stephen, who was indeed a witness but truly a martyr in the narrow sense of the word. Stephen had just preached a sermon that was quite inflammatory. His hearers, including the Sanhedrin Council, were incensed and quickly moved to action. In fact, the verse just prior to our reading this morning says, “When they heard these things [i.e. Stephen’s sermon], they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen.” It’s a short distance, evidently, between teeth grinding and stoning someone.
Standing there, it’s interesting to note, was a young man named Saul. Saul became the coatcheck for the teeth grinders and stoners but would have been more than pleased at the scene before him. At this point, Saul was a zealot for chasing down and condemning the Jews who were following this resurrected Christ. Saul later changed through a rather miraculous event and became a zealot for the same Christ he had been persecuting. He had a name change through it all and became known as Paul, the same Paul who wrote several of the letters that are in the New Testament. But back to Stephen.
Did Stephen know he was going to get in such trouble as he preached to the Sanhedrin Council that day? Did he really expect that he’d be stoned to death because of what he said? Who knows? I tend to doubt it. I think it all took Stephen by surprise and in a whirlwind of activity it was all over. But it wasn’t over before he saw the heavens open presumably to receive him and he had the chance to utter his last words, words of forgiveness for those who were about to kill him. Echoes of Jesus’ baptism and crucifixion there as the heavens opened for the first event and Jesus said the same thing almost word for word on the cross as Stephen said as the rocks came flying.
Earlier this week, Allen and I watched a PBS program on the Freedom Riders, those brave souls who fifty years ago struck out to break down the segregation and Jim Crow laws of the deep South at the time. In the early 1960s, buses in Alabama and Mississippi were segregated; the front of the bus for whites and the back for blacks. There were also separate waiting rooms for the races, as well as separate drinking fountains and separate rest rooms in bus and train stations. The Freedom Riders were both Euro-Americans and African-Americans who rode the buses together ignoring the segregation rules.
If you know your history, this did not sit too well in the deep South. Almost immediately, upon crossing the state line into Alabama, there was trouble. Buses carrying the Freedom Riders were surrounded and attacked. The Riders themselves risked their lives as the buses were fire-bombed and they themselves were beaten and assaulted. The police colluded with the attackers, who were sometimes dressed in Ku Klux Klan garb. There was no protection for the Freedom Riders from police or the government.
Another pastor, Alvin Jackson of Park Avenue Christian Church in New York, wrote in a weekly email newsletter this week about the Freedom Riders. He wrote:
Today we heard about the first Christian martyr, Stephen, who was indeed a witness but truly a martyr in the narrow sense of the word. Stephen had just preached a sermon that was quite inflammatory. His hearers, including the Sanhedrin Council, were incensed and quickly moved to action. In fact, the verse just prior to our reading this morning says, “When they heard these things [i.e. Stephen’s sermon], they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen.” It’s a short distance, evidently, between teeth grinding and stoning someone.
Standing there, it’s interesting to note, was a young man named Saul. Saul became the coatcheck for the teeth grinders and stoners but would have been more than pleased at the scene before him. At this point, Saul was a zealot for chasing down and condemning the Jews who were following this resurrected Christ. Saul later changed through a rather miraculous event and became a zealot for the same Christ he had been persecuting. He had a name change through it all and became known as Paul, the same Paul who wrote several of the letters that are in the New Testament. But back to Stephen.
Did Stephen know he was going to get in such trouble as he preached to the Sanhedrin Council that day? Did he really expect that he’d be stoned to death because of what he said? Who knows? I tend to doubt it. I think it all took Stephen by surprise and in a whirlwind of activity it was all over. But it wasn’t over before he saw the heavens open presumably to receive him and he had the chance to utter his last words, words of forgiveness for those who were about to kill him. Echoes of Jesus’ baptism and crucifixion there as the heavens opened for the first event and Jesus said the same thing almost word for word on the cross as Stephen said as the rocks came flying.
Earlier this week, Allen and I watched a PBS program on the Freedom Riders, those brave souls who fifty years ago struck out to break down the segregation and Jim Crow laws of the deep South at the time. In the early 1960s, buses in Alabama and Mississippi were segregated; the front of the bus for whites and the back for blacks. There were also separate waiting rooms for the races, as well as separate drinking fountains and separate rest rooms in bus and train stations. The Freedom Riders were both Euro-Americans and African-Americans who rode the buses together ignoring the segregation rules.
If you know your history, this did not sit too well in the deep South. Almost immediately, upon crossing the state line into Alabama, there was trouble. Buses carrying the Freedom Riders were surrounded and attacked. The Riders themselves risked their lives as the buses were fire-bombed and they themselves were beaten and assaulted. The police colluded with the attackers, who were sometimes dressed in Ku Klux Klan garb. There was no protection for the Freedom Riders from police or the government.
Another pastor, Alvin Jackson of Park Avenue Christian Church in New York, wrote in a weekly email newsletter this week about the Freedom Riders. He wrote:
When the bus reached Jackson, Mississippi, Peter Stoner rose and walked toward the exit. He was scared, but he was determined to keep a brave face, if not for himself, then for the other riders.
As he walked off the bus, he counted down the steps: 3, 2, 1. Finally his feet felt the streets of Jackson, Mississippi. Police officers were waiting for him. The images of earlier Freedom Riders who were caught by the police and beaten until their faces streamed with blood flashed before his eyes. Stoner stood on the street dazed, wondering, "Will they beat us, too?" From May until November 1961, more than 400 black and white Americans risked their lives -- and many endured savage beatings and imprisonment -- for simply traveling together on buses and trains as they journeyed through the Deep South.
Deliberately violating Jim Crow laws, the Freedom Riders met with bitter racism and mob violence along the way, sorely testing their belief in nonviolent activism. Stanley Nelson, in the PBS documentary, Freedom Riders, says that the lesson of the Freedom Rides is that great change can come from a few small steps taken by courageous people. And that sometimes, to do any great thing, it's important that we step out alone.
“Will they beat us too?” is a thought I would have thought myself had I been there. Standing up for rights and freedom is not always an easy task, as the Freedom Riders found out fifty years ago this month. They were breaking the laws and more importantly they were disturbing the social norms and mores of the time.
One thing I noted in watching the PBS program was that faith was clearly a part of the lives of these Freedom Riders. I noted that several had gone into the ministry since their time as a Freedom Rider. Additionally, when the community of Birmingham, Alabama met to support them, it occurred in a church with several clergy leading the meeting including Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Were the Freedom Riders martyrs? None of them, to my knowledge, did lose their lives because of what they did. In the narrow definition of martyr, they weren’t then. But in the broader definition, where we think of those who witness, they were definitely martyrs.
No one sets out to be a martyr. I think of other 20th century martyrs, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Oscar Romero, and Martin Luther King. None of them set out to be martyrs. None were planning that they would die because of their faith. They were simply witnessing to their faith which brought about their martyrdom.
I do wonder how any of us here today would react if martyrdom or even violence were facing us because of our faith. I’m not calling for martyrs here. We don’t really need anyone to set out to be a martyr. But how many of us can claim that broader definition of martyr; how often do we witness to our faith? How often do we take our faith into uncomfortable situations?
I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t raised to be a martyr and I don’t intend to be one. But, God helping me, I was raised to be a person of faith who witnesses to that faith in my actions and my words. The opportunities to witness as the Freedom Riders did may be fewer and further between since the Jim Crow laws and segregation are officially behind us. But that doesn’t mean that racism is dead. And there are hosts of other problems that face us that demand a response based on our faith. Issues such as homophobia or welcoming the immigrant stranger. These issues and many others face us today and seek witnesses to our faith to respond and react.
I pray that none of us ever needs to give our life for our faith. I hope we all live out relatively happy lives until our final days arrive. But in the meantime we must be prepared to witness to our faith, in the tradition of Stephen, the Freedom Riders and all the other martyrs who surround us.
Finding Emmaus
Luke 24:13-35 (King James Version)
Note: To celebrate the 400th anniversary of the King James Bible, I read the scriptures from that version in worship. Following is the KJV of the scripture.
13And, behold, two of them went that same day to a village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs.
14And they talked together of all these things which had happened.
15And it came to pass, that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them.
16But their eyes were holden that they should not know him.
17And he said unto them, What manner of communications are these that ye have one to another, as ye walk, and are sad?
18And the one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answering said unto him, Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days?
19And he said unto them, What things? And they said unto him, Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people:
20And how the chief priests and our rulers delivered him to be condemned to death, and have crucified him.
21But we trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel: and beside all this, to day is the third day since these things were done.
22Yea, and certain women also of our company made us astonished, which were early at the sepulchre;
23And when they found not his body, they came, saying, that they had also seen a vision of angels, which said that he was alive.
24And certain of them which were with us went to the sepulchre, and found it even so as the women had said: but him they saw not.
25Then he said unto them, O fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken:
26Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory?
27And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.
28And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they went: and he made as though he would have gone further.
29But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. And he went in to tarry with them.
30And it came to pass, as he sat at meat with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them.
31And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight.
32And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?
33And they rose up the same hour, and returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered together, and them that were with them,
34Saying, The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon.
35And they told what things were done in the way, and how he was known of them in breaking of bread.
The road to Emmaus. This well-known story of a post-resurrection appearance of Christ is a favorite of mine. It’s like we’re behind the scenes and know what’s going on when the actors don’t; we know it’s Jesus the two disciples are talking to and they are blissfully unaware.
As we learned from the King James Version of the Bible today, Emmaus sits about threescore furlongs away from Jerusalem. Actually it’s about 60 stadia. That helps, right? Well, for those of us who aren’t up on our furlongs or stadia, it turns out that it is about seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus. On a map, Emmaus doesn’t look that far, but 7 miles is not particularly a distance that most of us would be walking these days. I figure that it’s about as far as it is from here to John and Grace’s home in San Mateo. Jesus had a lot of time on that road to explain the scripture that led up to his death and resurrection, which is exactly what he did.
So we have these two disciples, one of them named Cleopas and the other unnamed. Just as a side note, maybe the unnamed person was one of Jesus’ disciples who was a woman, do you suppose? Since Luke bothered to name the one disciple but not the other, perhaps there was a reason. Women could not testify in court during this period of history since their testimony was considered invalid and not to be trusted. So it might be natural for Luke to just leave off the name of the second disciple if she were a woman so the reader of the period wouldn’t discount the testimony of the disciple. So it’s conceivable that the second disciple in this story was a woman though it would be impossible to prove it one way or the other. But since I’d be willing to wager that most of us pictured two male disciples in the story this morning, I thought it would be good to expand that vision a little bit.
So our two disciples are leaving Jerusalem. In the past few days, they watched their teacher being crucified, a humiliating and excruciating death. Then there were the astounding reports that he wasn’t dead but had resurrected and been seen by some of the women and other disciples. It was confusing at best; a real roller-coaster ride, though they didn’t have roller-coasters back then to my knowledge, so they would have had to come up with another metaphor. But they had gone through the depths of despair followed by inconceivable glimmers of hope and joy. Surely those two disciples’ minds were on these things as they met the Christ on the road.
We have no idea why they are going to Emmaus. Perhaps it was to get away from this place of despair and sorrow, of unbelievable stories and wild speculation. Perhaps they fled in fear for their own lives, apprehensive lest the authorities would come after them, this crucified one’s disciples, too. Whatever the reason, they were on the road, they were fleeing and seeking a place perhaps of refuge, perhaps a place of calm, perhaps a place of familiarity.
We all have had times when we’ve sought out our own Emmauses; places to go when life is too chaotic or jumbled or unfriendly. Our Emmauses may not be physical places, they likely, in fact, are not places we can find on a map. More than likely our Emmauses reside within us and we travel the well-trod road to them inside ourselves.
Emmaus, though, is always a journey away; being there is important, but in some ways getting there is even more so. The journey is more important than the destination. And it’s the companions we journey with who are important. Our fellow journeyers may be those we know well, or they may be someone we think we don’t know but who brings a wealth of information and teaching with them. We don’t have to journey to Emmaus alone; we can go with others.
Where is your Emmaus? How do you get there? Where do you go when the despair and the hopelessness seem overwhelming and all there are are strange glimmers of stories of hope. Who accompanies you as you flee that place of anguish and questions? It may be different people for different occasions and the route that takes you there may be well-traveled or it may seem unfamiliar. It doesn’t matter, because you know as you journey one thing: that you need to reach Emmaus.
You need to reach Emmaus because the place you’re in is too confusing or difficult or frightening or filled with desperation. You’re fleeing because you are scared or baffled or just plain worn down. The journey ahead is long but you have companions along the way. You aren’t alone as you head for your own Emmaus.
When you reach there is when things become really interesting though. There you’ll encounter Christ or God and you’ll recognize that the Divine had been with you all along and you may not have even known it. And the other interesting thing is that, just like the two disciples in our story this morning, your encounter with the Holy ends almost as soon as you recognize it is happening. And at that moment you need to return to where you came from. Because you have news to spread; good news. News that you have encountered the Holy One and broken bread together.
It’s amazing; your eyes will be opened and you will find in that instant that you have to return to the place you just fled from. Yes, to the place of chaos and despair and fear. Because others are there still, not having made the journey to Emmaus and they need to hear about the good news that you have just experienced.
We each have our own Emmaus; a place where we go to get away from whatever we need to flee. But Emmaus is not a place for us to stay. We are to take our experiences on the road with our traveling companions and then recognize the Divine as we stop to nourish our weary souls and then journey back to where we came from.
Go to Emmaus as you need to but remember to come back.
13And, behold, two of them went that same day to a village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs.
14And they talked together of all these things which had happened.
15And it came to pass, that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them.
16But their eyes were holden that they should not know him.
17And he said unto them, What manner of communications are these that ye have one to another, as ye walk, and are sad?
18And the one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answering said unto him, Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days?
19And he said unto them, What things? And they said unto him, Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people:
20And how the chief priests and our rulers delivered him to be condemned to death, and have crucified him.
21But we trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel: and beside all this, to day is the third day since these things were done.
22Yea, and certain women also of our company made us astonished, which were early at the sepulchre;
23And when they found not his body, they came, saying, that they had also seen a vision of angels, which said that he was alive.
24And certain of them which were with us went to the sepulchre, and found it even so as the women had said: but him they saw not.
25Then he said unto them, O fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken:
26Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory?
27And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.
28And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they went: and he made as though he would have gone further.
29But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. And he went in to tarry with them.
30And it came to pass, as he sat at meat with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them.
31And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight.
32And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?
33And they rose up the same hour, and returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered together, and them that were with them,
34Saying, The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon.
35And they told what things were done in the way, and how he was known of them in breaking of bread.
The road to Emmaus. This well-known story of a post-resurrection appearance of Christ is a favorite of mine. It’s like we’re behind the scenes and know what’s going on when the actors don’t; we know it’s Jesus the two disciples are talking to and they are blissfully unaware.
As we learned from the King James Version of the Bible today, Emmaus sits about threescore furlongs away from Jerusalem. Actually it’s about 60 stadia. That helps, right? Well, for those of us who aren’t up on our furlongs or stadia, it turns out that it is about seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus. On a map, Emmaus doesn’t look that far, but 7 miles is not particularly a distance that most of us would be walking these days. I figure that it’s about as far as it is from here to John and Grace’s home in San Mateo. Jesus had a lot of time on that road to explain the scripture that led up to his death and resurrection, which is exactly what he did.
So we have these two disciples, one of them named Cleopas and the other unnamed. Just as a side note, maybe the unnamed person was one of Jesus’ disciples who was a woman, do you suppose? Since Luke bothered to name the one disciple but not the other, perhaps there was a reason. Women could not testify in court during this period of history since their testimony was considered invalid and not to be trusted. So it might be natural for Luke to just leave off the name of the second disciple if she were a woman so the reader of the period wouldn’t discount the testimony of the disciple. So it’s conceivable that the second disciple in this story was a woman though it would be impossible to prove it one way or the other. But since I’d be willing to wager that most of us pictured two male disciples in the story this morning, I thought it would be good to expand that vision a little bit.
So our two disciples are leaving Jerusalem. In the past few days, they watched their teacher being crucified, a humiliating and excruciating death. Then there were the astounding reports that he wasn’t dead but had resurrected and been seen by some of the women and other disciples. It was confusing at best; a real roller-coaster ride, though they didn’t have roller-coasters back then to my knowledge, so they would have had to come up with another metaphor. But they had gone through the depths of despair followed by inconceivable glimmers of hope and joy. Surely those two disciples’ minds were on these things as they met the Christ on the road.
We have no idea why they are going to Emmaus. Perhaps it was to get away from this place of despair and sorrow, of unbelievable stories and wild speculation. Perhaps they fled in fear for their own lives, apprehensive lest the authorities would come after them, this crucified one’s disciples, too. Whatever the reason, they were on the road, they were fleeing and seeking a place perhaps of refuge, perhaps a place of calm, perhaps a place of familiarity.
We all have had times when we’ve sought out our own Emmauses; places to go when life is too chaotic or jumbled or unfriendly. Our Emmauses may not be physical places, they likely, in fact, are not places we can find on a map. More than likely our Emmauses reside within us and we travel the well-trod road to them inside ourselves.
Emmaus, though, is always a journey away; being there is important, but in some ways getting there is even more so. The journey is more important than the destination. And it’s the companions we journey with who are important. Our fellow journeyers may be those we know well, or they may be someone we think we don’t know but who brings a wealth of information and teaching with them. We don’t have to journey to Emmaus alone; we can go with others.
Where is your Emmaus? How do you get there? Where do you go when the despair and the hopelessness seem overwhelming and all there are are strange glimmers of stories of hope. Who accompanies you as you flee that place of anguish and questions? It may be different people for different occasions and the route that takes you there may be well-traveled or it may seem unfamiliar. It doesn’t matter, because you know as you journey one thing: that you need to reach Emmaus.
You need to reach Emmaus because the place you’re in is too confusing or difficult or frightening or filled with desperation. You’re fleeing because you are scared or baffled or just plain worn down. The journey ahead is long but you have companions along the way. You aren’t alone as you head for your own Emmaus.
When you reach there is when things become really interesting though. There you’ll encounter Christ or God and you’ll recognize that the Divine had been with you all along and you may not have even known it. And the other interesting thing is that, just like the two disciples in our story this morning, your encounter with the Holy ends almost as soon as you recognize it is happening. And at that moment you need to return to where you came from. Because you have news to spread; good news. News that you have encountered the Holy One and broken bread together.
It’s amazing; your eyes will be opened and you will find in that instant that you have to return to the place you just fled from. Yes, to the place of chaos and despair and fear. Because others are there still, not having made the journey to Emmaus and they need to hear about the good news that you have just experienced.
We each have our own Emmaus; a place where we go to get away from whatever we need to flee. But Emmaus is not a place for us to stay. We are to take our experiences on the road with our traveling companions and then recognize the Divine as we stop to nourish our weary souls and then journey back to where we came from.
Go to Emmaus as you need to but remember to come back.
Fear & Joy
Matthew 28:1-10
The Easter story is one that most of us could tell without even opening up a Bible, couldn’t we. But could we really do that? Because there are several versions of the story out there, all telling of resurrection and new life but each with it’s own twists and viewpoints. Each gospel writer has a slightly different take on what happened that morning. Mark’s gospel is sparest, telling of that first Easter in only eight short verses. Matthew and Luke, who both used Mark as a source for their own writing, added details to the narrative. And John has an entirely different perspective.
Today we heard Matthew’s version. Matthew has two women approaching the tomb, not with spices to anoint the body as in the other versions. Why not? Well perhaps because Matthew earlier tells the tale of the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with expensive ointment that he declares was his anointing for death; a precursor of his death that Matthew includes. So anointing is not necessary for Matthew; it had already occurred. Plus the women knew that a heavy stone was over the tomb and they wouldn’t have access.
One major difference between Mark’s and Matthew’s gospels is the ending. Mark’s tale ends in fear; the women who came to the tomb ran away frightened and Mark ends there. Did you notice though that Matthew acknowledged the fear but added on to it? He writes that the two Marys “left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy.” Fear and great joy. There’s something about that phrase that caught my attention.
I can understand the women’s reaction of fear and great joy. This is something brand new; resurrection is a whole new event so there’s a naturalness to their fright. But I like the fact that Matthew added the “great joy” to the story that Mark doesn’t include. It speaks of more emotion and a truer emotion than just leaving off with fear. In spite of how crazy this whole resurrection thing might seem, it is cause for joy, gladness, elation.
So with this mingling of emotions the women set out to tell the others of what has happened. It’s incredible, it’s amazing, it’s unbelievable. I don’t blame them for their fear. It’s a natural reaction to an implausible event.
And those are the elements of a resurrection faith: fear and great joy. It’s okay to have the first and it’s necessary to have the second if you’re going to believe that new life is possible. It’s what we’re called to in this resurrection faith: fear and joy.
It’s an interesting mixture of emotions, if you think about it. On one hand there is the gut-wrenching that comes with the fear but the release that comes with the joy.
We certainly might be fearful in this time of great uncertainty in which we live; it’s natural to have some fear in the midst of all that’s going on around us. With America’s longest war still in progress and partisan politics seemingly at its sharpest edge in the midst of a sluggish, at best, economy, there are many reasons to be fearful. I don’t have to give too many examples of why we might fear in this day and age. We all know them.
The great joy can be the difficulty though, as it certainly was for the women leaving the tomb. But a resurrection faith calls for it; demands it even. Sometimes we have to seek out the joy; work to find it. But our resurrection faith requires it. Joy is necessary if we are to claim the name Christian.
True it may be difficult to be joyful in the midst of the overwhelming fear we may feel. But if we truly believe that resurrection is possible, we must know joy and need to exhibit it to others.
Too many who call themselves Christian get stuck with the fear. You know them--those who are always predicting gloom and doom. They want you to believe that the world will end on a certain date and use fear to convert others to their way. Or they want you to think that if you don’t believe exactly as they do, you’re condemned to the fiery pit. They use fear as an evangelism tool but never get around to the joy part.
But Easter is at time of joy: we celebrate resurrection and believe that new life is not only possible is required. The women at the tomb were joyful because they had evidence that their teacher, the one of whom they were disciples, was not dead but alive even though they stood and witnessed his crucifixion just a few days earlier. When something in our lives that once was dead, be it hope or dreams or whatever has gotten you to this point, is found to be alive, we can grasp onto that joy.
Easter does not erase the fear; we still have to deal with it and experience that emotion. But Easter allows us to mix that fear with the joy of believing in new life. Practice resurrection faith; from the midst of your fear, find the joy.
Just imagine trying to preach on this auspicious day. Imagine trying to find a new way to tell an old, very familiar story. Imagine facing a large room of people all expecting to hear good news in a fresh and exciting way. Not that I’m looking for any sympathy, but that’s what I’m up against right now.After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”
The Easter story is one that most of us could tell without even opening up a Bible, couldn’t we. But could we really do that? Because there are several versions of the story out there, all telling of resurrection and new life but each with it’s own twists and viewpoints. Each gospel writer has a slightly different take on what happened that morning. Mark’s gospel is sparest, telling of that first Easter in only eight short verses. Matthew and Luke, who both used Mark as a source for their own writing, added details to the narrative. And John has an entirely different perspective.
Today we heard Matthew’s version. Matthew has two women approaching the tomb, not with spices to anoint the body as in the other versions. Why not? Well perhaps because Matthew earlier tells the tale of the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with expensive ointment that he declares was his anointing for death; a precursor of his death that Matthew includes. So anointing is not necessary for Matthew; it had already occurred. Plus the women knew that a heavy stone was over the tomb and they wouldn’t have access.
One major difference between Mark’s and Matthew’s gospels is the ending. Mark’s tale ends in fear; the women who came to the tomb ran away frightened and Mark ends there. Did you notice though that Matthew acknowledged the fear but added on to it? He writes that the two Marys “left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy.” Fear and great joy. There’s something about that phrase that caught my attention.
I can understand the women’s reaction of fear and great joy. This is something brand new; resurrection is a whole new event so there’s a naturalness to their fright. But I like the fact that Matthew added the “great joy” to the story that Mark doesn’t include. It speaks of more emotion and a truer emotion than just leaving off with fear. In spite of how crazy this whole resurrection thing might seem, it is cause for joy, gladness, elation.
So with this mingling of emotions the women set out to tell the others of what has happened. It’s incredible, it’s amazing, it’s unbelievable. I don’t blame them for their fear. It’s a natural reaction to an implausible event.
And those are the elements of a resurrection faith: fear and great joy. It’s okay to have the first and it’s necessary to have the second if you’re going to believe that new life is possible. It’s what we’re called to in this resurrection faith: fear and joy.
It’s an interesting mixture of emotions, if you think about it. On one hand there is the gut-wrenching that comes with the fear but the release that comes with the joy.
We certainly might be fearful in this time of great uncertainty in which we live; it’s natural to have some fear in the midst of all that’s going on around us. With America’s longest war still in progress and partisan politics seemingly at its sharpest edge in the midst of a sluggish, at best, economy, there are many reasons to be fearful. I don’t have to give too many examples of why we might fear in this day and age. We all know them.
The great joy can be the difficulty though, as it certainly was for the women leaving the tomb. But a resurrection faith calls for it; demands it even. Sometimes we have to seek out the joy; work to find it. But our resurrection faith requires it. Joy is necessary if we are to claim the name Christian.
True it may be difficult to be joyful in the midst of the overwhelming fear we may feel. But if we truly believe that resurrection is possible, we must know joy and need to exhibit it to others.
Too many who call themselves Christian get stuck with the fear. You know them--those who are always predicting gloom and doom. They want you to believe that the world will end on a certain date and use fear to convert others to their way. Or they want you to think that if you don’t believe exactly as they do, you’re condemned to the fiery pit. They use fear as an evangelism tool but never get around to the joy part.
But Easter is at time of joy: we celebrate resurrection and believe that new life is not only possible is required. The women at the tomb were joyful because they had evidence that their teacher, the one of whom they were disciples, was not dead but alive even though they stood and witnessed his crucifixion just a few days earlier. When something in our lives that once was dead, be it hope or dreams or whatever has gotten you to this point, is found to be alive, we can grasp onto that joy.
Easter does not erase the fear; we still have to deal with it and experience that emotion. But Easter allows us to mix that fear with the joy of believing in new life. Practice resurrection faith; from the midst of your fear, find the joy.
Hope Amidst Dry Bones
Ezekiel 37:1-14
In the year 586 b.c., Jerusalem was in trouble, big trouble. The Babylonians had laid siege to Judea and Jerusalem and t he tiny realm was crumbling, both physically and metaphorically. Babylon, the big power of the time, had come to town and they were taking over. As part of their conquering strategy, they took in exile all the elite of the city: the thinkers, and doers, the cream of the crop, including religious leaders. There were waves of exile and in the very first wave was a priest and a prophet by the name of Ezekiel.
We know little about Ezekiel beyond that he was a priest and a prophet at the time of the exile to Babylon. But he was a prophet of his time, called to speak a new word to a weary and shocked nation.
In their capturing of Judea, Babylon had leveled Jerusalem and in particular destroyed the Temple. To the Jews of that era, the Temple was where God lived; it was God’s abode and without it God was essentially homeless. And how does one worship a homeless God? How does one properly venerate the One who is no longer there?
Yes, Judea was in a state; a state of confusion and depression and downright chaos. It’s capital was leveled, its leaders were carried off and its God no longer had a home. It was as close to being a dead country as you can be. They knew it and God knew it.
Ezekiel, off in Babylon, knew it too. Those in exile were no doubt in as much shock as those left behind. Judaism was at a crux point; if something weren’t done, it would likely die out completely…forgotten totally except in some dusty old history books.
So God brought forth Ezekiel, the priest, as a prophet and gave him words to speak to a wondering people. And what an image God gave Ezekiel, the image you heard this morning of resurrection and life anew.
Ezekiel saw a valley of bones; human bones that had been long dead. These bones had lost all their connective tissue and muscle and skin and had in fact been bleached white by the sun. They were bones that hadn’t flexed or jumped or walked or done anything a body would do for a very long time.
And Ezekiel was called to prophesy to them; he was called to speak God’s words of truth and love to these dry, dusty bones. And as he did, a miraculous thing happened: the bones began to move. They began to connect up once again with each other. And they developed sinews and tendons. And muscles formed on them and skin formed over them.
But there was something missing: their spirit was missing. So God had Ezekiel prophesy to the breath of God and call it forth. In Hebrew the same word, ruach, means wind or breath or spirit. So the wind blew and God’s breath flowed and into these once dry bones came the spirit that they had been lacking. They lived again, as alive as you and me sitting here today.
If ever there were a people who needed to hear that dry bones could live it would be those in Judea during this time. They needed to hear the word of God in a new way. They needed to know that their God still lived and hadn’t been destroyed along with their Temple and city. God knew it and said as much to Ezekiel: “Mortal,” God says, “these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, 'Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.'” God knew the state that God’s people were in. Their hope was gone and the land that had been theirs since the time of Joshua, hundreds of years prior, and promised to ancestors even further back, was overrun.
The thing to remember, too, is that for a priest, such as Ezekiel, being in a place of dead bodies is impure. Priests avoided contact with the dead. We can’t begin to imagine how much this prophesy offended and affronted both Ezekiel and his hearers. And yet, this is where God was found speaking to Ezekiel. This is where the word was coming through. So this is a time of contrasts: the pure and the impure; the holy and the profane; God absent and God present.
So out of those contrasts comes the hope that is to give life again to a battered and shattered nation. From the midst of chaos and confusion comes the hope of resurrection, not on a personal level, but on a national level.
This is a new way of thinking. This is completely foreign to the Hebrew people. Because God resided in the Temple, they always assumed that the Temple was safe; protected from harm. But God, Ezekiel’s prophesy is saying, lives outside the bounds of the Temple, outside the borders of Jerusalem; even beyond the boundary of Judea. God lives on whether the Temple exists or not. God lives through chaos and destruction. God lives on through hopelessness and despair.
Where is our hopelessness and despair today? Do you think God lives through it or do you feel an absence of God in the midst of it? Do you believe in resurrection; that dry, dusty, old bones can live again? Or does your imagination prevent you from adding sinews and muscles and skin to the bones that inhabit our world?
There is, without a doubt, much reason for hopelessness and despair these days: from a personal level as we continue to consider the future of a congregation that has meant so much to each of us here today to a global level as we see hatred grow and ongoing war become the norm. Those, and everything in between, are our dry bones today. That is our valley of death that we must wander through.
Hopeless and despairing? Perhaps, but do you believe that God still lives and still practices resurrection? If you don’t, then Ezekiel’s prophesy was just a rambling vision of a desperate priest two and a half millennia ago. And I don’t know what you’re going to do in a couple of weeks when we celebrate Easter.
But if you do believe that it is God’s breath which breathes new life into situations of despondency and desolation, then you have reason to hope. Your work is cut out for you though. For you are called to be the breath of God, breathing life where there is no life; hope where there is no hope.
In the year 586 b.c., Jerusalem was in trouble, big trouble. The Babylonians had laid siege to Judea and Jerusalem and t he tiny realm was crumbling, both physically and metaphorically. Babylon, the big power of the time, had come to town and they were taking over. As part of their conquering strategy, they took in exile all the elite of the city: the thinkers, and doers, the cream of the crop, including religious leaders. There were waves of exile and in the very first wave was a priest and a prophet by the name of Ezekiel.
We know little about Ezekiel beyond that he was a priest and a prophet at the time of the exile to Babylon. But he was a prophet of his time, called to speak a new word to a weary and shocked nation.
In their capturing of Judea, Babylon had leveled Jerusalem and in particular destroyed the Temple. To the Jews of that era, the Temple was where God lived; it was God’s abode and without it God was essentially homeless. And how does one worship a homeless God? How does one properly venerate the One who is no longer there?
Yes, Judea was in a state; a state of confusion and depression and downright chaos. It’s capital was leveled, its leaders were carried off and its God no longer had a home. It was as close to being a dead country as you can be. They knew it and God knew it.
Ezekiel, off in Babylon, knew it too. Those in exile were no doubt in as much shock as those left behind. Judaism was at a crux point; if something weren’t done, it would likely die out completely…forgotten totally except in some dusty old history books.
So God brought forth Ezekiel, the priest, as a prophet and gave him words to speak to a wondering people. And what an image God gave Ezekiel, the image you heard this morning of resurrection and life anew.
Ezekiel saw a valley of bones; human bones that had been long dead. These bones had lost all their connective tissue and muscle and skin and had in fact been bleached white by the sun. They were bones that hadn’t flexed or jumped or walked or done anything a body would do for a very long time.
And Ezekiel was called to prophesy to them; he was called to speak God’s words of truth and love to these dry, dusty bones. And as he did, a miraculous thing happened: the bones began to move. They began to connect up once again with each other. And they developed sinews and tendons. And muscles formed on them and skin formed over them.
But there was something missing: their spirit was missing. So God had Ezekiel prophesy to the breath of God and call it forth. In Hebrew the same word, ruach, means wind or breath or spirit. So the wind blew and God’s breath flowed and into these once dry bones came the spirit that they had been lacking. They lived again, as alive as you and me sitting here today.
If ever there were a people who needed to hear that dry bones could live it would be those in Judea during this time. They needed to hear the word of God in a new way. They needed to know that their God still lived and hadn’t been destroyed along with their Temple and city. God knew it and said as much to Ezekiel: “Mortal,” God says, “these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, 'Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.'” God knew the state that God’s people were in. Their hope was gone and the land that had been theirs since the time of Joshua, hundreds of years prior, and promised to ancestors even further back, was overrun.
The thing to remember, too, is that for a priest, such as Ezekiel, being in a place of dead bodies is impure. Priests avoided contact with the dead. We can’t begin to imagine how much this prophesy offended and affronted both Ezekiel and his hearers. And yet, this is where God was found speaking to Ezekiel. This is where the word was coming through. So this is a time of contrasts: the pure and the impure; the holy and the profane; God absent and God present.
So out of those contrasts comes the hope that is to give life again to a battered and shattered nation. From the midst of chaos and confusion comes the hope of resurrection, not on a personal level, but on a national level.
This is a new way of thinking. This is completely foreign to the Hebrew people. Because God resided in the Temple, they always assumed that the Temple was safe; protected from harm. But God, Ezekiel’s prophesy is saying, lives outside the bounds of the Temple, outside the borders of Jerusalem; even beyond the boundary of Judea. God lives on whether the Temple exists or not. God lives through chaos and destruction. God lives on through hopelessness and despair.
Where is our hopelessness and despair today? Do you think God lives through it or do you feel an absence of God in the midst of it? Do you believe in resurrection; that dry, dusty, old bones can live again? Or does your imagination prevent you from adding sinews and muscles and skin to the bones that inhabit our world?
There is, without a doubt, much reason for hopelessness and despair these days: from a personal level as we continue to consider the future of a congregation that has meant so much to each of us here today to a global level as we see hatred grow and ongoing war become the norm. Those, and everything in between, are our dry bones today. That is our valley of death that we must wander through.
Hopeless and despairing? Perhaps, but do you believe that God still lives and still practices resurrection? If you don’t, then Ezekiel’s prophesy was just a rambling vision of a desperate priest two and a half millennia ago. And I don’t know what you’re going to do in a couple of weeks when we celebrate Easter.
But if you do believe that it is God’s breath which breathes new life into situations of despondency and desolation, then you have reason to hope. Your work is cut out for you though. For you are called to be the breath of God, breathing life where there is no life; hope where there is no hope.
Right Relationship
Matthew 5:21-37 (NRSV)
Okay, now that I’m preaching every other week, you’d think the lectionary texts would align themselves so I don’t have to deal with the tough passages, wouldn’t you. But here we are, on this 6th Sunday after Epiphany dealing with all sorts of unpleasantness in the gospel reading.
People disagreeing…divorce…murder…adultery. You name it, it’s probably in those 16 verses that Lisa and I read to you just moments ago. It sounds more like the headlines from the magazines at the grocery store checkout line than words from scripture. So here I am, all ready to bring the good news and I’m stymied by the Bible of all things. Go figure.
These verses that we heard are part of Jesus’ sermon on the mount. We’re in the midst of a lectionary run on the sermon on the mount that begins with the beatitudes. And here we are facing some of the most difficult of Jesus’ sayings this morning.
I’d be willing to bet that the warnings about not murdering apply to none of us in this room this morning. But how about anger? Or insulting someone else? Jesus pushes the edges here and throughout the reading. He goes to extremes and forces us to reexamine who we are and how we behave.
When you look at these verses from a distance, without starting to beat up on yourself for being less than perfect, you’ll see that they are all about relationship; right relationship. Through these five to seven admonitions that Jesus tags onto previous laws we see him go deeper into how we are supposed to behave with each other.
Forget about murder and adultery and divorce; remember how you’re supposed to act with each other on a day-to-day basis. That’s the crux of living the live that Jesus calls us to. And that’s what Jesus is doing in this sermon on the mount: he’s calling us to live a life that follows his example. We would call it a Christian life, though of course, Jesus would never use that terminology: the term “Christian” is still years to come when he stood up and preached his sermon.
So we struggle and wrestle with this scripture, trying to coax out the good news. Murder, to look at the first instance Jesus uses, is serious business. Jesus isn’t denying that at all. But he is saying that anger is serious too. Both murder and anger are important enough to garner God’s attention in our lives. Murder and anger may be two sides of the same coin.
From these pronouncements that Jesus made that day on the hilltop, we can get an idea of what might have been going on in the first-century Near East. In that crowded, bustling area, brutally controlled by Rome and trying to keep religious laws that originated centuries earlier that were for an agrarian, nomadic people, Jesus was trying to point out that you have to go beyond the law and create law that governs how you interact with those who are right around you.
Of course, for any society to survive, there have to be rules and laws. Laws about murder, rules about divorce, and so on. But Jesus was saying that we have to go deeper than the humanly-created rules and laws and think about reconciliation. Yes, that’s right, reconciliation. Because if God is going to go to the trouble of reconciling us to God, we have to make the effort to reconcile ourselves with each other. And that means paying attention to things like anger.
Now, in this day and age of the 21st century in North America, I’m not about to stand up here and say that anger, in and of itself, is a bad thing. Of course, we get angry and sometimes that’s actually a good thing. If I don’t encounter injustice and get angry, there’s something wrong. But what we do with our anger is what’s important. If we allow it to fester and boil over and ruin a relationship that we have with someone, that’s when we’re no longer reconciled to our brother or sister. If anger is all we feel in our relationship with someone though, we are missing something; something important.
We’re not that different from those who were struggling to survive some 2,000 years ago you know. Yes, Rome isn’t such a big deal anymore; it’s no longer the seat of an empire. And we no longer follow the religious laws that regulated life for the 1st century Jew. We are bound however by laws that go beyond what our current empire demands of us. Yes, we pay taxes and we don’t murder but nothing out of Washington is going to tell us how to be in right relationship with each other. It isn’t illegal to be angry or to feel lust, thank heavens. But it’s our Christian calling that keeps us in right relationship and tells us how to deal with the anger or lust or any other number of feelings that we might be having.
Because that’s the thing. Jesus only scratches the surface here if you think about it. There is a passel of ways that we can damage our relationships with each other. And if we allow such things to get in the way, we need to reread that sermon on the mount and pay special attention to the passage we heard this morning. We, being the inventive humans that we are, have found all sorts of ways to alienate ourselves from each other. We seem almost limitless in our abilities to cause a rift in the fabric that binds us to each other.
So when these rifts occur, we are called to mend them as best we can. Whatever it is that comes between us and another needs to be addressed. Through our ministrations to our relationships we can bring about true reconciliation with each other and therefore with our God.
Jesus’ words this morning may have been hard to hear but if we look behind them we find that there is an attempt to cause right relationship. If we are indeed to answer our call to live the Christian life, we must begin with our relationships with each other and seek true reconciliation. For through those relationships we find the glimmer of truth that is our relationship with God.
"You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, 'You shall not murder'; and 'whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.' But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, 'You fool,' you will be liable to the hell of fire. So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny."Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, 'You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.' But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. Let your word be 'Yes, Yes' or 'No, No'; anything more than this comes from the evil one."
"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery.' But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell.
"It was also said, 'Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.' But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.
Okay, now that I’m preaching every other week, you’d think the lectionary texts would align themselves so I don’t have to deal with the tough passages, wouldn’t you. But here we are, on this 6th Sunday after Epiphany dealing with all sorts of unpleasantness in the gospel reading.
People disagreeing…divorce…murder…adultery. You name it, it’s probably in those 16 verses that Lisa and I read to you just moments ago. It sounds more like the headlines from the magazines at the grocery store checkout line than words from scripture. So here I am, all ready to bring the good news and I’m stymied by the Bible of all things. Go figure.
These verses that we heard are part of Jesus’ sermon on the mount. We’re in the midst of a lectionary run on the sermon on the mount that begins with the beatitudes. And here we are facing some of the most difficult of Jesus’ sayings this morning.
I’d be willing to bet that the warnings about not murdering apply to none of us in this room this morning. But how about anger? Or insulting someone else? Jesus pushes the edges here and throughout the reading. He goes to extremes and forces us to reexamine who we are and how we behave.
When you look at these verses from a distance, without starting to beat up on yourself for being less than perfect, you’ll see that they are all about relationship; right relationship. Through these five to seven admonitions that Jesus tags onto previous laws we see him go deeper into how we are supposed to behave with each other.
Forget about murder and adultery and divorce; remember how you’re supposed to act with each other on a day-to-day basis. That’s the crux of living the live that Jesus calls us to. And that’s what Jesus is doing in this sermon on the mount: he’s calling us to live a life that follows his example. We would call it a Christian life, though of course, Jesus would never use that terminology: the term “Christian” is still years to come when he stood up and preached his sermon.
So we struggle and wrestle with this scripture, trying to coax out the good news. Murder, to look at the first instance Jesus uses, is serious business. Jesus isn’t denying that at all. But he is saying that anger is serious too. Both murder and anger are important enough to garner God’s attention in our lives. Murder and anger may be two sides of the same coin.
From these pronouncements that Jesus made that day on the hilltop, we can get an idea of what might have been going on in the first-century Near East. In that crowded, bustling area, brutally controlled by Rome and trying to keep religious laws that originated centuries earlier that were for an agrarian, nomadic people, Jesus was trying to point out that you have to go beyond the law and create law that governs how you interact with those who are right around you.
Of course, for any society to survive, there have to be rules and laws. Laws about murder, rules about divorce, and so on. But Jesus was saying that we have to go deeper than the humanly-created rules and laws and think about reconciliation. Yes, that’s right, reconciliation. Because if God is going to go to the trouble of reconciling us to God, we have to make the effort to reconcile ourselves with each other. And that means paying attention to things like anger.
Now, in this day and age of the 21st century in North America, I’m not about to stand up here and say that anger, in and of itself, is a bad thing. Of course, we get angry and sometimes that’s actually a good thing. If I don’t encounter injustice and get angry, there’s something wrong. But what we do with our anger is what’s important. If we allow it to fester and boil over and ruin a relationship that we have with someone, that’s when we’re no longer reconciled to our brother or sister. If anger is all we feel in our relationship with someone though, we are missing something; something important.
We’re not that different from those who were struggling to survive some 2,000 years ago you know. Yes, Rome isn’t such a big deal anymore; it’s no longer the seat of an empire. And we no longer follow the religious laws that regulated life for the 1st century Jew. We are bound however by laws that go beyond what our current empire demands of us. Yes, we pay taxes and we don’t murder but nothing out of Washington is going to tell us how to be in right relationship with each other. It isn’t illegal to be angry or to feel lust, thank heavens. But it’s our Christian calling that keeps us in right relationship and tells us how to deal with the anger or lust or any other number of feelings that we might be having.
Because that’s the thing. Jesus only scratches the surface here if you think about it. There is a passel of ways that we can damage our relationships with each other. And if we allow such things to get in the way, we need to reread that sermon on the mount and pay special attention to the passage we heard this morning. We, being the inventive humans that we are, have found all sorts of ways to alienate ourselves from each other. We seem almost limitless in our abilities to cause a rift in the fabric that binds us to each other.
So when these rifts occur, we are called to mend them as best we can. Whatever it is that comes between us and another needs to be addressed. Through our ministrations to our relationships we can bring about true reconciliation with each other and therefore with our God.
Jesus’ words this morning may have been hard to hear but if we look behind them we find that there is an attempt to cause right relationship. If we are indeed to answer our call to live the Christian life, we must begin with our relationships with each other and seek true reconciliation. For through those relationships we find the glimmer of truth that is our relationship with God.
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