Chalice Sermons, Musings, & Other Ponderings

A Final Sermon

2012-01-13T10:52:00.000-08:00

NB--This is the last sermon I preached at Chalice. I finished my ministry there on 8 January, a day on which we celebrated Epiphany.

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem,asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.’When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him;and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born.They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
“And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.” ’
Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared.Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was.When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Travel at night is never easy. It’s harder to see, and you’ve got to stay awake the whole time if you’re driving. It can throw off your sense of timing. But there’s something exciting about traveling at night. When I went to college in Virginia, I drove back and forth to Pennsylvania, a trip that lasted between seven & eight hours, and I did the trip at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes I would leave after my exams were done in the late afternoon and drive through the night arriving in the early morning. In fact, I realized at one point that I had made the trip during every hour of the day. I was no stranger to night travel, though, of course, I was much younger then. I’m not sure I’d be up to such travel plans now, unless someone else is doing the driving (or flying or whatever mode of conveyance I happen to be on.)

But of course, night travel has a long history. People learned to navigate by the stars early on in human history. And to see those stars, one has to be out at night. So it was for those travelers described in today’s reading from Matthew. Matthew describes them as “wise men.” We also know them as the Magi. And as our opening hymn described them, they’ve become known as kings. Likely they were astrologers or early astronomers who read the skies and knew it by heart.

The appearance of a new star would be something worth noting to them. And, indeed, they found a star at its rising in their heavens, we are told. Such an event would be portend that something marvelous is going on. So they set out. We don’t know much about them and most of what we think we know is from tradition, not scripture. We don’t know how many there were of them. Tradition says that there were three of them because of they brought three gifts with them that they offered. They were probably from Persia or some such place traveling across the sands of the ancient Near East. We always think of them on camels, but again, that is something we have ascribed to them across history. We don’t know how they actually traveled. But one thing we can be pretty sure about is that they did their traveling at night because they had to keep their eyes on that star.

So there they are, trudging across vast landscapes, in search of...well, they’re not exactly sure what or who they’re searching for. But they have a good idea. Because of their calculations of where the star is leading them, they’ve figured out that they are seeking a newborn who will grow up to be king of the Jews.

Their mistake, as we look back, is that they thought the then current king of the Jews, whom we know as Herod, would be interested in this newborn too. And, of course, Herod was interested; he was very interested. But not for the same reasons that the travelers were interested. Herod’s story is another tale for another time, however.

For now, let us focus on these mysterious travelers. We know they are not Jewish. They have come from the East, we are told. And as enigmatically as they showed up, so was their departure. We only know that after they brought their expensive gifts, they went home, avoiding Jerusalem and Herod, lost to history.

Traveling in the dark can be disorienting…exciting…dangerous. Landscapes look differently than they do in the day. Distances seem different. Instead of moving about in relation to the bright light of the sun, you have to orient yourself according to the starlight, just as those travelers to Jesus did two millennia ago. Knowing the stars is a different skill from knowing that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It’s more work and takes more knowledge.

For the past 13 years or so, we’ve been traveling together in this ministry seemingly in the bright light of day. But now there’s a change and to some of us it may feel like we’re entering a time of darkness. We each may feel a bit disoriented because of my impending departure from the church. It works on both sides, of course; I’m feeling that disorientation too, as I prepare for the major changes coming up in my life. None of us really knows what the future holds; and we don’t really like that.

But we turn to the stars for guidance and light in the midst of our dark times. God is in those stars, just as God was in that star that guided the early travelers to the house where Jesus was found. No, the light isn’t as bright as during the day, but with gratitude we can look for the stars that will guide us during the dark times.

What stars should we look for as we stumble about in the dark? How will we differentiate the stars that will guide us from all the other stars that are out there? What stars will guide us and which ones will just shine prettily in the night?

That can be a difficult decision. That is where prayerful discernment on our part comes in.   We are called to seek out the presence of the Divine in the stars around us. Surely, just as the star over Bethlehem led those early travelers to Jesus, God’s presence in the metaphorical stars will guide us.

As we travel through the night, our eyes fixated on the stars all around us, we can hold fast to others who are co-travelers.   The Magi traveled as a group, not alone, and we aren’t called to do this alone either. Listen to each other and be kind in your dealings. Continue to form community and recognize its importance for your searching for the star that will guide you.

For the past 13 plus years, it has been my pleasure to travel with you. But after today, we will be following different stars in the night sky. Separating, after such a trek together isn’t easy. We’re used to each others’ ways and even, dare I say it, the quirks that we might have. There may be grief because things won’t be the same. We have to readjust to a new star,   But whatever route we travel, we need not fear. For God is with us, even before us, shining in the night sky, constantly beckoning us to new life.

Christmas

2011-12-29T15:53:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-15T15:17:00.000-08:00

John 1:6-8, 19-28

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

2011-11-29T09:47:00.001-08:00

Mark 13:24-37

"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

2011-09-27T20:16:00.000-07:00

Exodus 17:1-7

From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. The people 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?"

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.

Sowing Seeds

2011-07-12T20:17:00.000-07:00

Sower by Vincent Van Gogh

The Sower by Lee Lawrie

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

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?

2011-06-22T18:57:00.000-07:00

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

2011-05-22T19:46:00.000-07:00

Acts 7:55-60 (NRSV)

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:

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

2011-05-15T07:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Fear & Joy

2011-04-24T15:57:00.000-07:00

Matthew 28:1-10

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.”

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.

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

2011-04-15T13:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Right Relationship

2011-02-13T18:48:00.000-08:00

Matthew 5:21-37 (NRSV)

"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.

"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.
"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."

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.

Emmanuel

2010-12-18T20:17:00.000-08:00

Matthew 1:18-25

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
"Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel,"
which means, "God is with us." When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

I get an email five days a week from an organization called DelanceyPlace.com. The email contains an excerpt of a nonfiction book: some interesting nugget of information about history or business or some other aspect of life on this earth. I’ve learned a lot, most of which, unfortunately, I’ve already forgotten.

Today’s reading from Matthew reminded me of an email I got from DelanceyPlace.com this past week excerpted from a book called Euphemania. The excerpt was about euphemisms, those clever little phrases we all say to hide what we actually mean to say but can’t or won’t or don’t because of social strictures. Did you ever hear the phrase “born on the wrong side of the blanket?” Evidently, it was a euphemism popular in the late 18th century for...well, you can imagine what it was a euphemism for. We all use euphemisms at one point or another to cover our meaning or avoid saying something directly.

Matthew’s writing this morning was heavy with euphemisms, at least part of it was. Mary, he writes, was “found to be with child.” In this instance we know exactly what Matthew is saying: Mary was pregnant. When we come to the words that Joseph planned to “dismiss her quietly” though, we’re not quite sure what Matthew meant. Did it mean that he was going to send Mary away from her home and family to avoid the disgrace of being pregnant without being married? Or did it mean that he would save her the horror of being stoned to death but still have her killed quietly? We don’t know because that euphemism is lost to us now.

The words in Joseph’s dream are direct and to the point though. They tell Joseph exactly what to do without any euphemisms or wavering in their meaning. This clear message comes to Joseph via an angel. Even though the angel is unnamed, I like to think it’s Gabriel again, the same angel who brought the news to Mary that she was going to bear Jesus. That would make a nice symmetry: Gabriel, your all-purpose nativity angel.

What’s interesting about Matthew’s account of the birth narratives is that, unlike Luke’s account, this is told from Joseph’s perspective. And this is the last we see of Joseph in the scriptures. He disappears after this without a trace and is not mentioned again. But Matthew, eager to settle in his Jewish readers minds that Jesus is a legitimate heir of David, gives us the genealogy from Joseph’s side and then tells the story of Jesus’ birth from Joseph’s viewpoint.

God, through the angel, had to intervene to prevent Joseph from dismissing Mary quietly. Without Mary, of course there would have been no birth. But without Joseph, according to Matthew, there would have been no legitimacy to David’s throne.

Matthew is quick to quote Isaiah’s passage, the very one that we heard this morning in our Hebrew Bible reading. In its original context, that reading was assuring a Judean king, Ahaz, that his line would continue with the birth of a son. But Matthew uses that scripture in the context of Jesus’ birth, again adding in legitimacy to a Jewish readership that would know the original scripture well. Matthew, from the very beginning is working to prove that Jesus is the Jewish Messiah who has come to save the world from itself.

Of course, the Jewish folks of the first century, who would be reading Matthew’s gospel and were Matthew’s intended audience, were looking for a political Messiah, who would free Israel. But by the time Matthew wrote his gospel, there was already a split between Jews and Christian Jews, such that the Christians were no longer allowed in the synagogue. So they were ready to accept a spiritual Messiah, one who came and conquered not Rome but death and sin.

The angel, back to our reading this morning, spoke directly to Joseph: don’t be afraid; Mary’s baby is from the Holy Spirit; name the baby Jesus; Jesus will save the people from their sins. That’s the summation of the angel’s message and Joseph took it to heart. The name “Jesus” by the way is the Greek form of the Hebrew name “Joshua” which means “God saves.” Thus the addition of the fact that Jesus will save the people from their sins in the angelic proclamation makes sense with the name, Jesus.

And that’s how we like our communications from God, isn’t it? Direct and to the point without any room for equivocation. Except when we’re looking for another answer than the one we got; then we want wiggle room, of course. But when God sends an angel to deliver the message, you know that you’re going to get it direct and true.

Matthew was making a point here by focussing on Joseph. If you think back through the Hebrew Bible, there was another famous Joseph, one who was known for his dreams, who traveled to Egypt and was known to be righteous, just as we were told Joseph is righteous. Matthew’s Jewish readers and hearers would certainly make that connection between the more recent Joseph and his ancestor in the faith. Again, a link to Jesus’ Jewish past is established through Joseph.

Matthew, in quoting Isaiah, gives Jesus a second name: Emmanuel. Emmanuel is a Hebrew name which does in fact mean “God with us.” And that’s what the nativity stories are all about, aren’t they: God entering into humanity as God has never done before. God being with us in new and exciting ways.

In fact, the whole of Matthew’s gospel is working to show that God was with us in the person of Jesus Christ. In fact, if you jump ahead twenty-eight chapters to the closing verses of the book of Matthew, you’ll find “God with us” there again if you look closely enough. For there at the very end of his Gospel, Matthew tells us of Jesus’ promise to be with us to the end of the age. Emmanuel. God with us. Always.

This birth narrative from Matthew sets his readers and us up for the continuing story of God’s presence among us both now and for all time. Jesus came, we are told from the very start, to save the people, not from Rome or from any other earthly power but from their own sins. And, as we journey through Matthew this coming year, we’ll hear how God remains with us and will remain with us forever.

[Painting is The Vision of St. Joseph, by James Tissot.]

Blossoms in the Desert

2010-12-14T11:54:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 35:1-10

Using a favorite phrase of my friend Nancy, we have heard from a veritable plethora of prophets this morning. There’s John the Baptist wondering if his prophecies about Jesus are true. We hear Mary singing that the world is going to be a better place because of the son she is carrying and if that’s not prophecy, I don’t know what is. And then we have Isaiah bringing hope to a captive people. With so many prophets at hand, how is a preacher supposed to choose? How do we focus our attention with so many working to grab that very attention we seek to focus?

Well, being a visual person, I went with the prophet who used visuals in his message and that of course is Isaiah. Right there in the first sentence, Isaiah had me: “the desert shall rejoice and blossom.” It didn’t take long for my imagination to get rolling. In fact, my imagination didn’t have to come into play; I had my own memories to draw on.

During my time in Australia, I ventured forth into the great center of that continent, to the huge red desert that makes up a large majority of the land mass. I went in winter, which meant that the temperatures were bearable. But it also meant that in some of the places there had been some rain, an extremely rare occurrence, which I didn’t experience myself but which had preceded me.

Thus I got to see the desert in bloom, which I was told only happens once every six or seven years. I counted myself lucky to see this rare event and it is permanently etched in my memory.

That’s what prophets do; they jog your imagination and stir up your memory and by bringing up the past show off the potential of the future. Isaiah does that in spades in this verse and it’s needed in this instance.

This portion of Isaiah was written after the great exile of the people from Jerusalem to Babylon. In fact, a generation or so had passed since that terrible event when the Babylonians had swept in, destroyed the holy city Jerusalem, and taken many of the city’s inhabitants as captives, transporting them to Babylon.

This prophet, whom we call Second Isaiah, came along and wanted to keep up the Jewish people’s interest in their land. Second Isaiah was a cheerleader of sorts for the old country. Memories were fading and Isaiah found it his job to remind the people what they had left behind. Some of the folks were getting too comfortable in Babylon: some were attaining positions of importance and marriages were occurring between the Jewish people and the Babylonians. Isaiah worked to remind them of the place they had left, which had long ago been promised to them.

Isaiah was stirring the people’s memories and inciting their imaginations so that they could envision a future in which they returned to their land. Between them and their home though lay a vast desert. A way had to be made there so that the return would be not only safe but also pleasant. So no wild animals will attack and yes, there will be blossoms to make the way agreeable.

Isaiah knew his audience. That vast desert between the exiles and home had to be made traversable. And it was God who was going to do just that; God would make the way back to Jerusalem available to all who wanted to return. Not only that, the lame wouldn’t just be able to walk, they’d be leaping. The speechless wouldn’t just talk: they’d be singing out in joy. All manner of miracles will take place when God gets involved. And God is definitely getting involved here. After the hardship of exile, God is ready to renew God’s relationship with the people of Judah. Isaiah was talking about restoration. Justice. Healing. Joy. Words that seem impossible to a people in exile. Are they impossible for us to hear though?

It is the sort of the thing we need to hear this Advent, isn’t it? Though we aren’t in exile, it feels like we might be in some sort of spiritual exile, doesn’t it? For instance, across the globe there are many who need a simple thing like water in order to survive, but who won’t get it. Our war in Afghanistan goes on without any resolution or completion in sight. The economy remains stubbornly lackluster leaving many un- or underemployed. And here in our dear community of Chalice, we are facing 2011 with many questions about our future and how we shall remake ourselves. If ever we needed God’s involvement and attention, as a church, as a nation, as a world, it is now.

God doesn’t create lush gardens in the desert however for people who don’t want to return. God doesn’t give sight to the blind who don’t want to see. That’s why the prophet, Isaiah, needed to get the Jewish people into a state where they wanted to return. Because if they were going to want to remain an exilic people, God wasn’t going to do those miraculous events for nothing.

Enough of us have to want to return home, to leave exile. Enough of us have to want to walk again or see again or speak again. Enough of us have to believe the prophecy that we will be able to go home again, believe it enough to pack our bags and have them waiting at the door, waiting for the desert to bloom and for God’s way to be made through the wilderness.

Yes, our veritable plethora of prophets, headed by Isaiah, all are saying about the same thing: this can be a different world but you need to allow God in and not rely only on yourselves. Then, when we’ve let God into our lives and allow God to act as God alone can act, will the miraculous happen. The desert blooming, for instance.

All Saints Day

2010-11-10T12:12:00.000-08:00

Interior of Central Synagogue

Leaf from Weeping Willow Memorial

Weeping WIllow Memorial

Luke 6:20-31

Our gospel reading this morning ends on a familiar note. We know the verse as the Golden Rule. A form of it is found in many of the world’s religions--it’s not unique to the Judeo-Christian tradition. “Do to others as you would have them do to you.” It sounds nice doesn’t it? That’s because we usually interpret it as saying, “be nice and others will be nice to you.”

But being nice is a luxury of those who hold the power, isn’t it? Point out the inequalities of a power situation or the fact that someone is being oppressed and somehow you’re no longer very nice. And then the Golden Rule goes out the window. If he, she or they aren’t going to be nice, well, I don’t have to be either, do I? It says so right in the Bible.

Reading through the passage immediately before this Golden Rule that Jesus sets down, it does seem that Jesus wants us to be not only nice but sort of doormats. But if you think about it, he’s putting forth radical ideas. Love your enemies? Wow, who’d’ve thought? Enemies are there to be hated, aren’t they? What is Jesus trying to do? Make us into saints or something?

Well, yes and that’s why these scriptures are set for All Saints Day, which was actually last Monday, but is often celebrated in worship on the Sunday following. So here we are commemorating All Saints Day and we have fairly clear instructions from this passage from Luke on how to be saints and what to avoid if we want to be known among the saints. We usually have All Saints Day to remember and recall but it’s also a day of looking forward. But before we look forward, we do spend time looking back and pulling up memories.

During our time in Budapest recently, one morning we visited the Dohany Street Central Synagogue which was built in the mid-19th century and is the 2nd largest synagogue in the world. It’s the main though not the only synagogue for the large Jewish community of Budapest. The interior, to make an understatement, is ornate…and gorgeous. Two balconies for the women surround the main floor. Gilt ornamentation is readily seen wherever you look. One of our guidebooks said it was built to affirm the Jewish community’s place in the life of Budapest; an attempt, as it were, to keep up with the Christians. They even included a few items, such as an organ and a pulpit, that aren’t usually found in most synagogues evidently.

Behind the synagogue is a memorial garden, built to remember those who died in the holocaust. It includes a symbolic, ceremonial grave for Raoul Wallenberg, the Christian Swedish ambassador who saved hundreds if not thousands of Jewish lives with his diplomatic abilities and handfuls of cash to bribe the proper officials. Wallenberg died in a Soviet gulag in the 70s.

The main focal point of the Memorial Garden is a metal sculpture that is in the form of a weeping willow tree. Just like a live weeping willow tree, its branches hang gracefully, sweeping down, until they almost touch the ground. If you look closely, on the leaves are inscribed the names of those Budapestians who died in the holocaust, hundreds and thousands of leaves and names, all helping us to remember.

I never want to trivialize the experience of the Jews during the holocaust. That was a terrible, unfathomable era of our human history with great suffering and tragedy. But isn’t that what today’s often overlooked holiday is about; remembering? Don’t we each inscribe a mental weeping willow leaf with the name of loved ones who have gone on, who have led us closer to God and taught us about turning the other cheek? For those of us who are Christian, today is a day when we wander in our own memorial gardens and take note of those leaves, pausing at each one to recall how they brought the Golden Rule to life for us. We remember because as humans we are almost programmed to do so. We remember the ones who lived out the beatitudes and brought blessing and joy to us.

We look forward today in one way; look forward in hopes of becoming one of God’s saints in the eyes and memory of another. But we also look back. We look back and remember; we look back and recall the love that we felt that was and still is a reflection of God’s great, unconditional love. Because that’s who the saints in our lives are: those who reflected God’s love through themselves, often selflessly, often tirelessly.

In a few moments, we’re going to recall the saints of our lives. After strolling through our own memory gardens, I’ll ask us to name the names we find on the leaves there. In the meantime, take this weeping willow leaf as a way to help you remember. Let it be a tangible reminder of the person or people who are inscribed forever in your memorial garden. And remember.

Being Shrewd

2010-09-24T10:47:00.000-07:00

Luke 16:1-13

Then Jesus said to the disciples, "There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, 'What is this that I hear about you? Give me an account of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.' Then the manager said to himself, 'What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.' So, summoning his master's debtors one by one, he asked the first, 'How much do you owe my master?' He answered, 'A hundred jugs of olive oil.' He said to him, 'Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it fifty.' Then he asked another, 'And how much do you owe?' He replied, 'A hundred containers of wheat.' He said to him, 'Take your bill and make it eighty.' And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly; for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.

"Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much; and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. If then you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches? And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own? No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth."

What a parable we’ve just heard. It’s one of those difficult sayings of Jesus that we end up scratching our heads over and hoping that next week’s lectionary reading is easier to understand; at least I do. But we ignore this parable at our own peril, so let’s look at it and spend some time trying to comprehend what Jesus may have been talking about.

To recap: There’s a rich man who has a manager or steward. The rich man discovers that the manager hasn’t been dealing with his accounts in his best interests. The manager, upon learning that he’s been found out, hatches a plan to ensure that his good fortune continues.

He realizes that he’s too old or feeble to dig ditches and I can empathize with him there. He’s also too proud to beg so there has to be another solution. His solution is to create a circle of friends by reducing the debt they owe to the rich man. Then comes the twist to the story; when the rich man learns of this plan, he commends his manager. He doesn’t condemn him but rather calls him shrewd, as truly he is.

You’ve got to imagine that Jesus is telling this story with a glimmer in his eye. He knows that the twists don’t make sense and that’s the joke of it all. He’s telling this story to the man on the street; those who catch the early bus to get to grinding jobs. This is a story for the run of the mill guy or gal who knows about rich men and how unlike they are from the rest of us.

And you have to remember that Luke, the author of our gospel, is particularly interested in proclaiming God’s preference for the poor. Luke is concerned with what we would call economics; especially the economics of the poor versus the rich.

So the rich man is not the hero here, well, at least not at the start. Our protagonist is the manager, who shows how shrewd he is. The translation we heard talks about him “squandering” his master’s riches. In actuality, the Greek word is closer to “scattering:” the manager was strewing about the rich man’s money.

To where was he scattering it? Well, very likely those hearers of the parable originally, those men and women of the street, would have assumed that it was going to the poor. The manager was being an early Robin Hood, more or less. Then he continues this use of his boss’ riches by shrewdly reducing the amount of what some of the rich man’s debtors owe. And who are these debtors? Well, once again they’re people who owe to rich people, in other words, poor people.

The manager is reducing the debts of these folks, in one case by 50%, so that they would feel an obligation to him. Jesus is clear that the manager is doing this so he’ll be welcomed into the homes of these debtors once he’s out of a job.

Then comes the twist of the story. The rich man learns of this turn of his affairs and commends the manager. As Tom Boomershine, who taught me in my Digital Culture Certificate program, writes: “This is a sign that the story is about God. God is the one who commends a shrewd steward for acting in a way that was not in the benefit of a rich man.” Jesus’ explanation about this is that the children of this age are shrewder than the children of light in their own generation. That is to say, they know how to act; they know how to work the system and to have it work for them. Children of light, Jesus is saying, are often naïve, pious, nice and don’t know how to use stuff such as money in their own interest.

Jesus knew what everyone else knew: poor people welcome those who have treated them well into their homes. That’s the shrewdness of this parable. In Luke’s version of the beatitudes, the very first thing that Jesus says is that the poor shall inherit the kingdom of God; not the poor in spirit...that’s Matthew’s take on it. And in the story about Lazarus and the rich man, it’s clear that the poor are going to be the gatekeepers for God’s realm.

Jesus, according to Luke, is here for the poor. And this parable only drives that point home. We may look at it with alarm but that’s because in our materialistic culture, where money is a reward from God, the rich man is the hero. We have to turn the tables and recognize this parable as a first century story and Jesus was telling it to the poor and those run of the mill, early bus catching guys and gals. Jesus was, as he often does, turning things upside down; turning the story head over heels with a glint in his eye as he did it.

So where does all this leave us? Likely none of us are in a position to scatter the riches of anyone in the upper income brackets and even if we did, we’d likely get a very different reaction when we were caught and let’s face it, we’d get caught. Any scattering of someone else’s riches would likely land us in jail rather than commended.

And the answer to that question of where this leaves us is found in the paragraph that follows the parable, the very last line that we heard: “You cannot serve God and wealth.” If you’re serving wealth, you’re not going to scatter the riches around to those who need it, ignoring God’s call to serve them. This is a parable of the end times, when things are turned as topsy turvy as the parable itself does; when God’s realm enters in fully and we don’t value people based on their bank account or garage contents.

Indeed we dismiss this parable at our own risk. It must be viewed through the lens of God’s preference for the poor. Only then can we begin to understand the lesson that this parable provides.

Lost & Found

2010-09-12T21:26:00.000-07:00

Luke 15:1-10

There was a popular tv show that aired for several seasons though I myself never caught it. It’s title came to me after reading today’s gospel lesson though. The show was called Lost, and dealt, if I remember correctly, with a plane that went down in the middle of the ocean and the survivors who were lost to civilization on a deserted island. From what I gathered, it was a more suspense-filled, less funny Gilligan’s Island, so to speak.

We all fear being lost. It’s built into us from our earliest days. I remember as a very young boy getting separated from my father in a store for just a few moments. I still recall the fear that was brought up in that brief time for me when I thought I was lost. Fortunately, Dad was closer than I thought and found me quickly, before there were any tears or panic.

Jesus was getting a lot of flak from the religious authorities at the start of today’s lesson. This fact sometimes gets lost when we think about the two parables he told. Jesus was responding to the Pharisees when he told about the lost sheep and the lost coin. This was a pointed response to quiet them down because he was hanging out, so they thought, with the wrong people. He was actually eating with tax collectors and prostitutes.

We don’t need to go into the feasibility of leaving ninety-nine sheep behind while you go to search for one. And I always wondered about the practicality of throwing a party and spending the money that you had just found. Those details really don’t apply in this situation because we’re talking about parables; stories meant to make a point and the point was made in spite of picky details.

Too often we identify ourselves in these parables with the lost items. We’re lost and God will come searching for us. It’s a comforting thought. No matter how lost we are, God will seek us out. That is true enough.

But that’s not the only way we can fit ourselves into these stories. We very well could be among the 99 sheep who are left behind and in many ways we are. These, along with the coins that weren’t lost, are those religious authorities to whom Jesus is directing the parables. We don’t like to think of ourselves in the same light as the Pharisees and scribes but in many ways we are more like them than we’d like to admit. We, like they, think we’ve got our religious ducks in a row, if you’ll allow me to mix farmland metaphors between ducks and sheep. We may be uncomfortable with such an identification, but we can’t avoid it. In many ways we are similar to those 1st century religious authorities as we wonder why Jesus has left us to go out after the homeless, drug-crazed junkie.

But I’d like to challenge us today to think of ourselves as the other actor in the story: as the one who goes seeking the lost; that caring shepherd off to bring back the 1% of his flock or the persistent woman who cleans until she finds that one important coin, a tenth of her entire savings. We are called, I believe, to seek out the lost, to put ourselves in situations that will put us closer to the lost souls in our world.

I read an article in the New York Times this week about a woman who lives in the Bronx in New York City. [http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/10/nyregion/10muslim.html?_r=2&pagewanted=1&nl&emc=aua1] She’s a single mother of three and an immigrant from the Ivory Coast. Every 11th of September she gathers her children and they go down to Ground Zero in lower Manhattan where the World Trade Centers once stood. There they pray because it was there, nine years ago that Mrs. Traoré lost her husband who worked in the Windows on the World restaurant atop one of the towers.

Mrs. Traoré and her children, in their prayers, invoke the name of Allah, because they are devout Muslims. Her husband and their father is among the lost, those 60 or so Muslims who were killed that day by the terrorists along with the thousands of others who died in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania. Of course, the Times printed this article about Mrs. Traoré as the flap about a building that would contain a mosque two blocks from Ground Zero reaches a fevered pitch, including the ridiculous and blasphemous burning of Korans that was supposed to happen yesterday in Florida.

There is quite a bit of religious posturing these days by so-called religious authorities, including that minister in Gainesville who initiated the Koran burnings. If they’re paying any attention at all, they might be wondering why God would be off, seeking the lost ones such as Mrs. Traoré to comfort and console rather than joining in their bonfires.

We live in a world where it seems that the figures are much higher than 1 in 100 or even 1 in 10 who are lost. All too often the self-proclaimed “religious authorities” are too busy keeping those ducks in their proper rows to notice that their Jesus is off gathering up the lost that they’re ignoring or, worse, reviling.

If we can find it in ourselves to extricate ourselves from the position of a religious authority to walking beside Jesus as he seeks out the lost, we are then truly living into our calling. The lost are all around us if we only open our eyes. They are Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, and of no faith. They are of all colors and ages. They speak all the languages of our world. They are everywhere and we only have to seek them out to find them.

They aren’t going to find us. We, like Jesus, have to be the actors on this occasion. Lost items aren’t going to naturally get themselves found, nor are lost people. It’s our effort to make and our initiative to take. We have to break out of the crowd and find the lost to care for them and to help them back.

As I prepared for this sermon, I read another preacher’s sermon on this same passage from Luke. In her sermon, Rev. Huey talked about a segment of a television news show that she saw. She wrote:

This week, I watched a segment of Primetime Live in which Diane Sawyer was revisiting – eight years later – several young people she had interviewed on the streets of a city in Oregon. These kids were definitely lost children. At least two of them were gay, and one can only imagine the terrible rejection that drove them from their homes and families. One young boy was asked to describe his dream home. He answered quickly, as if he had dreamed of it often: his dream home would have a marble staircase and a big entrance hall (doesn't that sound like someone who feels the need to be welcomed?). Asked to describe his dream parents, he said "They would have their mouths taped shut so they couldn't yell at me and their hands tied so they couldn't hit me." Years later, this same young man looked back on the years he spent as a runaway; when Diane Sawyer asked him, "Is that what you wanted – for someone to come and find you?" His response: "Yes, that's what I wanted – I wanted someone to care enough to come looking for me." [by Kathryn Matthews Huey, from sample sermon at http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/september-12-2010.html]

You know, there are times when I feel very lost myself and at those times, I want to be found. I imagine you each have felt the same. But I think more often we are called to be the finders in the world. We are called to care enough to go looking for the lost. And then when we find them, we can rejoice just like the woman with the coin in the parable.

Onesimus & Philemon

2010-09-05T21:14:00.000-07:00

[Note: This sermon is based on the book of Philemon. The entire book is quoted in the sermon and is reprinted here in italics throughout.]

Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus, and Timothy our brother,
To Philemon our dear friend and co-worker, to Apphia our sister, to Archippus our fellow soldier, and to the church in your house:   Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. When I remember you in my prayers, I always thank my God because I hear of your love for all the saints and your faith toward the Lord Jesus.

Thus begins one of Paul’s most personal letters. Throughout this sermon, I’m going to be breaking up the letter, which is only one chapter long and one entire book in the New Testament. This will give us a chance to really look at what Paul was saying and how he goes about it. Much of this sermon has come from a book I have been reading by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan entitled, “The First Paul.”

Some background first. Paul is purported to have written several books of the New Testament. Most are letters to churches, either that Paul had had some hand in founding or, in one case, a church he was planning to visit. The letters can be divided into three groups: those seven books that are undisputed by scholars to be by Paul; then there are three letters that scholars agree were not written by Paul; and finally there is a group of three letters which are disputed with scholars disagreeing on whether they were written by Paul or not. Our letter this morning falls into the first category: it was clearly written by Paul and there’s agreement about that. Most of Paul’s undisputed letters were written sometime around the year 50 c.e., a couple of decades at least before the earliest gospels were written. Thus Paul’s letters are the oldest of the New Testament books.

In this letter to Philemon, Paul begins in a standard way of starting a letter during that time. What’s different is that he calls himself a “prisoner of Christ Jesus” which is unusual for him. Normally, in his other letters, he names himself as an “apostle of Christ Jesus” but in this case he defines himself as a prisoner. In fact, in the letter, as we’ll hear, he uses the word “prisoner” twice and the phrase “during my imprisonment” twice also. It’s important to Paul that Philemon knows he is in prison as he writes this.

You might well be wondering who this Philemon is that he should be the recipient of a personal letter from Paul. We know little of Philemon, only that he was a Christian and probably fairly well off, and that Paul knew him from visits to his home. Though Paul addresses this letter to others, it is Philemon who is really the intended reader.

Paul’s letter continues:

I pray that the sharing of your faith may become effective when you perceive all the good that we may do for Christ. I have indeed received much joy and encouragement from your love, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you, my brother.
For this reason, though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love—and I, Paul, do this as an old man, and now also as a prisoner of Christ Jesus. I am appealing to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become during my imprisonment. Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me. I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you. I wanted to keep him with me, so that he might be of service to me in your place during my imprisonment for the gospel; but I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced.

After the niceties of the start of the letter, Paul gets right to the heart of the matter quickly. It appears that Onesimus, a slave belonging to Philemon, has found his way to Paul and is seeking his aid. It was not uncommon during this era for slaves, if they find a way to do so, to appeal for mercy at the feet of those who were above their masters. Thus Onesimus, likely in some trouble with Philemon, having fled from Philemon, appeals to his master’s superior, namely Paul. It’s interesting to note that Paul is considered Philemon’s superior. It seems that it’s an agreed upon situation.

It’s in this passage that Paul makes a little pun that we miss because we don’t know the original Greek. Onesimus means “useful,” and was a common name for slaves of this era. By saying that Onesimus was useless but is now useful, Paul is emphasizing how the formerly pagan slave has become a brother in Christ.

In fact Paul goes on to say that directly:

Perhaps this is the reason he was separated from you for a while, so that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother—especially to me but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord.

Onesimus, once only a pagan slave, is now a brother; a beloved brother at that. And not just a brother to me, Paul writes, but also to you, Philemon. Paul is being sly here and backing Philemon into a corner. Previously he wrote how Philemon’s good deed regarding Onesimus might be voluntary and here he declares Onesimus his brother, both in the flesh and in the Lord. What can Philemon do?

Paul begins to conclude his letter:

So if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me. If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand: I will repay it. I say nothing about your owing me even your own self. Yes, brother, let me have this benefit from you in the Lord! Refresh my heart in Christ. Confident of your obedience, I am writing to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say. One thing more—prepare a guest room for me, for I am hoping through your prayers to be restored to you.

Poor Philemon doesn’t know what hit him. As if Paul had an account with Philemon. As if Paul, the itinerant preacher, could repay the cost of a freed slave. And, oh, by the way, Paul adds, once I’m freed from this prison, I’m going to be stopping by, using your guest room, and checking up on you.

Paul uses the word “obedience” in this passage, indicating that this isn’t a request at all, but actually a command. One is not obedient to requests; one complies with requests. One is obedient to a command. Paul is pulling no punches here.

The conclusion of the letter seems fairly formulaic:

Epaphras, my fellow-prisoner in Christ Jesus, sends greetings to you, and so do Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke, my fellow-workers.
The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.

Think about this though: if this is a personal letter about a private concern between Paul and Philemon (and of course Onesimus), how private does it sound? At least five other people know about this letter and its contents. It may be personal but it’s not private. Those five people will know about the plight of their Christian brother, Onesimus, and likely they, too, will be checking in on Philemon to see how all this ended.

Paul ends the letter with a blessing of grace. Indeed, Philemon may be feeling like he needs it. But Paul knows freedom in Christ is for everyone. And that includes living freely. In the third chapter of Galatians, Paul writes those famous words that “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Gal 3:28) Christ is the great equalizer in society, including a society run by imperial forces, including a society in which the gap between the rich and the poor grows increasingly. Paul, truly believing that we are all one in Christ, sets forth to live that by bringing Onesimus to freedom.

© Gerry Brague, September 2010, San Francisco

Rules vs. Wholeness

2010-08-24T18:23:00.000-07:00

Luke 13:10-17

Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, "There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day." But the Lord answered him and said, "You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?" When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.

Imagine the scene: there in the synagogue is Jesus, the exciting teacher who has stirred things up all around, and he is there teaching and preaching. It’s the sabbath, and therefore the synagogue is full of people, all there to fulfill their religious requirements. All eyes are on Jesus.

All eyes, that is, except for a pair of a woman, probably hiding in the back, as she has done for the past 18 years. Her eyes are focused downwards, toward her feet which has been the only way she’s been able to look for almost 2 decades. Her view for all those years has been of the area around her feet and slanted glances in other directions. She has been bent over at the waist permanently. After 2,000 years it’s a little difficult to make a diagnosis; her condition may have been medical or it could have come from too many years of difficult labor.

Luke, the author of our gospel, was a doctor and he says that she was crippled by a spirit that kept her that way. Luke, by the way, is the only one of the gospel writers to include this story in his account. Luke the doctor remembers this story and includes it in his gospel. Perhaps his training had made him more attuned to the healing stories of Jesus. Luke also includes more women in his gospel. So it’s natural that a healing story about a woman would catch his attention more so than the other gospel writers.

Jesus is teaching and notices the woman who likely has spent years trying not to be noticed. Illness and crippling diseases were seen as caused by sin, so the bearer of any ills has not only to deal with the disease but also the social stigma. So keeping a low profile was probably a part of this woman’s life: keeping out of people’s way, as best you can when you can’t see them, was standard operating procedure for her.

Jesus, for whatever reason he chooses, decides to heal the woman. Why this woman, we have to wonder. Surely there must have been plenty of other people there who needed healing. Don’t we all need some sort of healing, after all? Was she the most noticeable, hunched over as she was at the back of the room? No friends or relatives approached Jesus about her. He just picked her out of the crowd that was gathered there that day.

Now we don’t notice it but Jesus stepped over the bounds of the rules of their society in two ways that day: first, he healed on the sabbath, healing being a form of work and working on the sabbath is definitely not allowed; second, he touched the woman, which is something a man just doesn’t do, at least not a woman to whom he’s not related. We can almost feel the shock and excitement in the air as the crowd witnesses this act that crosses boundaries and breaks open rules that have long guided their world.

Maybe this is what Jesus was talking about in some of the verses that precede this passage, which were the lectionary reading from the gospel last week. In those verses, Jesus spoke about bringing division into the world, confusing words from the one we call the Prince of Peace. But certainly Jesus divided the crowd that day into two parties: the crowd who was electrified by his boundary-bursting healing and the religious leaders who could only see the laws that had to be followed…and weren’t being followed. Division was clearly a part of Jesus’ ministry, at least it was on this day.

In the controversy that arises, the leader of the synagogue, no doubt urged on by his fellow religious leaders, says that healings can happen any day of the other six days of the week besides the sabbath. Following that comment, Jesus then lets loose on them. He calls them hypocrites, which is as strong an accusation then as it is now. He points out that the rabbis have taught that it is permissible to untie an ox or a donkey so as to give them a drink of water on the sabbath, another activity that is considered work. Surely if God cares about donkeys and oxen that much, God will care enough about one of God’s daughters to heal her, sabbath or not.

Actually, Jesus refers to the woman as a “daughter of Abraham” which is the only time that term is used in the whole of the New Testament. In any case, she is worthy of Jesus’ attention as a child of God. She is worthy of Jesus’ healing ministrations whether its the sabbath or not.

Jesus breaks all bounds to unloose this woman from her own bounds; that which has bound her in her stooped condition for all these years. She couldn’t wait another day for her healing and Jesus knew that. The healing must come now, on the sabbath, on the day when no work is to be done.

The critics of Jesus could fume and fret all they wanted. But Jesus was not going to give an inch. This was an important event that needed attention right now. Jesus chose healing, and caring, and wholeness over the rituals and rules that had governed his culture for centuries. Jesus opted to bring that daughter of Abraham to completion over the strictures that would have bound him as tightly as that woman herself was bound by her condition.

How often do we choose rules and rituals over healing and wholeness? How often do we opt for the status quo rather than bringing our world a little closer to God’s realm? I think it’s more often than we’d like to admit. I think too often we take the attitude that it’s just easier to get along than it is to stir up trouble.

Oftentimes our rules are around possessions for example and what we own being what we are. The unspoken rules of our culture are that more is better: the more you possess the better you are. There’s even a movement within Christianity called the prosperity gospel which says that if God really loves you, God will reward you with greater wealth and more possessions. And too often, we do like to think that’s true. For many of us, in fact, it might be a comforting thought.

Though we might disagree with the premise of this belief, we don’t often act like it. We too often go along with the rules and rituals of our culture and work hard at accumulating rather than seeking the justice that God would have which distributes wealth among all of us, throughout all of God’s children.

Jesus healed the woman who was bent over at the waist against several proscriptions of his day. But he saw a chance for wholeness for one of God’s children and he seized the opportunity. May we be watchful to guard against ways that we might be more like the religious leaders of Jesus’ time, holding tightly to rules and rituals of our culture that no longer serve us. May we be more like Jesus, bursting forth through boundaries that serve no purpose other than to keep things as they are.

Never Alone

2010-08-15T18:10:00.000-07:00

Hebrews 11:29-12:2

By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land, but when the Egyptians attempted to do so they were drowned. By faith the walls of Jericho fell after they had been encircled for seven days. By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had received the spies in peace.

And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets—who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, in order to obtain a better resurrection. Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented— of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground.
Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, without us, be made perfect.
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. (NRSV)

We know precious little about the book of Hebrews. We have no idea who the author was; we don’t know who the intended audience was; and we’re not exactly sure when it was written. But on some of these points we can make guesses or good estimates based on the information within the book itself.

As Dan Clendenin, the author of a weekly website I often turn to in my sermon preparation called “Journey with Jesus,” put it, “The recipients of the letter are second-generation believers who heard the gospel from first-generation Christians (2:3). The text's elegant Greek, its quotations from the Greek translation of the Hebrew Old Testament (LXX), and its distinctly Jewish themes all suggest that the readers were a community of Hellenistic Jewish believers.”

So that tells us something. Clendenin goes on to explain that since the book doesn’t mention the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in the year 70, it was probably written sometime before then.

But it’s clear that the original recipients were under some sort of persecution. Given that they were second-generation hearers of the gospel, that put it later in the century, rather than nearer to the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus in the thirties.

Of course, we all know the famous story about Nero fiddling while Rome burned. Whether that’s true or not, whether Nero actually played some musical instrument during the conflagration that devoured parts of Rome in the year 64, we do know that he sought to blame the fire on the Christians of the time. Nero was not, we might say today, the most stable of rulers. Mental stability doesn’t seem to go hand in hand with being a ruler, as we know from some of the rulers who held sway during the last century, such as Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and Hussein.

Nero, though, in his attempts to pin the fire on the Christians of the time, went to great lengths to persecute them, making a sport of the manner he would kill them. He would dress them up in animal skins to be mauled to death by dogs before cheering crowds. They were crucified and set on fire to light the night. To put it mildly, it wasn’t always easy being a Christian during this era.

And so the author of Hebrews needs to encourage his little flock of believers through the persecutions that they may be facing. With the oppression of mighty Rome on one side and a distrustful Jewish leadership on the other, they indeed needed all the encouragement they could get.

So when encouragement is needed, where does one turn? To the great cloud of witnesses that surround us. I can’t help but wonder whether Oscar Hammerstein had this passage in mind when he wrote a particularly stirring bit of lyrics from the musical “Carousel” with his collaborator Richard Rodgers.

When you walk through a storm
keep your chin up high
and don’t be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm
is a golden sky
and the sweet, silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
walk on through the rain,
though your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you’ll never walk alone,
you’ll never walk alone.

Indeed, we find we are not alone when the storms buffet us and toss us about like a dried leaf. Because the author of Hebrews, along with the more recent prophetic words of Oscar Hammerstein, reminds us that all around us are those who have been through trials and tribulations and are here for the specific purpose of cheering us on.

In “The Message” bible, Eugene Peterson translates one of our verses from Hebrews this morning in this way: “God had a better plan for us: that their faith and our faith would come together to make one completed whole, their lives of faith not complete apart from ours.” I like that image; that without the faith of those who have gone before, those who have struggled before, those who have persevered before, my faith is incomplete. And likewise, without my faith, theirs does not attain fulfillment. Both parts of the puzzle are necessary to complete the picture.

We don’t face the same turmoils that Christians of the first century faced, without a doubt and we thank God for that. But the struggles of those early Christians live on in and through us. Because of their struggles and persecutions, through their faith, we are able to be the worshipping community that we are today.

The author of Hebrews knew his congregation and in his writing, he picked out some of the superheroes of the faith: starting with Abraham and Moses, just prior to today’s reading and including Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, and Samuel. These were names that the original recipients would have known quite a bit about. And doubtless a list like that generated another list in the hearers’ minds. Much as it does today.

We can remember Martin Luther King, Jr., Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Oscar Romero, who would have turned 93 on this very day had he not been assassinated 30 years ago. King, Bonhoeffer, and Romero knew the cost of faith even in the 20th century. All three paid with their lives for their faith and are martyrs of our time. And each of them is in the cloud of witnesses that surrounds us now, urging us forward, telling us to hold on and hold tightly to what is dear.

We do not walk alone. We are indeed surrounded by witness after witness after witness who urge us to run the race before us with perseverance.

Impressionism as Avant Garde

2010-08-12T17:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

Allen and I went to the de Young Museum recently to see the “Birth of Impressionism” special exhibit that is running there right now. If you have even the slightest interest in visual arts or painting, you should find time to see this show. It traces the beginnings of impressionism with works from the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, which is going through renovations at present. The show runs at the de Young until 6 September.

Impressionism, which found its home in Paris at the end of the 19th century, was a sharp departure from the classical art that had been the standard prior to this era. Impressionist painters couldn’t get their paintings hung in the salon and had to have their own shows, for which they were derided, in order to be seen.

These paintings that we now hold in such esteem, that are truly masters, were avant garde by the standards of the time. Some laughed at the artists who were producing them and very few took them seriously. What a difference a century can make.

We have to be careful what we deride and consider foolish, and not just in the world of art. For what we think today is impossible or too far out there for reality may soon become not only possible, but the new standard.

The ruling about Proposition 8 by Judge Walker is another such change that, not too long ago, would have been considered a foolish goal. Marriage between two people of the same gender would have been thought of as too far out for any reasonable person to think about. Even among gay and lesbian people, not that long ago, marriage seemed such an unattainable goal that it was deemed not worthy of putting effort into. But here we are with a federal judge declaring that it’s a constitutional right.

Watch what you consider outré or avant garde...it may soon be the norm by which all else is measured.

Peace,
Gerry

Listening and Doing

2010-07-17T20:14:00.000-07:00

Luke 10:38-42

Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me." But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."

I must admit to being somewhat ill at ease when it comes to today’s passage from Luke. I thought about avoiding it entirely and preaching on one of the other lessons from the lectionary but was drawn back to it. I do realize that the Bible isn’t there to make me feel comfortable. It may be comforting at times but it’s not always comfortable.

To understand this passage we have to look a little more closely at the context in which the gospel writer, Luke, places it. Jesus is on the road to Jerusalem, where of course he will be tried and executed as a criminal by the powers that be. Immediately preceding this passage, a lawyer asks Jesus about how he can go about inheriting eternal life.

Jesus talks about loving God and loving neighbor. In other words, Jesus talks about relationships and how important they are. On this journey to Jerusalem, Jesus is trying to teach about what it means to be a disciple. What it means to follow. Then Jesus ends up telling the lawyer, and the rest of us, the parable of the good Samaritan in which a stranger, a hated stranger at that, does good toward one who is injured along the road. It’s a tale of doing good deeds and taking action when others have not done so.

Then we reach today’s passage in which Jesus stops by at his friends’ home, the house of Mary and Martha. We know from other passages that Mary and Martha had a brother, Lazarus, but he is not mentioned this time through. While at their home, Mary sits at Jesus’ feet and listens to his teaching while Martha busies herself with all that goes into hosting a beloved guest. When Martha complains to Jesus that Mary isn’t really helping out at all, Jesus takes her down a peg in telling her that Mary has made the wisest choice, which is to sit and listen to him. He seems to belittle Martha for all her busyness in the process.

Those who make their livings commenting on the Bible have pointed out that Luke has a particular emphasis throughout his gospel on hearing AND doing. So this passage this morning must be read in that light. And that’s why its proximity to the story about the good Samaritan is so important.

Certainly the Samaritan is a doer. He stops to help an injured traveler and does a lot for him: providing care there at the roadside, transporting him, paying for his continued care and so on. It makes us wonder how that story can immediately precede this one about listening?

It precedes it because both are important. You can’t have one without the other: it’s listening and doing. It’s not either or. Jesus lays it all out here one, two, three: be in right relationship with God and neighbor, do good works, and listen with all your heart.

So why would such a story make me ill at ease? Well, of course, what makes me uncomfortable is that door over there. [pointing at the kitchen door] That door and thousands upon thousands like it across Christendom. And all the hours that are wracked up behind those doors. And all the doing that happens that’s just like Martha’s busying of herself.

No preacher in his or her right mind is going to get up this morning and, using this text, tell people to stop all their good works, whether it’s in the kitchen, at the coffee hour table, in the food pantry, at the homeless shelter or anywhere else for that matter. Too much good comes of all the doing that goes on in churches just like this one that to misinterpret this passage would be a major mistake. And I don’t believe that Jesus was saying that either.

But Jesus was making a point with Martha that day. And once again, we have to look at context to understand. A woman’s place, in that day and place, was definitely not at the feet of a teacher. A woman did not get the benefit of a teacher, none-the-less one of Jesus’ stature. He had his disciples for that, always men. But Jesus always made a point of speaking with women, something unheard of in his time. And Mary, in sitting at his feet, was breaking convention along with him.

Jesus was not discounting the work that Martha was doing. He was saying however that Mary had seen an opportunity that is rarely afforded her and took it. And she was rewarded for her decision with Jesus’ affirmation of her choice.

Taken together, the parable of the Samaritan who helps his fellow traveler, along with the story which took place in Mary & Martha’s home, brings us back to Luke’s emphasis on hearing and doing. We need both.

We need to listen: by studying scripture, by attending worship, by conversing with each other, and by all the other ways that we can listen in the broadest sense of the word. And we need to act: we need to be doing the good works that all that listening calls forth from us.

And of course, all of this springs out of the right relationships that Jesus set forth with the lawyer: to love God with all one’s heart, soul, strength, and mind and to love your neighbor as yourself. From there we move into the listening and doing that is so important.

Don’t think that what happens behind those doors isn’t important. Or if you do, don’t try to use today’s passage as your excuse for the way you think. Our calls are clearly to listen and to act.

Power of Powerlessness

2010-07-04T02:40:00.000-07:00

2 Kings 5:1-14

It’s the little words and the small people to which you sometimes have to pay attention. Without them, things usually turn out differently. Take this morning’s reading from 2nd Kings for instance.

Naaman was a great and mighty warrior in the kingdom of Aram, which is where Syria now is. He was commander of the king’s army, we’re told. Yet, there was a ‘but’ in the introduction to him. That little word ‘but’ makes all the difference in the world. Because in spite of all his power and strength there was that ‘but’ which was, of course, that he was a leper. Yes, even though he commanded hosts of men in the Aram armies, he suffered from leprosy. That ‘but’ or ‘though’ or ‘yet’ can make all the difference.

Now leprosy in the Hebrew Bible is different from modern day leprosy. Then it was essentially any disease of the skin: boils, eczema, dry patches, such as what I have here on my right hand ring finger. Any of those and more would make someone a leper. This is not to downplay the importance of the disease but to clarify. So Naaman suffered from some form of leprosy, making him unclean.

At the end of the day, after removing his armor and battle finery, he was reminded that he was a leper just by a quick look at his body. However the disease took its course, it no doubt left its ravages on what was likely an otherwise perfect specimen of a body. That was the ‘but,’ the small word that changed everything for Naaman.

But there, right in Naaman’s household, was one of those small people who can make a difference. A slave girl, from Samaria of all places,, that little country also known as Israel, whose name isn’t even recorded and who serves his wife, tells of a prophet back home who could cure Naaman. She makes this bold claim because she knows the power of her God and truly believes in it.

So Naaman, in all his power, does what people of power do; he goes to other people of power, in this case his king. He asks for permission to seek out this prophet and the king does what any king would do; he writes to his fellow king, again, power seeking out power. The slave girl, whatever her name was, is forgotten by this point and we’re dealing on a whole new level now: power to power.

Of course the King of Israel thinks this is some trick when Naaman comes to see him with the letter. He reads the message that the King of Aram has written and concludes that Aram is picking a fight with them, probably a fight that Israel can’t afford to have right now. He does what any good king would do: he rips his clothing in frustration and grief, something you did in those days.

Now when a king rends his garments, it makes the evening news. It’s big news in fact. And word of the rending gets through to Elisha, the very prophet about whom that nameless slave girl was referring. Elisha, nonplussed by the big boys and their games, gets word through to the king to send Naaman to him and he’ll take care of the whole thing.

So off Naaman goes, with all the gifts he has brought with him and his fine chariots and undoubtedly a platoon of soldiers without whom he never travels. Have you ever noticed that? People of power tend to travel with their power surrounding them so that it’s unnoticeable. Naaman was no different.

He gets to Elisha’s and expects this Israelite man of God to come out, bowing and scraping to do magical incantations over his scarred body. Instead Elisha barely notices his presence. He sends out a servant, again someone without a name, to give a message to Naaman. That’s it.

And to top it off, the message is to go and wash in the Jordan seven times. How insulting can you get? They’ve got rivers in Syria, Naaman says, fine ones in fact; rivers that make the Jordan look like a muddy old creek. Why should a person, a warrior, as important and powerful as Naaman lower himself to washing in a podunk river like the Jordan? Really!

Again, the small, nameless people come into play when Naaman’s servants, who have seen the ravages of leprosy on their boss first hand, persuade him to give the Jordan a try. They’re in the neighborhood and what does he have to lose after all? Naaman relents, listens to these people who probably know him better than anyone, and bathes in the Jordan. Naturally, his skin is not only restored, but he’s better than a kid again. He now has the skin of a young boy, we’re told, which is a far cry from leprosy.

This story hangs on that small ‘but’ at the beginning because it builds in a tension between the military power and physical might of Naaman versus his powerlessness against the disease he lives with each and every day. The power of Naaman versus the wisdom of a nameless young slave girl. The kings of Israel and Aram providing a side story of power at the very top versus the almost nonchalant demeanor of the prophet Elisha. The mighty rivers of Naaman’s homeland versus the muddy trickle of the Jordan. Power versus powerlessness runs through this story from start to finish.

How does that make you feel, on this fourth of July, living in one of the most powerful countries in global history? I know it makes me stop and think a little. Who has power these days and who are the powerless ones we should be listening to? What about our own personal power and how do we use it? Who do we listen to when dealing with our power? Do the powerless, nameless people around us have a voice? Do we allow them to be heard?

Of course, there are far too many examples of powerless, nameless ones in our society: the homeless person, the immigrant, the youth, to name a few. Do we listen to them for their words of prophecy and healing? Sure, we most likely acknowledge them and recognize their worth as children of God. Do we go that extra step though to seek out whatever wisdom they may bring to a situation?

When it comes to immigration or homelessness, for example, do we really look to those who are immigrants or homeless for their voice about how to solve those huge problems of our culture? Remember it was a nameless, powerless slave girl who pointed Naaman to Elisha and his eventual cure.

Stones

2010-06-27T08:35:00.000-07:00

This sermon is for Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual/Transgendered Pride Sunday service which Chalice holds in combination with Forest Hill Christian Church in San Francisco each year during San Francisco's Pride activities.

Joshua 4:1-8

The Hebrew people were on the very brink of entering the land promised to them. They just had to cross the Jordan River and they would be in their new homeland after 40 some years of wandering in the wilderness. It was indeed a momentous occasion if there ever was one.

But how to remember such an occasion? How to make sure the future generations would know how important this event was? How would those who followed know that this spot on the Jordan was where the water stopped flowing so that the people could cross over and the ark of the covenant would remain dry on the shoulders of the priests carrying it?

Joshua told a member of each of the 12 tribes to select a stone from the river and carry it to the bank where it would be placed as a memorial. Then when their children and grandchildren asked them “What do these stones mean?” they could relate the story of their entrance into the Promised Land.

“What do these stones mean?” We all hope that future generations will look back kindly on our lives and ask “What does this mean?”, “What does that mean?” “ Why did you do this?” A part of being human is hoping that somehow our name and legacy lives on beyond us. We all want future generations to look back from some future date and remember something we did or said that changed something for the better. “What do these stones mean?”

What stones are we leaving behind in the struggle for equal rights for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered people? What markers are there that will cause those who come after us to stop and give thanks for our work, for our perseverance, for our very selves?

Perhaps some 30 or 40 or 100 years in the future, someone will come across a pink triangle and learn that homosexuals were incarcerated in the Nazi death camps and forced to wear that pink triangle as a symbol. The pink triangle helps us remember that l/g/b/t people have sometimes suffered with their lives for being who they are. They’ll know that the symbol was readopted to honor those who died in the concentration camps. What do these stones mean?

Maybe someone will come across a rainbow flag and discover that gay pride movements swept across many cities and these flags were flown to show the world that l/g/b/t people are proud of who they are. The flag was developed in 1978 by San Francisco artist Gilbert Baker to highlight the diversity that’s within the gay community. It’s frequently flown now across the globe wherever l/g/b/t people can openly express who they are. What do these stones mean?

Possibly someone from the future will find an “I do support the freedom to marry” sign and wonder in amazement at the fact that there was a time when same-sex couples were denied the right to marry the person of their choice. They will find out about the struggle we are in the midst of right now for that one part of equality to be gained. Maybe they’ll also learn of the struggle of people to serve in the military without regard to sexual orientation. Or of ministers to be ordained and serve as God calls them regardless of their orientation. What do these stones mean?

What stones will you leave behind? Will future generations know of the work you did to make our world, their world a better place, a place where equality for all people is assured? Will people know of your work and dedication to bringing in God’s realm to a needy world? In the shadowed corners all around us, have you brought the light that shines forth from within you that is a reflection of God’s love?

Truly, we are leaving behind stones all the time, stones that will indicate how deeply we were involved in creating a more just and equal world. We set up stones as markers when we write to our representatives about issues; when we volunteer our time; when we give of ourselves with our talents, or our resources; when we work for justice in our world and the the world that is yet to come.

“What do these stones mean” is indeed the question that will be asked by those from yet unborn generations. When the stories of the struggle for justice for all people are told, will your name be included? Will your work be found amidst the stones that are left behind?

Despair & Silence

2010-06-22T08:47:00.000-07:00

1 Kings 19:1-15a

It’s very tempting with this passage from 1st Kings to focus on what is called the theophany or the appearance of God to Elijah. That’s the dramatic part, as well it should be. Preachers who use the lectionary are no doubt going on about the wind, earthquake, & fire and the lack of God’s presence in them. And very likely, much is being said about the sheer silence or still small voice as many of us grew up hearing about it.

Now, don’t get me wrong. That theophany is important and has a lot to teach us. If we expect to find God in all the noise and hubbub of daily living or even the unexpected noise of major events and don’t look for God in the silences, we’re on the wrong track and Elijah would be the first to tell us so. To focus on that event, however, in the midst of this story is to miss a major point of the passage.

But let’s back up a bit and find out what’s really going on. Just prior to this narrative, Elijah has a showdown with the prophets of Baal. Baal, you might remember, was the god of the queen, Jezebel. In fact, she was working to institute the worship of Baal in the northern kingdom of Israel, there where worship of Yahweh was supposed to happen.

The prophets of Baal had sacrificed a bull and placed it upon an altar and they cried to their god throughout the day to bring down fire upon the altar, all to a stunning non-result. The silence, as one might say, was deafening.

Elijah took his turn then. To make the trick even more astounding, he had the bystanders pour buckets upon buckets of water upon the altar until it flowed out and filled a trench that surrounded it. Then Elijah called upon Yahweh to ignite the altar, which happened in no uncertain terms. In fact the fire was so hot that the water in the trench evaporated. As would happen in those days, Elijah, the winner of this contest, then massacred the prophets of Baal. Then he went on to end the drought that Israel had been going through, adding a nice little twist to his victory.

That’s when we pick up today’s reading. When Jezebel finds out about all that’s gone on, she hits the proverbial royal roof and makes some fairly strong & nasty threats against Elijah. In fact, within a day’s time, she says, he’s going to be as dead as those prophets of Baal find themselves.

Now Elijah may be one of the greatest prophets in Jewish history, but in the end he’s still just a human. And he does what any human in their right mind would do; he makes a run for it. He doesn’t want to stick around to see if Jezebel is good for her word and hits the Israelite highway. He runs so far, we’re told that he ends up about as distant from her that he can and still be in Hebrew territory: Beer-sheba, which is the southernmost point in the southern kingdom of Judah.

There he does an odd thing. Having escaped death, he asks God to kill him. In the midst of his despair, he asks God to take his life, because it’s just not worth living anymore. But, you know, people in despair and desperate situations don’t always make sense. So we’ll just have to chalk this request of Elijah to that despair and likely utter exhaustion. He is ministered to by an angel who feeds him. Elijah gets a little more rest, undoubtedly needed and deserved, and then heads out into the wilderness for forty days and nights.

Forty days and nights. Sound familiar? It has echoes of the forty years that the Hebrew people spent in the wilderness. It means a really, really long time. And where does he end up in that wandering time but Mt. Horeb, which we know also as Mt. Sinai, Mt. Sinai, where Moses received the commandments that are the basis of Judaism. Mt. Sinai, where Moses was allowed to view God, or at least God’s backside, during another well-known theophany.

Important things happen on mountains in the Bible. Anytime there’s a mountain, you should pay attention. Think about it: Ararat, Sinai, Carmel, Pisgah, not to mention the Sermon on the Mount and the mountain top transfiguration event. So Elijah, in his despair and desire to stop living, ends up on a mountaintop. And then today’s theophany comes in. Elijah encounters God, but not nearly in a way that he expected. After all that’s happened to him, Elijah meets God in sheer silence. And from that experience, Elijah is sent on his way, back up to be the proper thorn in the side of Ahab and Jezebel that he was called to be.

“Called to be.” Is it possible that through all that has happened in this story that it boils down to vocation or calling? Is all this about Elijah’s calling to be a prophet of Yahweh? If so, how can any of us relate to it?

I mean, we’re not going to have a face-off with the prophets of some forgotten deity. No queen is going to threaten our lives because we messed with her prophets. We probably even won’t ever have to go on the lam because we’ve peeved the wrong person.

You know what though? Each of us here assuredly knows something about despair. Some of us may have even considered that the world would be a better place without our living presence at one time or another. We have all heard God’s call to us (because God doesn’t just call certain people you know) and struggled to maintain some semblance of sanity in the midst of that call. We may have felt that our calls and vocations were not properly supported and felt frustration when responses were low.

And that brings us right back to that theophany of finding God in the silence. Because if we don’t make the space to listen, really listen for and to God, we’re going to stay frustrated and in despair; stuck without the strength we need for our wilderness wanderings.

In many ways this congregation could be seen as being in that very situation. We have listened and heard God’s call which has led us to start Homework Central and be instrumental in beginning what is now known as Home and Hope, serving those whose lives are on the margins here in San Mateo County. We have provided a warm place of acceptance and inclusion in our worship and community life. We have looked both outward and inward, caring for others and ourselves with the same intensity and devotion. And yet, we find ourselves on the run, in despair. Are we, as a congregation, better off dead?

I think we know that answer to that question. Because no, I firmly believe, God does not want us to cease to exist. We need to find the answer in the silences though. We need to seek out God’s call; to renew our commitment to our vocation as a congregation. That doesn’t mean doing, doing, doing, necessarily. All that doing can be as distracting as the wind, earthquake, and fire. Once we’ve done all our doing, we need to listen, really listen to God in the silence and then move forward from there.

Do You See

2010-06-14T18:56:00.000-07:00

Luke 7:36-8:3

I must admit to some ambivalence when it comes to this morning’s reading from Luke. I’m unsettled by it and not sure what to do with it. (Which may explain why this sermon sat as a blank screen on my computer so long.) But I’m confused about with whom I am supposed to identify in the story.

I want to identify with the woman who comes and washes Jesus’ feet. She is quite the role model. She doesn’t care about convention or the proper way of doing things. She bursts into this dinner uninvited, probably as the only woman in the room, and shows her gratitude and joy at Jesus’ feet. She has what in Yiddish they call chutzpah and I admire that.

But I worry that I’m more like Simon, the Pharisee who invited Jesus into his home in the first place. Simon might be an okay sort of guy. He’s curious about this traveling preacher who’s in town. So he invites him over to share a meal. Not a bad start.

But from there it’s down hill for Simon. He doesn’t offer the usual good host sort of things: water to wash off hot, dusty feet or oil for anointing his guests’ heads. Not even a kiss to greet his guest. There’s no way he’s going to earn the first century good housekeeping seal of approval that way. But that’s not why I fear I identify with Simon. It’s his reaction to the woman at Jesus’ feet and then to Jesus himself that has me nervous.

You see the woman who came in was a sinner. We’re told that right off. Now we all know about sinners. We know that all of us are sinners; we’re human, we just can’t help it. But we also know that some people are “capital S sinners.” Well, this woman was a “capital S sinner” without a doubt. Her sins were well-known and, undoubtedly, well-discussed in the community. Her reputation wafted into the room long before the scent of the perfume in her jar made it.

Jesus asked Simon a question: “Do you see this woman?” It’s a simple question, and of course Simon saw her. But did he really? Or did he just see the sin that she carried around with her. Simon wondered why Jesus would affiliate with such a person, but in our eyes, we wonder why Jesus was associating with Simon.

I’m still stuck however with worrying that I’m more like Simon than I am like the woman. I want to think that I’d be the one on my knees, weeping and cleaning feet. But more likely, I’m sitting at my table judging others, deciding whose sin is allowable and whose isn’t; who is a “capital S sinner” and who isn’t.

I want to relate to the woman for a couple of reasons: first she puts herself into this wholeheartedly without reservation. She’s in it mind, body, and soul. She doesn’t hold back and I admire that in her. But second, I know too what it means to need to be forgiven and the release that finding that forgiveness brings. Knowing the grace that brings about transformation is a joyous and beautiful experience.

And who doesn’t dislike Simon? He’s judgmental and hypocritical. I can really get going when it comes to casting aspersions on him. He doesn’t do what’s proper, he doubts whether Jesus is a prophet, and he is too much like one of the good old boys of Judea of the time. He’s disgraceful in his behavior.

I mean, look at me being open-minded and open-hearted about the woman while seeing through the thin facade to the core of Simon. I know his type. And then, of course, I realize that I’m acting no differently than Simon is and here I am haughtily dividing the world into two types of people--the sinners and the “capital S sinners.” The more things change the more they remain the same! I can almost hear Jesus saying, “Gerry, do you see this man?”

Because that, I believe, is the highpoint and most important section of the reading, that question, “do you see this woman?” It’s one that I should be listening for time after time. Because I am quick to look past the person and just assign sin to any number of people.

There are those who disagree with me politically. “Gerry, do you see this woman?” And there are those who read the Bible differently than I do. “Gerry, do you see this man?” The question echoes through my head time after time and more often than not, I have to say, “No, I didn’t see that man or that woman. I only saw their sin or their veneer of whatever it is I’m reacting to.” I’m no better than Simon, the one I sit in judgment of.

We’re all victims of a sort of tunnel vision that only allows us to see what we want to see in others. We’re all in need of the question, “Do you see that woman or that man? Do you really see him or her?” That tunnel vision has been going for millennia and has caught many off guard. Simon was using it when he looked on the woman who came into his dinner party and he used it again when he make suppositions about Jesus because of his association with the woman.

We use this tunnel vision all too often and don’t even realize we’re doing so. We’re called to see though, to really see the other: those who are marginalized, those who are our enemy, those who live lives as different from ours as can be.

Let go of your tunnel vision as best you can. We can all be more hospitable, more accepting, less judging and kinder than we are. We can recognize that we are much more like that “capital S sinner” woman who is standing in the need of grace and forgiveness in the story from Luke this morning. We can try to see, really see, the other.

Give Them Hope

2010-06-06T06:51:00.000-07:00

1 Kings 17:8-24

Harvey Milk, the slain gay rights leader whose 80th birthday we commemorated last weekend, is often quoted from various of his speeches as saying that you’ve got to give them hope, “them” being any number of disenfranchised people. He’d end his speech, though, by saying “and you, and you, and you…you’ve got to give them hope.”

Though Harvey was not Christian, hope certainly is a Christian value. Paul’s famous chapter about love from 1st Corinthians ends with “faith, hope and love abide” ranking hope right up there with faith and love as enduring parts of our religious life. Hope certainly isn’t confined to Christianity, but Christians who do not have or promote hope seem somehow lifeless.

Thus is it through that lens that we can read the passage from the Hebrew Bible this morning when we are introduced to Elijah and his time with the widow from Sidon. But before we get to that, let’s look at what got us to this point.

Elijah was one of the great prophets of Israel. He was a particular thorn in the side of Ahab, one of the kings of Israel, the northern kingdom. As Frederick Buechner puts it: “If, generally speaking, a prophet to a king was like ants at a picnic, Elijah was like a swarm of bees.” (Peculiar Treasures, p. 9) Don’t forget that after Solomon’s rule, the kingdom that his father David has built up, broke into two parts: Israel in the north and Judah in the south. There followed a succession of kings in the two countries who ruled with varying degrees of ability and were faithful to God to varying degrees. Particularly in the northern kingdom, there was court intrigue after court intrigue as murders and abductions occurred to alter the line of succession.

Into this Ahab came along as king in the north, in Israel. He took for his wife one whose name lives on to today as a symbol of a suspicious and wanton woman--Jezebel. Jezebel was not Jewish; Ahab married outside the clan and the faith and Jezebel brought with her her own particular god, Baal. She even persuaded Ahab to erect shrines to Baal in Israel so that Baal could be worshipped, there in the midst of God’s land. You can just imagine how well that went over in some quarters.

Now Baal was a storm, rain, and fertility god who allegedly controlled the precipitation in those parts. So when our prophet Elijah comes along and says that because of all the worship of Baal that’s going on in Israel there’s going to be a drought, it’s a double whammy. First because a drought is not a good thing and is coming as punishment and second because Elijah is pointing out that this storm god Baal can’t control the weather over what the Hebrew God decides. Of course, a drought ensues.

This, to put it mildly, doesn’t make Elijah a popular man in the seat of government. Prophets usually aren’t very well-received by those against whom they are prophesying, typically those in power and rulers. But Elijah gets a special award for making himself unpopular in Israel by proving the queen’s god to be a false one.

God, being wise, decides to relocate Elijah until things cool down and sends him on the lam. At first Elijah spends some time in the wilderness where ravens come with food to care for him. Then we pick up the story where we jumped in today, in 1st Kings as God calls Elijah to Sidon.

Now the interesting thing about Elijah, the great prophet of Yahweh, being called to Sidon is that that’s exactly where his nemesis Jezebel came from. That’s right, she was a Sidon girl from way back and that’s where she learned her Baal worship. So we have a switch going on--Jezebel, the infidel from Sidon stirring up trouble with Baal in Israel while the holy man from Israel, Elijah, brings his God to godless Sidon. Truly poetic, don’t you think?

By the way, Sidon shows up again in the Bible, in the gospels. Sidon is where Jesus meets the Syro-phoenecian woman who argues with Jesus about the crumbs beneath the tables. It’s another instance of a woman from that region who is doing all she can for the good of her child. Jesus is out away from his own territory here, just like Elijah. Surely the early hearers of the gospels would have known this story from 1st Kings and heard the echoes through the centuries of the similarities of the stories.

But back to our story. So here in the region of Sidon, the town of Zarephath to be specific, Elijah engages a nameless widow. Of course she wasn’t nameless then, but the author of 1st Kings didn’t think she was important enough to give her name so we can only refer to her as the widow of Sidon--mostly because “widow of Zarephath” is too hard to say. This widow of Sidon, when we meet her, is filled with despair; the drought has hit her, being a widow, hard and she has a small amount of flour and oil left to prepare a final meal for her and her son before they die. She’s out in fact collecting some firewood for this sad last supper when she and Elijah come upon each other.

Elijah asks her for some bread and water whereupon she recounts the doleful tale of her and her son. Elijah says something that we should always remember; his first words are “Don’t be afraid.” He then tells her to go use up the grain and oil to bake him some bread because there will be more provided.

“Don’t be afraid.” Easier said than done but the widow follows Elijah’s instructions and indeed there continues to be food enough for them to survive on. And then the twist in the story comes along: the son, the only thing the widow has, dies. She blames Elijah, essentially, and I imagine the whole thing leaves Elijah just a bit stunned. Elijah however rises to the occasion and takes the boy to his own room where he expresses some anger at God but then goes on to bring the boy back to life. The widow rejoices and proclaims Elijah to be a “man of God.” Happy ending.

Twice in this story though we find the widow in despair; desolate even. We would think that there wasn’t room within her for hope at either time in the story. It’s just in those times of despair, of utter and complete desperation, that sometimes hope creeps in. We sometimes need to get down to rock bottom before the possibilities of transformation occur to us. Logic doesn’t enter into it. If the widow had been logical she would have said that there was only enough grain and oil for her and her son and that was that. She would have never agreed to feed this strange man from a foreign land.

Hope sneaks up on you when you least expect it usually. It’s transformative; it transforms that despair into possibilities, maybe even probabilities. Against all logic, hope works. Sometimes it’s astounding, sometimes it’s rather ho-hum. But it comes when it’s needed.

Mind you, not all hopes are fulfilled; some hopes remain dry as dust. Hope in the midst of despair though provides life at the time, even if the hopes remain unfulfilled. As I said, hope often runs counter to logic so hope gets us to shed the equation of if X then Y and think of new possibilities.

Where in your life do you need hope. Perhaps it’s right here, in this church where hope is needed. And in some ways, hope has taken a hold here. The youth rally this week, for instance, is definitely a sign of hope that defies logic. Logic would say, “We have very few youth so have no need of a youth program.” Hope says, “Let’s have a rally to invite youth into our midst.”

Between our two congregations, certainly we are in need of hope and there are signs of that hope hereabouts. Don’t be among those who would deny the hope. Live into it instead, doing whatever you can to promulgate the hope that all of us need. As Harvey Milk would say, “and you, and you, and you...you’ve got to give them hope.”

Lady Wisdom

2010-06-04T16:49:00.000-07:00

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; Psalm 8

We all know what a proverb is, right? According to my dictionary, it’s “a short pithy saying in general use, stating a general truth or piece of advice.” Of course, the idea of a proverb comes from the Hebrew Bible, where we find a whole book, or a good portion of a book at least, of them.

A problem comes in, of course, when we hear a saying and aren’t sure whether it’s from the Bible or somewhere else. Something like “God helps those who help themselves.” Though it sounds like it, it’s not from the book of Proverbs or any other book of scripture. It’s from Ben Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac.

The proverbs that we are used to hearing from the Bible, the short aphorisms that give out those pieces of advice, come in the last chapters the book, after eight chapters of poetry that introduces us to the concept of the proverb. What we heard today is part of that poem.

Of course, poetry is the perfect way to introduce a collection of proverbs. We need language beyond the usual way of communicating to set up the advice and truths that are about to come. Poetry speaks more than the words it uses. For the class on the Bible that I’m currently teaching one of our alternate texts is a novel by Brian McLaren in which he covers the scope of the Bible. Early on, two of the characters are talking and one says, “This talking about God isn’t easy, you know?” to which the other character replies “Right. It’s like a lot of things in science. Language is the best tool we have, but it keeps getting in the way. So in science, we revert to mathematics. And in theology, we revert to poetry. Mathematics and imagination are two ways of talking about about things beyond normal language.” (The Story We Find Ourselves In, p.41)

So it’s not surprising that first poetry is used to introduce the proverbs that finally show up in chapter nine and second that in the midst of this extended poem, the character of Lady Wisdom, or Madame Insight as Eugene Peterson in The Message Bible calls her, shows up.

According to our text Wisdom was brought forth from God. The verb that is used that is translated in the NRSV as “brought forth” is a verb that connotes the birthing process. Wisdom is birthed by God, who is simultaneously both masculine and feminine.

The second part of our morning’s reading from the book of Proverbs is good credentialing of Wisdom; we read that she was there at the beginning helping God to bring into being all of creation. But she wasn’t just there as an observer, she was an active participant who rejoiced with God at every step of the process. She applauds and dances with joy as God brings forth all the good things of heaven and earth. As Peterson says in The Message, she was there with God “making sure everything fit.”

Thus what is to come in the following proverbs, we’re told in poetic form, is wisdom, not technical knowledge. And there is a major difference between the two, of course. In this day and age we tend to worship at the altar of technical knowledge which can and has led to some problems, while downplaying wisdom.

Technical knowledge created that marvelous invention the television while wisdom tells us when to turn it off. Technical knowledge brought us the computer and wisdom may remind us that it’s only a tool and that the thoughts of the human are still vastly superior. Technical knowledge allowed us to drill for oil in the very depths of the oceans while wisdom, if we had listened to her, may have told us that our addiction to oil would lead to problems.

It’s no accident that the Psalm for today is Psalm 8, the great and glorious hymn to creation that it is. It ties to our Proverbs text nicely. We read there this morning about God giving dominion to us humans over all of creation. But dominion does not allow us to use up and destroy for our own pleasure. We have to remember that Psalm glorifies God and God’s creation first and foremost. We are a part of that creation and have a major role to play.

A little over a month ago, a oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico exploded killing 11 people and, since then, has killed countless birds and fish and other sea life, threatening the towns of the Gulf Coast. And it appears that the latest attempt to stop the flow of that gushing of oil is not going to work. So we are back to struggling with technical knowledge to help us out of this mess, which is both a literal and figurative mess.

Wisdom, had we listened to her, would have warned us off from drilling so deeply to a place where we cannot reach if and when there is a problem. And of course, there was a problem.

Wisdom, as compared to technical knowledge, is a relationship which we develop over a lifetime. Technical knowledge comes and goes and if we worship at its altar we’ll eventually be left feeling empty and dry. Wisdom, on the other hand, refreshes and renews us Being in a relationship with wisdom fills us and leads us to God.

Now don’t think I’m some luddite who is locking himself away in a closet away from all technology. Quite the contrary. Wisdom allows us full use of technical knowledge with the caveats that come with it.

We walk, arm in arm with Lady Wisdom, seeking God. Lady Wisdom guides us and dances around us, lifting our spirits and enlivening our souls. If we are willing to pay close enough attention to her, we shall certainly find ourselves in God’s company before long.

Hang On

2010-05-25T10:50:00.000-07:00

Acts 2:1-21

We call Pentecost the “birthday of the church” and in fact, some churches go all out and have cake to celebrate the day. It is indeed the church’s birthday today. Because Pentecost is when the disciples got their act together and took the show on the road, as it were, infused with the Holy Spirit.

That account we all just read together is an important narrative, so important that, as you saw, artists throughout the ages have been attempting to recreate this event on canvasses, in sculpture and even in quilts. It’s filled with movement and excitement, isn’t it? It’s a story that grabs you and even that long list of where everyone was from builds in anticipation.

That list, by the way, serves a function: It lets the original readers and hearers of this book know that everyone was there. It covered the known world and even a few countries that no longer existed. The list runs the gamut and Luke, the author of Acts, was letting us know.

Luke fills this account with fulfillment: “they were all together;” “it filled the entire house;” “a tongue [of fire] rested on each of them;” “all of them were filled with the Holy Sprit.” And that’s just the first paragraph.

Luke, who wrote his gospel account of Jesus’ life as well as this book of Acts of the Apostles, uses an interesting word choice too in this account. Remember his narrative of Jesus’ baptism, when God’s voice tells him “you are my beloved son.” Well Luke chooses the same Greek word for voice when he talks about the sound like the rush of a violent wind. That’s God’s voice we’re hearing as the Spirit rushes in.

If you’ve ever been in a major wind storm, you understand how the sound of the rushing wind could be mistaken for God’s voice. There amongst the flailing tree branches and objects blowing about, if you listen closely you can hear God’s voice.

But I’m getting distracted. We’re talking about the birthday of the church which may not actually be the best metaphor. I was reading online about this particular holiday and one preacher said that she thought that graduation was a better way to describe it.

And if you think about it, it’s true. Since Easter, it’s been six weeks of sightings of Jesus and the Disciples fumbling about trying to make sense of what’s happened. Now they’re equipped to go forth into their world and proclaim that good news that needed to be heard then and still needs to be heard now.

And it’s true: if one thinks of graduation as we call it as a commencement rather than a conclusion, it is the start of a new period of time. And Peter knew exactly what he was talking about in his commencement address. No one is drunk--it’s too early for that. But watch out because things are going to get worse before they get better.

Before the Lord’s great and glorious day arrives the sun will turn to darkness and the moon will become like blood. And that’s exactly what the folks gathered in the year 33 or so needed to hear. And it’s exactly what the folks gathered in 2010 need to hear. Things are going to get worse before they get better and we’d better just prepare for that and hold onto our faith through the roller-coaster ride that’s coming.

We have car bombs in Times Square and an ecological disaster of huge proportions in the Gulf of Mexico. Terrorists remain tenacious in their attacks and an unending war grinds on. Immigrants live in fear and good people lose their homes and their savings daily. The sun will turn to darkness and the moon to blood before it’s all over, we’re told.

But Peter, in his sudden burst of wisdom and clarity, doesn’t leave us bereft. Peter quotes Joel, a prophet who spoke to another age of dis-ease and turmoil. And both Peter and Joel remind us that all sorts of people are going to have dreams and visions that will guide us out of this mess. We just have to listen and hang on as the roller-coaster speeds along the tracks and we’re tossed about.

There in the midst of the wind storm, as we wake up daily to fresh distress, we are called to be the people God would have us be and do whatever it is we can. We can listen to the visions of today’s dreamers and we can act to change our own lives. We can seek out the modern day prophets while keeping a close eye on the sun and the moon.

Pentecost is a time of beginnings, indeed. Our church is begun over and over, for two thousand years; amidst the wind and the seemingly drunken ones speaking in languages for everyone on earth. According to Walter Brueggemann, a Biblical scholar, our call is “to stand free and hope-filled in a world gone fearful…and to think, imagine, dream, vision a future that God will yet enact.” As we grasp our faith, all the while imagining, dreaming, visioning, we know we aren’t in charge; God is. And with that thought on this Pentecost Sunday, we can face the future free and hope-filled.

Broken Chains

2010-05-15T20:15:00.001-07:00

Acts 16:16-34

Last week, I made the comment after reading the passage from Acts, that perhaps this book should be known as “The Adventures of the Apostles” rather than “Acts of the Apostles.” Today’s reading bears that out once again. Maybe even moreso. Where else are you going to get an exorcism, crime and punishment, hard time in the stir, a natural disaster in the nick of time, and a conversion all wrapped up in one beautiful narrative?

We begin this week’s passage though a bit differently from last week’s. Last week, some of you will remember, we were introduced to Lydia, a woman whose name was actually put into the account, something that doesn’t always happen in scripture. Well, this week we go back to the usual manner of reporting by meeting a slave girl whose name is not given. In fact, we aren’t given any names of the actors in this account: the slave girl, her owners, the magistrates, the jailer. We only know about Paul and Silas in this story.

So, to recap, Paul and his companions are in Philippi, planting the seeds that will become the first church in Europe. He’s already converted and baptized Lydia and her household and is no doubt still enjoying the fruits of that positive event. But there’s one problem: a slave girl and her constant haranguing of Paul and the others with her yelling.

No, she wasn’t just any slave girl. She was what was called a mantic, which meant that she had special powers of divination. People would come to mantics for advice from their trance-like state...and, in her case, would pay her owners for the privilege, of course. It sounds quite exotic to us, but according to scholars she would not really have been that unusual in that time and place.

So we have this mantic, following Paul and the others around town and proclaiming that they are “Slaves of the Most High God who proclaim … a way of salvation.” It sounds odd to us, doesn’t it? First off, she uses the word “slave” to describe Paul and the others, which, considering she herself is a slave, seems jangling. (Is it a case of “it takes one to know one?”) Then she says that they serve “the Most High God,” which seems unusual again since that God wouldn’t have been her God. There is some evidence though that that term, “Most High God” was used by Gentiles when referring to the Jewish God.

Then what happens gives us some insight into Paul’s personality, I think. Paul has had it with this slave girl’s heckling. He reacts and does so peevishly, in fact. We can see him turning and, flying off the handle, casting the demon out of the slave girl which has given her those powers of divination.

Now we don’t really need it spelled out what happens next. Talk about peeved… I doubt that begins to describe how the slave girl’s owners felt when they found out that their source of income had been forcibly dried up. Who are these Jewish strangers who drive out the cash cow that has kept them comfortable for who knows how long? How dare they interfere?

So they do what can only be expected: they complain to the authorities, having them arrested, publicly beaten, and thrown in jail. Everyone thinks that the end of the story. Everyone except God that is; well, and probably Paul and Silas who always knew they’d be going at it again soon enough.

One does have to wonder why at midnight Paul and Silas were singing and praying so loudly while in prison. But that’s exactly what they were doing when of course an earthquake struck; an earthquake which opened all the doors of the jail and broke the chains shackled on their legs. It sounds a little too miraculous, doesn’t it? I mean, if this was a movie, wouldn’t you think that Hollywood got it a little too convenient? But that’s exactly what happened, according to the narrator who wrote all this down.

The jailer, thinking his career is over because all the prisoners have escaped, is ready to do himself in when Paul calls out that if he’d just check, he’d find that they’re all there. This throws the jailer, so much so, that he starts to talk with his charges about salvation and the next thing you know he and his household are baptized on the spot, becoming converts to this new way of being in the world.

As I said before, it’s a story with everything you could ask for, including a happy ending… well, except for the owners of the slave girl and perhaps for her as well. We’ll never know what happened to her.

Well, where does it leave us though? Sure, it’s a good story, but what does it mean to us almost 2,000 years later? This tale, along with the passage that immediately precedes about the purple cloth dealer Lydia, reminds us of the wide scope that God’s grace covers. It’s an inclusive gospel that Paul preaches, which he’ll write about in the third chapter of Galatians. As the commentator Paul Walaskay writes in Feasting on the Word, “Our narrator has skillfully expanded Paul's groundbreaking statement in Galatians 3:28 into an elegant story. ‘There is no longer Jew [Paul and Silas] or Greek [Lydia, the mantic, the jailer], there is no longer slave [the mantic] or free [Lydia, Paul], there is no longer male [Paul, Silas, the jailer], or female [Lydia, the mantic]; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’”

Paul and Silas weren’t the only ones who were liberated in these stories. There is freedom enough for all and the good news is that we are all found in them as we seek to break free from those things which hold us chained and imprisoned. We may not realize that we are chained down at times by the evils of our age: classism, and racism, and greed, and egotism, and heterosexism, and idolatry of money, and, xenophobia, and, and…and the list goes on…you can fill in the remainder of the list yourselves with your own particular chains that keep you from living fully and freely.

This story reminds us that we need not be imprisoned. We can be like Lydia and the jailer and their households and fully accept the gospel we hear and fully give of ourselves. If we don’t break the chains that hold us down though, we certainly cannot respond fully to the call to ministry that is certainly given to each of us. Our calls to healing, to caring, to responding to sorrow and sadness, our calls to gospel ministry cannot be carried out completely, no matter how hard we try, if we remain enchained and imprisoned.

Don’t wait for an earthquake, a metaphor all too real in our part of the world, to free you. You have the power to break the chains which bind you.

Purple Fabric

2010-05-13T11:11:00.000-07:00

Acts 16:9-15

Poor Paul. He has his plans and they get all mucked up. You might know what it’s like: your itinerary is set, your bags packed for the climate to which you’re heading and then something happens to call off the trip. Or to send you in a completely different direction.

Paul and his companions had no plans to go to Macedonia. In fact, in the verses just prior to what we heard this morning from the 16th chapter of Acts, Paul had been trying to go towards Asia but “the Spirit of Jesus did not allow it”, (v. 7).

We need a little understanding of the geography of that place and time to really get an idea of what’s going on here. We have to remember that Judea sat at the edge of Asia, near to Europe, but not quite in it. So when Paul had wanted to take the gospel into Asia, he was referring to Asia Minor, where we now find Turkey.

Macedonia, on the other hand, is Europe. Macedonia, in present-day Greek, was the home to Alexander the Great, who conquered much of the known western world at the time, spreading the Greek language and culture throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. Alexander went east with his armies and might. Paul, on the other hand, traveled west without armies, without military might; just the word of God.

Heading to Europe meant going to the Gentiles. Christianity was primarily a Jewish sect, don’t forget. Paul did his best conversion work in synagogues. Who knew what he’d find in a place as unusual as Europe?

But there he was--a man of Macedonia appearing to Paul in a vision. “Come to Macedonia” this vision said, “we need you.” So Paul, being the obedient one, set out for Macedonia, arriving, as we heard in Philippi.

Macedonia had once been big and significant and Philippi had been one of the important cities there. So Paul and companions weren’t necessarily downgrading by going to Philippi. This was still a big deal, even if it wasn’t what Paul wanted. (Just goes to show--if the Spirit of Jesus wants you to do something, you may as well do it!)

Once there, Paul seeks to find the God-believers in the city. There evidently isn’t a large enough gathering of Jews to form any sort of synagogue because he just meets with a group that gathers at the river outside the city gate. And the surprising thing about this group is that they’re all women. We may not have even noticed that particular detail when the scripture was read this morning, but assuredly Paul and his companions noticed. They weren’t used to dealing with women so directly, but with the Spirit of Jesus prodding him on, he met with them and proclaimed the good news of the Christian Gospel.

Among them was Lydia, one of the women who is actually named in the Bible, so many of them going nameless through the ages. Lydia must have been important. Because she was a business woman; she sold cloth. Not just any cloth though; Lydia was a dealer in purple cloth. Purple was the most expensive and rarest of all cloth colors. So Lydia dealt with the richest and loftiest folks of the time. Though it’s not specified exactly what was meant, her household was baptized with her. Clearly there were other members of her household and Lydia had the power to make decisions for them. Lydia was a big deal.

And think about it: Lydia’s conversion, in fact, is the first conversion of a European. Even though it was a man of Macedonia who appeared to Paul in his dream, the first European to embrace Paul’s preaching and be converted to Christianity was a woman, Lydia, the dealer in purple fabrics.

Lydia invites Paul and his company to stay with her, which they accept. And, several verses later, after they’ve been imprisoned, Paul returns to Lydia’s and finds a house church there. Lydia is truly one of the Mothers of the church, though we so infrequently hear about her.

It’s a great story, isn’t it? But if you think about it, you realize that Lydia didn’t need to do what she did. She was comfortable as a trader in purple cloth. She had her household, her business, and her standing in the community. She didn’t need to do what she did. But yet, she did it. And did it first out of everyone in Europe. And went on to do the first new church start in Europe.

This story is one about mission and perseverance and discernment and hospitality and about women’s experience in the early church. Thus it’s an important story; one which we should pay attention to.

Certainly, we’re not in the same position as Lydia. None of us is going to be the first anything probably, on the grand scale that Lydia was first. But yet (there’s always a ‘but yet’, isn’t there?) we have amazing and wonderful opportunities before us all the time.

Like Paul, we might have to change our well-held plans and head off in a completely new direction. Like Lydia, we may do so at some risk to our livelihood and standing in the community.

But if we are to be faithful to our calling, we need to think about the mission, perseverance, discernment, and hospitality that runs through this narrative and reflect on it as we examine our own stories and how they are progressing.

We may feel like that small gathering at the river that Paul and the others found there in Philippi thousands of years ago, surrounded by the great and mighty Roman empire. But from those seeds that were planted there that day, converting the first woman, the first person in Europe, a mighty church has sprung. I imagine that we, as our own small group of journeyers, have more in common with that riverside group that we can guess.

We have to remember that that small group, too small to be a synagogue even, was the start of Christianity in Europe, going on to meet in Lydia’s home, as she welcomed in her companions on the journey of faith and from there into the church that Paul wrote to in his letter to the Philippians. When you see purple fabric, I hope you’ll remember Lydia and give thanks for her courage and ministry as you continue your story in the faith.

Just before the eyes are opened

2010-04-05T10:22:00.000-07:00

On Easter Sunday, we had no sermon. Instead I did a communion meditation in poetry.

Just before the eyes are opened
based on Luke 24:13-31
With leadened legs, we leave the city
leaving behind all that’s happened:
the fear, the death, the dreams unrealized;
the questions, the craziness
Away to Emmaus, away to some sanity
where life may be safer, more contained
Loss--of a teacher, a friend, of a leader--lingers.
Hopes dashed, dreams denied, plans scuttled
the road to Emmaus is an escape of sorts.
Escaping the fear for one’s own life
escaping the fear of the unknown
escaping to a more familiar place.
Memories persist
of the cruelty of crucifixion
of waiting for death to come
of scattering in fear
of wondering what is going on
A sabbath of fright,
while hiding from those
who might seek you
for a likewise fate
Wishing I were brave
brave enough to go to the tomb
brave enough to speak out
brave enough to be the disciple he taught me to be
On the road
seeking relief
and puzzling about the women
the words the women spoke
the possibility of the impossible
of death not being the end
But that’s craziness--
death is the end
final
finished
irrefutable
Everyone knows that
there’s no escaping death
it’s grip is strong and unchallengeable
Death is death
On the road to forget the death
the death of one whose death changes everything
On the road with a stranger who knows more than anyone else
who speaks words that astound and teach
Who is this, this stranger who knows so much?
Who is this, this visitor?
Lessons that I should have known
words I ought to have spoken myself
Who is this stranger who seems so at home
with broken bread?

© Gerry Brague, 4 April 2010, San Francisco

"So What?" Sermon for Palm Sunday, 28 March 2010

2010-03-27T20:20:00.000-07:00

Luke 19:28-40
After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.   When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,
    “Blessed is the king
         who comes in the name of the Lord!
      Peace in heaven,
         and glory in the highest heaven!”

  Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

“Hosanna, heysanna, sanna, sanna, hosanna, heysanna, hosanna.” I must admit that I like Andrew Lloyd-Weber’s and Tim Rice’s amalgamation of the Palm Sunday story from “Jesus Christ Superstar” quite a bit. They tie it all together fairly well and maybe give us a sense of what was going on at the time including villains singing the bass part and the hero on the tenor line.

But if we were among the original audience of Luke’s gospel, almost 2,000 years ago, this narrative would also sound very familiar most likely. But the familiarities would bring with them enough differences to caused a raised eyebrow or two among us.

It would sound familiar because it was very similar to how a returning general might enter a city and be fêted for his victories. Triumphal arches would be erected and in fact in Rome, many of these arches still remain. Troops would march in, crowds would cheer and there in the midst of all this adulation and glory would be the general on his fine steed. In fact, not that long ago in our country, George Washington would be greeted in such a way. I’m not certain when the custom went out of favor--maybe with the onset of gasoline vehicles, it just seemed silly to have the general riding in the back of a jeep through an erected arch. Once the steed was gone, something about the romance of the event disappeared, I suppose.

And so we have Jesus, the itinerant, backwoods preacher, entering Jerusalem today. We’re all very familiar with this story; we hear it every year from one of the gospels, not to mention the ‘Jesus Christ Superstar” version. And of course, such familiarity may not necessarily breed contempt but it may breed instead a certain ho-hum factor in the hearing. We hear this story, today from Luke, and we add in details to make it fit with what we know happened.

But Luke’s account is a little different. First off, there’s no palms. Did you notice that? Not even any branches of any trees. Just cloaks on the road in front of Jesus. Second, no one says “hosanna” which is so associated with this story. Instead, they sing a song about how great Jesus is and call him the “king who comes in the name of the Lord!” Third, the crowd, if you notice, wasn’t really a group from Jerusalem, but instead the “whole multitude of the disciples”. Certainly, since Jesus’ ministry to this point had been conducted out in the hinterlands, his disciples would not be residents of Jerusalem but Galileans. Somehow, that makes it a different narrative from one of the other gospel accounts, doesn’t it? Or at least the account that’s in our heads. Additionally, Luke is also the one who adds in the part about the stones crying out if the disciples were quiet, in response to the Pharisees’ complaints about the noise.

So we have cloaks and songs and disciples and Pharisees complaining and stones potentially crying out and where does that leave us? Like I said at the start, this sounded familiar to 1st and 2nd century ears but enough of the details are awry to cause some dissonance.

To Jesus, for whom the Kingdom of Heaven was a primary part of his preaching, being proclaimed and compared to an earthly king coming in the name of the Lord would be an important moment, even if it’s by his disciples, maybe especially if it’s by his disciples who would know him best.

The references are clear though there are enough changes that the original hearers of this tale would get it. Instead of a fine steed, Jesus is on a colt. Jesus’ kingdom of heaven is not going to be like earthly realms. Some of the paintings that were in the slideshow we just saw got it right: Jesus looks almost ridiculous on the small horse. No fine Arabian for our king--just a simple colt; enough of a similarity to what the crowds would have seen had Jesus been an earthly ruler or conquering general but enough of a difference too in order to pique their interest a little.

And naturally, all this makes the Pharisees nervous; nervous enough that they ask Jesus to calm his disciples down. This, by the way, is the Pharisees‘ last mention in the book of Luke. They disappear from here on out not heard from again through the rest of Luke’s narrative of the events of the coming week.

As I struggled to wrestle my thoughts to the mat as I attempted to get ink onto paper...or pixels into letters...I kept asking myself “so what.” We have a story about Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem that is told, with varying details, in all four of the gospels. We know that this event, told in this story, is very similar to other events of the time; events likely much more grand and glorious with soldiers and fanfares and horses and yelling crowds. We know though that there were differences, important differences, between this event and those other grand events. And I have to ask “so what?” Where does that leave us?

I think it leaves us back where any good and careful reading of the gospels will leave us; with the recognition that the Realm of God is unlike any earthly kingdom. In God’s realm, power is inverted: the last shall be first. In God’s realm, justice reigns supreme, in spite of Glenn Beck and his off kilter pronouncements of late. In God’s realm, the truly powerful come riding in on a small horse or donkey.

The “so what” of the Palm Sunday story is that the Kingdom of God is here and if we want to be part of it, we can. We can be citizens of this topsy-turvy kingdom by following the one who is called the Prince of Peace, a title that surely inverts power itself. We can be part of the adulating crowd that looks forward to a reign of peace and justice if we choose.

Of course, we would be remiss if we didn’t stop for a moment and recognize that Palm Sunday is the start of what we call Holy Week, when humanity dishes up some of its worst all to the nodding agreement of the powers that be in the world. God’s realm, this Kingdom of God that the disciples sang about, does not come without cost or ease. But certainly, this Kingdom turns on its head all expectations of how power is allocated. For a time, though, at the gate to the capital of an insignificant puppet nation thousands of years ago, God’s kingdom shone forth.

Prodigal, a sermon from Sunday, 14 March 2010

2010-03-17T13:44:00.000-07:00

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable:
“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”

The Prodigal Son. We’ve heard this parable many times throughout our lives. And we’ve heard it called “the Prodigal Son” just as many times at least. I know I have. And it took me until this past week to realize I had no idea what the word “prodigal” means.

So, of course, I had to look it up in a dictionary. And according to the dictionary on my computer prodigal means: spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant and having or giving something on a lavish scale. So it refers not, as I once thought, to the returningness of the younger son, but to the fact that he goes off and spends away his inheritance. In many ways, the father of this tale is as prodigal if not more so than his wayward younger son. But that’s getting ahead of our story. First let’s look more closely at this parable.

We have a family made up of a father and two sons. No mention is made of other siblings or a mother in this case. So we deal with this triad at face value. In the culture in which Jesus told this tale, the oldest son automatically inherited the lion’s share of property, perhaps up to two-thirds of it.

This younger son, not willing to wait for the death of his father for his inheritance, asks for his share early. That in and of itself is of course unusual, unusual enough for Jesus’ original hearers to sit up and take notice and, if their attention had been drifting, to pull them back into the story. You just don’t do such things, now do you? Ask for your inheritance early? It’s just not done.

But he does it, presaging perhaps his untoward behavior later, and the father acquiesces. Whatever percentage of the property the younger son is due, he gets and off he goes whereupon he takes part in that untoward behavior I just mentioned. And he spends down his inheritance until there is none left.

And that’s when things go from bad to worse--a famine hits this foreign land where the young man has landed himself. He’s able to get a job feeding pigs--pigs of all things. To a Jewish audience, there couldn’t be anything worse. He’s hit rock bottom in other words. And he’s so destitute he’d gladly eat what he’s giving to the pigs.

That’s when repentance comes into the story. Now whether it’s a repentance of heart or stomach, as one commentator says, we’ll never know. What drove him to repentance and whether it was truly a change of heart, we just can’t tell. All Jesus said was that he repented, and in fact rehearsed his speech before his father. In fact, it’s that speech rehearsal that increases our suspicion about the depth of the repentance, isn’t it? Instead of returning home and spilling his heart out, he practices the speech until he gets it right. I’m a little leery, frankly.

But be that as it may, the son returns, having prodigaled himself out of all that he owned. He returns penniless and destitute, uncertain of the reception he’ll get. He could get laughed out of town leaving him with few other choices. I sincerely doubt that though that he could have envisioned the reception he did get. His father comes out to greet him; no, he RUNS out to meet him, something a man of that social standing and age would never do in that day and time. He gets him out of the rags he’s wearing and gives him a new coat; not just a new coat, but the finest robe in the house. Father orders a party, a gala feast to celebrate the return of this wayward son. Talk about prodigal; this parable could just as easily become known as the Prodigal Father. The words from that definition come back to our minds here: freely, recklessly, extravagant, lavish. The Father, in his joy, goes all out to welcome home his second son.

And that’s when things get good: the most interesting character in this drama then enters the scene--the older brother. He adds intrigue and conflict. We can see him standing outside the house, with all the festivities going on inside, pouting and grimacing better than any petulant child could ever do. The older brother is, simply stated, put out.

And he’s not really peeved about his brother’s return. No, not really. Fred Craddock, famed Disciples preacher, puts it best: "It is that party which is so offensive. The older brother has a point: of course, let the penitent come home. Both Judaism and Christianity provide for the return of sinners, but to bread and water, not fatted calf; to sackcloth, not a new robe; to ashes, not jewelry; to kneeling, not dancing; to tears, not merriment". (as found at http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/march-14-2010.html) It’s that party that rattles the older brother’s cage.

Father of course steps in and explains away his prodigality: that which was lost is now found. In fact it’s hard to miss that point if you read the two parables directly before this tale. They’re both about lost items and great celebrations when they are found. This story is just a further exposition on that theme.

So where does that leave us? Just because the inheritance laws and social mores of Jesus’ time are vastly different from ours does not mean we should automatically discount this story. Because, if we think about this parable closely, we might get a bit uncomfortable. I know I do. Because of all the characters in that tale, the one who is most like me is the older brother.

Think about it--we’re the good ones. We’ve stayed in the church as it has shrunk and changed. We’ve given time and money and talents and countless other gifts to the church. We expect something back from it of course; a goat to share with our friends for instance would be nice, wouldn’t it? But then we hear that God’s grace is for everyone….everyone, can you imagine? God’s best stuff, God’s grace, is given freely to one and all. All that hard work of ours isn’t going to mean a thing. Not even a goat.

And so the choice is ours. We can stand outside pouting, in our petulant, childish ways or we can go in and take part in the feast, rejoicing in the return of a lost one, for whom the party is put on. We can worry and upset ourselves about whether our brother’s repentance is sincere or not or we can join our father and all the others who are celebrating. The sincerity of his repentance isn’t our problem--it’s already been taken care of.

This is not a parable about watching our backs or being on our guards; it is a parable about profligate giving. It is about being prodigal--giving in joyous celebration. Go in and join the party!

Sermon, Sunday, 7 March 2010 -- Drink!

2010-03-07T17:38:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 55:1-9
Ho, everyone who thirsts,  
come to the waters;  and you that have no money,  
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk  
without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money  
for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which  
does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,  
and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;  
listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,  
my steadfast, sure love for David.  
See, I made him a witness to the peoples,  
a leader and commander for the peoples.
See, you shall call nations that you do not know, 
and nations that do not know you shall run to you,
because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,  
for he has glorified you.
Seek the Lord while he may be found,  
call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,  
and the unrighteous their thoughts;  
let them return to the Lord,  
that he may have mercy on them,  and to our God,  
for he will abundantly pardon.  
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,  
nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.  
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,  
so are my ways higher than your ways  
and my thoughts than your thoughts.

Drink!

I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon though certainly I hope that I’ll see it someday. I understand though that there in the humidity-free heat there are signs that remind people of the need to hydrate which evidently say “Stop! Drink water! You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not!”

And so it might be, this Lent, that we could see the same signs posted along our spiritual journeys: “Stop! Drink water! You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not!” And those signs could very well have been posted by the author of our passage from Isaiah this morning.

Six hundred years before Jesus, most of the citizens of Judah were in exile, living in Babylon after the Babylonian Empire came through and destroyed Jerusalem. And those Jewish exiles were at a crux in history. They could have stayed in Babylon and just dissolved into the population there. Or they could hope and pray for a return to Jerusalem. Many of them were settling in quite nicely in Babylon. Some of the men had taken Babylonian wives. Some were worshiping foreign gods there away from the center of their worship. Some had never seen Jerusalem, having been born in Babylon. In fact, those who remembered the old days were indeed old themselves.

Into this mix comes the prophet who wrote the words we heard today. Most scholars agree that the book of Isaiah is actually the work of at least two, perhaps three, prophets. One, whose name was indeed Isaiah, wrote the first part of the book, prior to the fall of Jerusalem.   He warned of impending doom and was, appropriately so, rather a downer.   The remainder of the book, from which our scriptures were taken this morning, was written to the exiles, after the fall of Jerusalem, encouraging hope, reminding them that they are not home, helping them to look forward to a better day.

Food without price? Wine and milk for free? Anyone can have their thirst quenched. It sounds really good, doesn’t it? It is indeed something to look forward to, something to keep you going.

God’s going to give you whatever you need. God’s going to provide. God’s going to hand out food and drink for all. And it’s good food--we’re not talking about USDA surplus here. Fine food and good wine is promised to those who are living in exile.

But did you notice the catch? Did you hear the question in the middle of it? It almost slips by without getting noticed, but ignoring it takes away the very core of this passage. The author asks, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” As I said, that sentence almost speeds by, but put on the brakes a second and let’s think about that question for a moment.

Why are you wasting your money on junk food? Those chips aren’t really going to assuage your need for nutrition. you know. They may fill you up, but it’s not the food you need--not that food that will full allay your hunger. “Stop! Drink water! You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not.”

What exile do you find yourself in? What empire is holding you hostage? And how are you trying to feed your spiritual hunger? Sometimes we’re trapped by circumstances; circumstances of racism or sexism or heterosexism or materialism. Those empires hold mighty sway in our culture among others of course. But empires they are and they hold many in exile from their homeland. And we who find ourselves in exile look longingly at a better day wondering where the prophets are who will give us the hope that our author of Isaiah gave to those fellow exiles all those centuries ago.

It seems wrong to be asking exiles why they aren’t going for the good food and quenching their thirst with water that really does slake. Don’t they have enough troubles; enough on their minds already?   Don’t we have enough troubles; enough on our minds already?

“You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not.”

From the confines of our exilic empires, we may not even recognize that we are yearning for food; filling, nutritious food. Yet deep within us is that ache that craves for the food that God offers, for free. That ache isn’t going to be filled with the offerings of our culture. We can’t count on the world to fill that void we feel. We can’t rely on the offerings of society to truly replenish the lack we feel down in the depths of our souls.

So we turn to God to provide, if we are smart and can pull ourselves away from the shiny offerings that are dangled before us. And God doesn’t charge. God gives away all this good stuff without asking for a penny. That doesn’t sound like the capitalist system that has us in thrall at all. That goes contrary to everything we’ve learned, doesn’t it? You pay for what you get. If it’s free, it’s not worth anything so don’t bother with it.

But that’s so often God’s way--contrary to what we’ve heard and known all our lives; going against the grain of our culture. The good stuff is free! That which you’re paying top dollar for isn’t worth a thing.

“Stop! Drink water! You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not!”

We’re so taken sometimes by that which is offered to us, we miss that God is right there, offering the things we really, truly need. And all we have to do is show up. All we have to do is be there. It’s not even a case of being at the right place at the right time. It’s just a matter of turning away from the attractiveness of the chips and satisfying the deep, deep hunger and thirst that God can quench.

This Lent, as you journey toward the cross of Good Friday, spend some time identifying your deepest hungers and thirsts. You’ll likely find that indeed, you are thirsty, whether you realize it or not.

Temptations in the Wilderness, sermon for 21 February 2010

2010-02-21T16:54:00.000-08:00

Luke 4:1-13

When it came to preparing this sermon, I have to confess that I had more trouble than usual in just getting started with it. I felt stymied and uncomfortable and found all sorts of things to do to delay actually sitting down and having words appear on my computer screen. Part of it was certainly my energy level, which has been low lately but I’ve written sermons with low energy before so it felt like something else was going on.

In looking at the Luke passage, in which we find Jesus in the wilderness being tempted by the evil one, I began to wonder if I just wasn’t in a Lenten mood; maybe I just wasn’t prepared for that yearly retreat into the wilderness that Lent offers over and over each year.

So I decided to look more closely at the passage and see if anything in it made sense to creating my resistance. This passage comes quickly on the heels of Jesus’ baptism by John during which a voice from heaven declares Jesus to be God’s son, the beloved. The Spirit descends on Jesus in the form of a dove. Then we read “Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness…” (4:1) and that’s where I get my aha moment.

Jesus is led into the wilderness. In fact, in Mark’s version of this story, Jesus is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit. So Jesus is led into the deprivation and temptations that we hear about in the story that follows. And therein lies the rub, I realized; the Spirit, acting on God’s behalf presumably, leads Jesus into what I think of a quagmire of misery. It calls to mind the phrase that we repeat when we pray the Lord’s Prayer: “lead us not into temptation.”

It all makes me wonder about a God who would lead us into all this. We don’t ask for it and it’s not clear that Jesus does either. My Sunday School understanding of Jesus’ experience is quite different, wherein Jesus, chest high, marches into the desert to face the foes before him. It’s an action figure Jesus who is able to handle whatever is thrown at him. But now, reading the passage more closely, in a post-Sunday School time of my life, I’m not certain it’s something that Jesus asks for. It just happens; or worse, it’s planned for by someone else. And that makes me uneasy and uncomfortable.

I realize though that in some ways, it’s the experience that many of us have already had. In my own instance, my ongoing struggle with depression and all that that entails feels like a wilderness into which I have been led. And I would guess that many who are mentally ill would find some resonance with that description.

But the question many of us ask is why we were led here in the first place and who did that leading? Was it God or God’s Spirit leading us here to test us? If so, what is that test? What temptations do we have to refuse to get out of this wilderness?

No one lately has offered me the opportunities for temptation that were presented to Jesus. I haven’t had the chance to turn stones into bread nor to rule over the realms of the earth. (I can’t even rule over my corner of the office in our apartment, none-the-less some realm somewhere!) And let’s not even mention the temptation to throw yourself off a building to see if angels will catch you. So my temptations in this wilderness must lie elsewhere, but where?

And that’s where I get stymied again. I don’t actually feel very tempted here in my own particular wilderness. I’m not sure what the temptations would look like. But that’s the thing about temptation--it sneaks up on you and doesn’t always say, “Hello, I’ll be your temptation for the evening.” All too often, we don’t realize we’ve been tempted until after the fact; after we’ve given into temptation and are happily scarfing it down we realize too late that we’ve been duped.

Of course, action figure Jesus sees the temptations for what they are and is able to resist them. But what about the rest of us? Don’t we believe that we are all God’s beloved? Isn’t God well pleased with us as God was with Jesus? If that’s true, does God really lead us into wildernesses in which we’re tested and tempted? Sounds like a recipe for failure if you ask me and is that what God is all about? I sure hope not.

Surely there are vast varieties of temptations out there. We are tempted each and every day to dispense with ethical behavior and take an easy route. We are tempted to worship false gods and give our allegiances over to deities that offer quick and simple answers. We can drown out our problems with any number of chemical aids, the most common of which is of course alcohol.

But I’m still left with that question about being led into the wilderness. And I am very uneasy with it hanging there. How do I worship a God that seems to take us into deprivation and temptation?

Could it be that the deprivation is there to remind me of what is really important? Could it be that the temptations are meant to be over and against the better choices in life? I don’t claim to have the answers to this one, but I hope you’ll join me in the struggle this Lent.

Lent developed, according to Barbara Brown Taylor, early in our faith’s history. As following Jesus became a bit “ho-hum” and the early Christians seemed to spend more time on their own comfort instead of their devotion to Christ and God, the need for some time away from the dominant culture emerged. According to her, "They decided there was no contradiction between being comfortable and being Christian, and before long it was very hard to pick them out from the population at large….They blended in. They avoided extremes. They decided to be nice instead of holy and God moaned out loud." (from http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/february-21-2010.html)

So Lent and Lenten disciplines pulled our ancestors in the faith back to God, back to worship, back to right thinking. They faced the temptation of being like their culture rather than their faith, which sounds a bit too familiar, doesn’t it?

However you experience the desert and the wilderness into which you are led, know that the temptations are real for you to divert yourself from faith. Be watchful and on guard. Lent is a time to examine your life for the ways that you can return to faithful and faith-filled living, whatever temptations you may encounter.

Unity Then and Now

2010-01-26T09:11:00.000-08:00

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a
For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit. Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear would say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members, yet one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.

Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers; then deeds of power, then gifts of healing, forms of assistance, forms of leadership, various kinds of tongues. Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all possess gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret? But strive for the greater gifts.

We’re in the midst of and nearing the end of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, a yearly observance in which we turn our thoughts and prayers toward the unity of the Christian church. There’s not usually much fanfare about it; you don’t see clips on the local news about it; there’s no big front-page story on our ever-decreasing newspapers; nobody came to your door to collect donations for it. It’s a quiet celebration, but one worth noting, nonetheless.

It’s especially worth noting by those of us in the Disciples of Christ, a denomination founded on the idea that the church is one and we are in unity, or should be striving toward it at the least. It was just a little over 200 years ago that one of the founders of our denomination, Thomas Campbell, issued his Declaration and Address in which he made the bold declaration that we repeated in our Call to Worship: “The church of Christ upon the earth is essentially, intentionally, and constitutionally one.”

Now if you think that Thomas was coming out of some pie-in-the-sky, idealistic setting in which all the denominations of his day on the frontier of the United States were working happily together, you must remember that Thomas, as a Presbyterian minister, was brought up on charges because he served communion to the wrong Presbyterians. Plus, he came from Ireland where Presbyterians alone were divided and carved up in a variety of sects and separate denominations. Thomas did not make his statement casually or without ruffling some feathers.

So here we are 200 years later and things don’t really look that much different. Someone seeking a church home has a wide variety of options from which to choose. There are still various denominations, some of which one is hard-pressed to distinguish from another. And there are plenty of non-denominational churches. There are large churches and small ones. We’re no closer to being that ephemeral “one” than Thomas Campbell and his lot were, are we?

Yet, we continue to hold weeks of prayer for Christian unity. And talks among and between various denominations continue, not so much seeking organic union so much anymore but laying the important groundwork of trying to understand one another, trying to get a grasp on our differences as well as our similarities.

In the midst of all this confusion and yearning for unity, it sure would be nice if we could find something in scripture to speak to our situation, wouldn’t it? It’s sure too bad that the early church was so unified and together in its mission and operations, isn’t it? I mean, if only there was some dissension amongst those in the congregations that were spreading throughout the Middle East and Asian Minor all the way over to Rome. But no, they were all happy and got along famously, right?

Well, no. They argued and fought and picked sides as badly as we do, if not worse. Sure there weren’t divisions that made you choose among three different types of Christian churches on any given street corner. Cities had their Christian fellowship that was part of the greater whole but there weren’t options within cities. But once you got inside those early churches, watch out!

We know this because Paul, the author of our letter to the church in Corinth, was working hard to set those Corinthians right. Corinth was a wildly diverse city. It was an important trading center, spanning an isthmus in what is modern-day Greece. Ships were pulling up to either side of Corinth all the time bringing not only goods from around the world, but also foreign ideas and people. It was diverse and that diversity ended up showing up in the Christian gathering there.

Nowadays, we’ve come to value diversity. We come to appreciate that we are all different and not the same and that’s a good thing. But with diversity comes challenges; with diversity comes the potential for misunderstandings and quarrels; with diversity comes work. And clearly the church at Corinth was working through their diversity and on the misunderstandings that went along with it. Much like we’re doing these days, except on denominational levels usually. That’s not to say that individual congregations don’t have their disagreements and misunderstandings, goodness knows.

Paul compared the church to a body and pointed out that no one part of the body was more important than any other. No part of the body has the right to say it’s the most important part. Nor does a part have the right to say it’s not important. And that’s an important distinction to pay attention to.

No one has the right to claim superiority in the body. But no one has the right, either, to say they’re not a worthy part of the body. Too often we discount our own worth and think too little of ourselves. But Paul doesn’t let us get away with that. Paul says we’re all important.

Our diversity, be it in our own congregations or throughout the wider church, is an organic growing thing. It’s not a melting pot, for sure, in which we lose our identity to the greater product, but neither is it a box of pebbles in which the relation between the individual components is loose or nonexistent. No, we are not pebbles, but connected to one another.

As I prepared for this sermon, I read about a commentator’s mother who, decades after a car accident needed back surgery. It seems that the accident affected her leg and year after year she compensated for the injury to her leg so much so that her back needed repair. What happens to one part of our body affects other parts, without a doubt.

Likewise when part of Christ’s body suffers, the whole body suffers. When one part of this immense church, spread across our earth, is in pain, the pain is felt throughout the whole of it. We cannot escape it.

I have been spending a good bit of time lately reading the blog, or online journal, of a pair of our Global Ministries missionaries who are in Haiti. Somehow they are able to connect to the internet and have been writing of their experiences and thoughts of that earthquake ravaged country. I am strangely drawn to them and their plight, as they seek alternate housing after the collapse of their home, as well as the care of orphans and hoping to hear from the students at the medical school where they teach. The pain of Haiti has affected many of us. Even though we are thousands of miles away, we feel that pain in our own way, knowing part of the body is suffering.

Yes, this is the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, but it is a unity through and celebrating the diversity of the church. From small pockets of Indonesian Christians to the mega-churches of this country, we are all part of the body that Christ claims as Christ’s own. And we are called to be united with the other members of that body, united through our Christian call to service and love.

The end of this chapter from 1st Corinthians actually points us to the next chapter: “But strive for the greater gifts,” Paul writes and then goes on to say, “And I will show you a still more excellent way.” Paul’s “still more excellent way” is his stirring chapter about love. Certainly love is the sinews and tendons that connect us to the other parts of the body.

With Haiti on Our Minds

2010-01-21T16:11:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends,

An odd thing happened the other day while Allen & I were shopping for the different parts of the kits for Church World Service to go to Haiti.

As we shopped to complete a baby kit, we found everything we needed at a store, including good old-fashioned cloth diapers, except we couldn’t find diaper pins. When I asked an employee, we found out that they no longer sell diaper pins.

I wanted to press her on the logic behind selling cloth diapers but not diaper pins, but thought better of it since it certainly wasn’t her decision about what the store carries. Fortunately, we found another store that did carry diaper pins and our kit was complete.

But for a moment, the plight of some family in Haiti rested on whether we in California could find diaper pins. Church World Service is very specific about what is contained in their kits and without those pins there would be no kit. If we hadn’t searched harder to find those pins, there would be no kit. No baby clothes and blankets and other infant necessities for someone recovering from the rubble of an earthquake-shattered life.

And so it is. Our actions affect the life of someone half a world away. Most of the time it isn’t that stark a connection perhaps, but often it can be. The choices I make at the supermarket…where I get my hair cut…whether I leave a light on or not…each of these actions and a myriad of others have the potential of greatly affecting the lives of people I don’t know and will likely never meet.

Sometimes the decisions are pretty clear in their effect. Often times they are not. We do what we do and never really think about it.

But that’s the whole idea of community; that’s the idea of connection. And with God, through God, we are connected to all of creation, including our brothers and sisters who are digging out in a country I’ve never even been near.

We are connected to those hundreds and thousands of miles away. We should make sure we act like it.

PS--If you'd like to read a great blog from Haiti, read this one from the Global Ministries Missionaries to Haiti: http://kimandpatrick.blogspot.com.

PPS--If you're interested in creating your own kit to send to Church World Service, here are the instructions on how to do so.

The Miracles We Don't See

2010-01-19T08:48:00.000-08:00

John 2:1-11

Without a doubt, across our country today, in sermons much like this one, attention is turning to the fact that this is the Sunday prior to Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Martin Luther King was, undoubtedly, one of the prophets of the 20th century who, because of his prophecy, became a martyr to the cause of civil rights. So it is appropriate, moreso than at other national holidays, to focus our thoughts on this great man of faith because he was a man of faith and a prophetic voice in our midst.

Of course, King is now on a pedestal, untouchable and unassailable. He is honored even by those who, during his lifetime, turned a deaf ear at best or denounced and hated him at the worst. Of course that hatred spawned fear and anger which is what impelled a bullet into him that April day. They say that hindsight is 20/20 and that is true for many when it comes to our views of Rev. King. What some considered wild prophecy and non-violent hysteria at the time, now is revered. What was disparaged and feared is now accepted fact.

King stood for nonviolence in the quest for rights, fashioning the civil rights movement of the 60s on the work of Gandhi a few decades earlier in India. I’m not an expert on King certainly and recall little about him from his lifetime, though I have vague memories of his assassination in Memphis in 1968. Little about the civil rights movement filtered through to rural northeastern Pennsylvania when I was 11, it seems. So I suppose I could be accused of that same 20/20 hindsight in this sermon.

But great efforts, I know, were made to discredit King during his ministry. He was wanting too much, too fast, some said. He was a radical, a communist, said others. Even fellow clergy, usually white clergy, turned away from him and distanced themselves from his prophetic orations.

It’s amazing what we can look at from the distance of some 40 years and accept without any qualms that at the time we missed completely. With history swirling all around us, it sometimes difficult to know what’s important and what’s not.

In the reading for today, Jesus performs his first public miracle, according to the gospel writer, John. It’s an odd story, without a doubt. Jesus is reluctant at first. Anyone who has been a parent, in fact, anyone who has been an offspring, which I’d bet is most of us, knows the way these conversations go. Mother or Father wants something and expresses that to son or daughter only to be rebuked. “What are you asking me for?” Jesus’ response to his Mother, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?” is so typical of something any offspring would say to their parent that it echoes easily across the centuries and halfway around the globe and sounds all too familiar, some form of it having escaped from our very own lips. His next comment though is a bit more quixotic, “My hour has not yet come.” We can imagine Mary, along with the rest of us, thinking “whatever” as she then busies herself giving instructions to the servants. The water becomes wine, the marriage feast is saved, and the host comes out looking pretty good, serving his best wine, which he didn’t even know he had, last of all.

The interesting thing about this sign is that no one sees it happen, including us. John gives no description of the actual miracle as it occurs. We get no actions that Jesus makes. He just tells the servants to fill some large stone jars used for the Jewish rite of purification with water and the next thing we all know they’re filled with wine. We get nothing of what Jesus said or did to make this happen. No one saw it … it just was.

How many miracles happen like that all around us? However you define a miracle, isn’t it quite possible that they occur each and every day without our noticing? Isn’t it feasible that miracles occur and we don’t realize it until later missing the actual event of the miracle, as all those party guests did, including the steward and host, when Jesus kept the party going with a few large jars of wine.

It’s that same thing of hindsight being 20/20. We look back and wonder at the miracle that has occurred right under our noses. We look back at the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. and wonder where we were; how did we miss that particular miracle while we now enjoy the fine wine of King’s rhetorics. Dr. King’s devotion to nonviolence and his commitment to justice were miracles at the time. Yet many missed those miracles happening right in front of them, choosing instead to be fearful and critical. Many couldn’t see the water turning into fine wine right in front of them. Their vision was clouded by prejudice, racism, anger, and hatred.

I do think that Dr. King would today ask us to look for the miracles happening all around us each and every day. There are many who work tirelessly for justice and rights in this day and age. Many are responding to disasters such as the earthquakes in Samoa and Haiti. Many are giving of themselves to further God’s commonwealth here on earth. These are modern day miracles and all around us are new prophets whose voices are ignored.

Watch for miracles each and every day. Watch for the work that Dr. King started and the miracles he performed to continue to this very day.

Elemental Baptism

2010-01-12T08:44:00.000-08:00

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Martin Luther, the great reformer of the church, is known, among other things, for a few sayings: “Here I stand, I can do no other” for instance. And a favorite of mine: “If you sin, sin boldly” which gives me great license at times. From watching the movie “Luther” during Advent, some of us learned that a theme in his life was a prayer he repeated: “I am yours. Save me.”

He is also said to have repeated the phrase “remember your baptism” to himself and his followers. I don’t believe, since infant baptism was the standard at the time, that he was actually urging them to remember the moment they were baptized. I think the essence of Luther’s phrase in this case is to remember that you are baptized; that you are already one of God’s beloved children. You need do no more to earn any more grace or love or attention. You are God’s already through your baptism.

Luther wrote, “A truly Christian life is nothing else than a daily baptism once begun and ever to be continued.” (http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/january-10-2010.html) Luther wants us, and himself, to recognize that this is not a one time event. We are to know constantly who we are and whose we are. Baptism claims us as nothing else can or does.

The baptism of Jesus was very elemental--water, wind, & fire were all wrapped up in it. And when you get those three together things are bound to happen. The earth is shaped by water, wind, & fire. It is carved and mutated by these strong forces. And these are the exact forces that show up in our scripture this morning.

John said “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I...will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” The Greek word for ‘spirit’ which is used here is pneuma, which can also be translated as wind.

All this occurs at the end of the third chapter of Luke. Luke takes three whole chapters and then some for us to get to the start of Jesus’ ministry. Three chapters of angels appearing and not one but two special births and shepherds and children getting lost in the Temple and all sorts of events that the other gospel writers just ignore.

Three times prior to this point, Luke is telling someone to not be afraid. “Do not be afraid” is heard by Zechariah (who is John’s father), Mary, and those shepherds. Angels have a way of frightening people it seems, with good reason. The sudden appearance of a heavenly being in one’s life would be fearful, at least it would be to me. As frightening as water, wind, and fire.

We don’t need much in the way of reminders of the power of these elements: Water pouring down a valley wreaking havoc in its wake; Wind toppling buildings, bursting windows; Fire ravaging homes, homes of people and of animals, as well as everything else in its wake. We only need to think of recent tsunamis, hurricanes, tornados, and wildfires to be reminded that we aren’t talking about a gentle, easygoing event here.

Baptism is elemental; it claims us at our very base. And, if we forget the white outfits and happy receptions that follow, they are indeed frightening affairs; frightening not only for the ones being baptized, but also for the whole church. We’re calling in the whole of creation to participate through water, wind, and fire when we perform a baptism. And just as sure as those elements carve out the earth and reform it into another likeness, so too those who are baptized are carved out and reformed into a new being not to mention what happens to the church along the way.

Baptism isn’t about one person or even a small group of people. Baptism is something that affects the whole of the church; all of Christianity is changed through a single, solitary baptism.

The early church performed its baptisms once a year at Easter. Lent was a time of preparation for those who sought baptism. It was a time of learning and of being deprived of worldly comforts. Those seeking baptism knew that they would face this frightening, awe-filling event but would do so with the church behind them. Because the church was as intricately involved as they were.

Baptism, if you think about it, is a brush with death. As one dips beneath water, one is cut off from the air that sustains life. Below the water, there is no way that we humans can keep breathing. Of course, most baptisms are a quick affair that in no way endangers the participants. But to be immersed completely in water at the control of another is indeed a frightening prospect.

And it’s frightening for the whole church because without this individual’s brush with death, the church faces its own brush with death. Without baptisms, there is no way that growth can happen. It’s an irony: Near death brings growth.

We come through this frightening, near-death event precisely because it is a blessing. We are beloved and blessed through this process. Isaiah had it right; God is with us through thundering water and raging fire. Isaiah was preaching to an exiled Judah reminding them that whatever came, God was their God. And it’s no accident that a few centuries later, a wild preacher out in the wilderness who was baptizing with water spoke of one who would do so with fire. It’s because God will remember us through all of it and call us God’s own.

Blessed. Beloved. Baptism. We are reminded of God’s great love for us as we enter the waters and fire, each and every day. Luther’s continual, day after day baptism got it right; we are once and always baptized … we are once and always blessed … we are once and always beloved.

Water, wind, and fire: forces that constantly move and shape the world around us as they shape our very selves, our very beings. The waters of your baptism still flow, all around and through you. Whether you can recall that moment or not, remember your baptism each and every day.

Image is The Baptism of Christ by El Greco, 1568, found at the Web Gallery of Art.

Sermon, Sunday, 20 December 2009

2009-12-22T07:39:00.000-08:00

Luke 1:39-45 & 46-55

If you look at the four gospels, you’ll notice that each of them has an account of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus as a central turning point in their accounts. Mark starts his gospel out with this event without any prelude or lead up.

If you read the other three gospels until that point, you get a mini-version of what is to come. John’s prelude is other worldly in many ways: The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:5 NRSV) Matthew spends a lot of time fixing Jesus firmly within the Jewish tradition yet with an eye to speaking the gospel outside which are evidenced by his immediate listing of Jesus’ genealogy back to Abraham through David as well as the visit to the young savior Jesus by three mysterious, outsider Magi. You know, as you read through Matthew, that he’s going to return to those themes of Jesus’ Jewishness and the spreading of the gospel outside.

But Luke, if you read his prologue, gives a very different story and is the only one to include the accounts we heard this morning of women, particularly of Mary and Elizabeth’s reunion and the extraordinary song that Mary sings as she comes to fully understand what is really going on. Only Luke puts an emphasis on the women, silencing Elizabeth’s husband, Zachariah, and he keeps Joseph waiting in the wings for a few more verses. Only Luke recounts Mary’s incredible song that is at once intensely personal as well as political to the extreme. You know Luke’s gospel is going to be filled with good things.

Thus it is good for us to stop on this final Sunday before we reach Christmas and ponder with Mary and Elizabeth just what is happening. This fourth Sunday in Advent when we’re almost but not quite there. This final time of worship before the attention is all on a baby in a box of straw. We stop for a breath in the frenetic pace that leads up to the 25th of December and listen to Elizabeth and Mary, almost touching heaven but remaining firmly planted here on earth.

First we have Elizabeth, surprised by her own pregnancy with a child who would grow up to be John the Baptist. Both she and fetus John know something is up as soon as they hear Mary’s voice. They don’t even have to see her; her voice is sufficient for them to start rejoicing about the approach, the advent if you will, of Mary and the particularly special treasure she is carrying. With John leaping in the womb, Elizabeth has little choice but to greet Mary with words usually reserved for royalty and those who will bear royalty, which of course is what is going on.

We’re not told why Mary decides to pay a visit to her kinswoman, Elizabeth, but something has drawn her there, perhaps inevitably; perhaps Mary herself doesn’t even know why she’s there. Mary has already had her encounter with the angel Gabriel and is full of the knowledge that she’s been asked to perform a special duty and, more so, has accepted that duty. Within, she knows, she is carrying one who is going to change all of history. She knows this as only a mother can know it.

And that leads us to the second part of our scripture from Luke. There, safe with Elizabeth, unfettered by having to act a certain way or do certain things as she would have to do back in Nazareth, she sings her heart out; singing as only an expectant mother can do about how her child is going to change everything and will turn the status quo upside down.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer writes about this singing that Mary does:

This song of Mary is the oldest Advent hymn. It is at once the most passionate, the wildest, and one might even say, the most revolutionary Advent hymn ever sung. This is not the gentle, tender, dreamy Mary whom we sometimes see in paintings; this is the passionate, surrendered, proud, enthusiastic Mary who speaks out here. This song has none of the sweet, nostalgic, or even playful tones of some of our Christmas carols. It is, instead, a hard, strong, inexorable song about collapsing thrones and humbled lords of this world, about the power and God and the powerlessness of humankind. These are the tones of the women prophets of the Old Testament that now come to life in Mary’s mouth. (The Mystery of Holy Night, p. 6)

And so, before we charge headlong into this event we call Christmas, before we stop in a chilly stable beneath a starry sky, before we sing the carols that we have sung for ages, we stop and consider the words that burst forth from a young, pregnant woman’s lips over two thousand years ago. We consider how she saw the topsy-turvy world into which her child would be born and how he would bring into being his own topsy-turvy world and we realize that the song is song as strongly today as it ever has been. The powerful still need to be brought down from their thrones and the lowly should be uplifted. There are hungry ones in our midst who need their fill of good things while the proud could indeed use some scattering.

Mary’s song, sung out in safety in Elizabeth’s home echoes and echoes through the ages to us today. It’s message is not diminished, indeed, if you listen closely enough, you will hear it just before you perceive the beating of angels’ wings.

Sermon, Sunday, 8 November 2009

2009-11-10T07:03:00.000-08:00

Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17

The thin book of Ruth, only four chapters long, is only one of two books of the Bible with a woman’s name attached to it. And it shows up in the lectionary only twice in the three-year cycle. So it’s good, when she makes her appearance, to pay attention to this book. The story of Ruth covers more than what we heard this morning. So let me recap that story a bit.

Naomi and her husband and two sons move from Bethlehem to Moab, which is another country near to Israel. There the sons marry Moabite women, Orpah & Ruth, and all seems well. Until the worst of the worst happens: first Naomi’s husband dies followed by the death of both of the sons. We aren’t told how or why these tragic events transpire, just that they do, leaving behind three widows.

Of course, to be a widow was about as low as you could get socio-economically. The only thing worse would be to find yourself a widow without any sons, which was the situation in which Naomi, Orpah, & Ruth found themselves. And to add to that, Naomi was a foreigner in Moab--a son-less, husband-less, foreign, woman.

Naomi makes the decision to return home, so she would at least be among her kin people. At first, her two daughters-in-law follow her on the sad trek back to Bethlehem. But Naomi stops and says, “Go home...go back to your people. Make lives for yourselves there. I have no more sons to offer you and there’s nothing for you with me.” They argue a bit and eventually Orpah does decide to turn back and cast her fate among the Moabites, and there follows a tearful farewell.

Ruth, however, is a different story. She will not be budged; she insists on following Naomi. She speaks those words to her mother-in-law that many of us have likely heard before:

Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die--there will I be buried. May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you. (Ruth 1:16b-17)

Naomi sees how determined Ruth is and gives up trying to convince her otherwise. So the two women continue their journey on the dusty road to Bethlehem.

So we have Naomi and Ruth back in Bethlehem, still without husbands or sons. Naturally, the life of a poor woman was as difficult then as it is now, if not even more so. She had to work from dawn to dusk just to survive. And one of the ways that you could survive was by gleaning.

In the painting on your bulletin covers and now on the screen, the painter Nicholas Poisson shows Ruth meeting Boaz, a kinsman of Naomi who notices Ruth from the very first time. Ruth is an outsider; only a member of the clan because of her persistent attachment to Naomi.

Gleaning was a way that poor people could get grain to make bread for their survival. After reapers went through a field with their sickles bundling the sheaves of grain as they went, they naturally would miss some of the grain, which fell to the earth. Gleaners would come after them and pick up the pieces they missed for their own use. There were laws that allowed people like Ruth to glean and prohibited the landowner from going back to pick up what was missed.

There is a famous painting in the Orsay Museum by Jean-François Millet, painted around the time that Poisson painted his painting, called “The Gleaners.” It’s one of my favorite paintings and a print of it hangs in our apartment. Something about that painting speaks to me. As you can see, gleaning is back-breaking work. Gleaners had to bend over in the stubble that was left behind to find what they could. This painting shows some of that and one can imagine Ruth there, picking through what was left behind to feed herself and Naomi.

This is where today’s story picks up. As I said, Boaz has already noticed the Moabite outsider named Ruth and knows of her connection to his kinswoman, Naomi. This is important, because the laws of inheritance required that a dead man’s property would go to his next-of-kin; property was not only land but widows and any other dependent relatives. The trick is that even though Boaz has obviously taken a shine to Ruth and Ruth, with Naomi’s help and advice as we heard in the first part of today’s reading, works to get into Boaz’s heart; but even though Boaz is a kinsman, he’s not the next-of-kin. That’s someone else and Boaz very cleverly get this other kinsman to give up his right to Naomi’s husband’s property and that Maobite woman. Which nicely leaves Boaz able to take Ruth as his wife. And we all heard how Ruth then gives birth to a son and, in the process, Naomi is taken care of. A true rags to riches story. Happy ending, curtain down.

Except I’m going to fast-forward us a few centuries to the point in time of the books of Ezra & Nehemiah. Ezra & Nehemiah are from the period of the return of the exiles from Babylon. As you probably remember, Judah was overrun by the Babylonians, Jerusalem and the Temple were destroyed, and many of the people of Judah were taken into exile into Babylon. There they remained several decades--long enough for another generation to be born, a generation that had never seen the glory of the Temple and had never set foot in Jerusalem. This generation grew up in Babylon, learning its language and in some cases taking spouses from the Babylonian population.

Upon their release and subsequent return to Jerusalem, a faction appeared that wanted to purify the people. They wanted to rid themselves of foreign influences, including these outside wives. Ezra and Nehemiah are about these attempts, including the rebuilding of the Temple from the ruins of that once noble city. They were attempting to step backward in time. As we all know, when looking back, things are always better, as we put on our rosy-colored glasses for our hindsight vision. It was no different then then it is now.

The leaders at the time of Ezra & Nehemiah sought to cleanse their society and purge out all elements that didn’t seem like it fit with their ideal world. Except this tale of Ruth, the Moabite woman, comes onto the scene. Ruth, who not only is a foreigner who marries into the Jews, but is also the mother of a long, important line of Jewish leaders. That’s why that final line in today’s reading is so important: They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.

David, you probably realize, is none other than King David, the best and most revered ruler that Israel had ever known. Yes, David’s, King David’s, great-grandmother was a Moabite, the worst foreigner you could think of. By recounting this tale during the time of Ezra & Nehemiah, somebody was saying “Not so fast with this attempt at purity. Remember our history. Remember our past when God intervened through a foreign woman and we got David out of it.”

The story of Ruth and its subsequent use years later does sound somewhat familiar, at least it does to me. For example, we hear cries about immigrants from far and wide; how they’re taking over and changing our culture; how they’re taking jobs away from hard-working Americans. Yet, we put on those rose-colored glasses when we look back and miss the fact, somehow, that all of us, unless we have Native American blood in us, came from immigrant stock at one point or other. We forget that the Irish and Italians and Chinese and those from many other lands all suffered when they first come to this country because they were immigrants. And we’ll leave aside for the time being the forced immigration of countless Africans before the slave trade ended. But we forget that immigration has always been with us, as we put on those rosy-colored glasses and look back smilingly.

Those rosy-colored glasses, however they’re used for hindsight viewing, will always get you into trouble. It’s as true now as it was during the era when the exiles returned from Babylon. They blind us to truths that we have to face and recognize; and sometimes to occasions for celebration.

The lesson from Ruth, one of them at least, is that we are all gleaners. We all are seeking to pick up the bits of our past that will help us survive in this day and age. We have to rely on the kindness of the field owner as well as on the fact that the ones who own the field will follow the rules and laws that are made to help the least of these and keep us alive.

The Book of Ruth is a very thin work, just a few pages long. But its story is one that speaks through the ages over and over again.

Top painting: Summer, or, Boaz and Ruth by Nicholas Poisson, 1860-1864
Second painting: The Gleaners, Jean-François Millet, 1857

Deft & Clumsy, Sermon, Sunday, 18 October 2009

2009-10-17T18:05:00.000-07:00

Mark 10:35-45

As I pondered the passage from Mark today, I remembered a Peanuts cartoon that I had seen years ago. It showed Snoopy, Charlie Brown’s dog, chasing after a bubble that was floating through the air. Snoopy gently and adroitly grabs the bubble in his teeth and starts to trot back to Charlie Brown with it in his mouth but in the next to last panel, he trips and the bubble bursts. Charlie Brown says to him, “You the only one I know who can be deft and clumsy all at the same time.”

In some ways, the Zebedee brothers, James and John, are exhibiting their own simultaneous deftness and clumsiness in these scriptures. To understand why I say that about them though, we have to look at a bigger picture than we got in this morning’s reading because context may not be everything in scripture, but it sure is a lot.

The passage just prior to this reading, ending right at verse 34, is Jesus’ prediction of his own death and resurrection. The sentence immediately prior to our reading for this morning is:

[Jesus] took the twelve aside again and began to tell them was was to happen to him, saying, “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again. (32b-34)

Pretty direct, don’t you think? There’s not much there to wonder about. Jesus even gets rather specific. And this is the third time that he’s done this as they journey to Jerusalem. He’s told the disciples about his impending death and resurrection three times now.

And what is the first thing out of the mouths of those sons of Zebedee? “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” It’s such a jarring disconnect that you wonder if they understood a word that Jesus said. How did they so miss what Jesus had just said as to come up with a glaring, grating non sequitur? Following a previous prediction of his death, at least Peter understood what Jesus was saying but then tried to deny it, getting a sharp rebuke for his efforts. But Peter understood what Jesus was talking about, it seems. These two, James & John, seem like they were standing there just waiting for Jesus to get done with whatever he was going on about this time so they could ask him their all important question.

Or were they? Did they actually get it, perhaps? Did they know what Jesus was talking about and were ready to sign on for whatever came along, but they still wanted their share of the power and the glory that was to come?

Of course, what they were asking for was a big deal. Hosts would put the most important guests right next to themselves at a feast. Rulers kept their most trusted advisors right beside themselves. These sons of Zebedee wanted those positions of honor and power for themselves, as did, no doubt, most if not all of the rest of the disciples. They wanted to be next to Jesus, even in the time beyond his death that he had just finished predicting.

They seem all too quick and easy though in their reply that they are indeed able to drink from the same cup and be baptized with the same baptism as Jesus. Following as it does so quickly on the prediction of his impending crucifixion, these two metaphors are clearly about death and I think the Zebedees understand that. They aren’t being flip and Jesus goes on to affirm that they, like many of the earliest leaders of the fledgling Christian community, will suffer because of following him.

Like Snoopy, James and John are deft in their adroit handling of the precious bubble that is the way of following Jesus but clumsy in their grasp of what Jesus’ heavenly reign actually means. I believe they are going in with eyes wide open and know full well that having given their life to their teacher they may yet be called to truly give of their life. But they haven’t followed completely the teachings they’ve heard because they don’t fully understand for what they’re asking.

Most of us are not going to be called upon to give our lives for our faith. There are some notable martyrs of the past century, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Oscar Romero, the nuns of El Salvador, Martin Luther King Jr. and others whose names we may not know. Most of us though will not face our death because we hold to our faith so securely as they and those early Christian leaders who faced persecution from the state did.

But still, we too are Zebedeean in our following if we don’t stop and realize just what deaths are required of us, if indeed we are to follow the teachings of Jesus and truly claim him as the Christ. For we must die to this world and its ways in order to follow. And we must die to our selves in order to follow.

The world and all its trappings is an glittery attraction that draws us into materialism. If we follow the way of the world, we embrace greed and denial. It offers us comfort and security. It beckons us with offers of “more,” “new,” and “improved.” It tells us that what we have is never enough. Our deaths, because of our faith, are to this world and a renunciation of what it offers. If we drink from the cup that Jesus drinks from, we will die to this world and face away from the plastic offerings that tempt us.

Likewise, if we become so self-focussed that we turn away from the plight of others, we are being as blind about Jesus’ teachings as those early disciples were. We must die to self-absorption and the inflation of our egos. If we care only for ourselves and ignore that which is going on all around us, we need to find ourselves on the journey with Jesus to Jerusalem. If we are to be baptized with the same baptism that Jesus faced, we must die to ourselves.

But we’ll be just like the sons of Zebedee if we think by doing so, we’ll get special considerations. If we’re deft enough to accept the deaths we must face in ourselves because of our faith, but still clumsily seek out special favors or a power boost for our prayer requests, we’ve missed the mark as surely as James & John did two thousand years ago.

Interesting, this cycle from Mark begins and end with the healings of blind men starting back in chapter 8 and moving through to the end of chapter 10, immediately following today’s passage. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I think Mark, in putting together his gospel, knew exactly what he was doing in saying that we all have to open our eyes and see, really see, the truth about following Jesus. Yes, we must drink from the same cup and be baptized with the same baptism in order to follow. And we must do so with few expectations and little to gain in a worldly way from it.

Blessed by Animals

2009-10-17T18:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

The animal blessing service that we held last Saturday gave me pause for thought. Clearly there was a lot of energy about our newest endeavor, from both inside and outside our congregation.

As we gathered on the lawn of the church and spoke to people passing by about their pets or animal companions, we were interacting with a community...our community. There was a lot of traffic because of the street festival going on just a few short blocks away. Several blessings occurred on the spur of the moment; dog walkers passing by just stopped in when invited to get their dogs blessed.

In the process of having the honor to bless these wonderful creatures, I realized that what my friend Alexandra Child wrote to me was true. (Alexandra graciously sent me the animal blessing service that she had previously put together and was that on which I based our service.) Alexandra wrote that she comes at animal blessings from the viewpoint that it is the animals who bless us.

As I knelt besides pooches of all sizes and gazed at pictures of cats (even blessing one cat via a cell phone picture) I realized the love that passes between humans and their companions is unadulterated and very often pure; especially from the animal companion to the human.

Truly they bless us with all that they do and are for us. And not just our companions, but all the animals of God’s creation.

Give thanks and praise to God for any & all animals in your life.

Peace,
Gerry

Sermon, Sunday, 11 October 2009

2009-10-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

Mark 10:17-31

Princess Diana is quoted as saying, “They say it is better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable, but how about a compromise like moderately rich and just moody?” I think that explains a lot about today’s gospel reading from Mark.

It’s so hard for us to give up possessions, isn’t it? Even for the tradeoff to be poor and happy; or the bigger tradeoff to get into heaven. This gospel lesson makes me uncomfortable. Because even though I have never considered myself rich, even moderately so, in comparison to much of the world, I am so much more like the rich man turning away in grief than I am anyone else in this story.

Our possessions, our wealth, brings us happiness and security. We surround ourselves with things in our quest for joy not realizing at times that those very things are what prevent joy from embracing us. With our fortresses of material possessions and financial security, we can scarcely move at times, stifling any attempts we may make to follow Jesus on the journey that was referred to at the beginning of the passage from Mark.

So we, like the man in the reading, throw ourselves at Jesus’ feet hoping for an easy answer. I really don’t think that man was looking for an easy compliment in doing that. I believe he, like us, truly wanted to know what else he needed to do to get into heaven. He was a good man and Jesus knew that. A touching, poignant portion of the passage is when Jesus looked at him and loved him. It’s one of the most direct statements about Jesus in scripture. He looked at him and loved him.

Jesus saw and knew what was going on. In spite of that man’s grief Jesus loved him to death, literally. Because he was calling on that man to give everything away. And notice that Jesus didn’t say sell everything and give the proceeds to me so that I can continue my ministry. No, indeed, the money that the man would realize were he to sell his possessions was to go to the poor. And then he could come and follow Jesus.

Unlike Princess Diana, Jesus doesn’t really allow for compromises. There’s no gray area when it comes to giving. It’s all or nothing.

In the movie “Brother Sun, Sister Moon,” which tells the story of a certain man named Francis who lived in Assisi some 800 years ago, there is a pivotal scene in which Francis, born into a wealthy cloth merchant family, renounces his wealth by stripping off his clothes in the town square and heading off into the mountains to begin a life of poverty and service. Francis did what the rich man in the gospel seemingly could not do. And what most of us seemingly cannot do.

But….but I have to wonder. The gospel writer Mark leaves the end of this particular story open with a question mark, I think. Yes it said the rich man went away grieving, but it doesn’t actually say whether the man did do as Jesus said or not. Certainly we can allow him his grief, in giving up all that he possesses. That’s a mighty task and even as unrich as I am, if asked to do the same thing, I would grieve too.

But I keep coming back in my thoughts to that simple statement that Jesus looked at the man and loved him. And that gives me the strength to guess at an answer to that question mark at the end of the story. Because a love that strong is mighty powerful and can cause you to do all sorts of things you wouldn’t do otherwise.

Not too long from now, we’ll regroup ourselves for one of our monthly conversations and this time our conversation is going to revolve around stewardship. Stewardship, meaning what we do with the resources that are put in our charge; our wealth, in other words.

But don’t limit yourselves when you think about your wealth; it’s not just about money or what your bank statements look like. Because true wealth goes deeper than money. True wealth, as we all know, involves family and friends and faith. True wealth is about the talents we possess and the abilities we have innately within us.

Perhaps that’s the part of the rich man that Jesus loved--his abilities and talents for following the law and for leading an upright life. Jesus knew that if the man was going to follow him on the journey before him, he couldn’t be encumbered by the possessions that held him down. Jesus wanted his full wealth...his real wealth on the road with him.

So when you think of stewardship this afternoon, don’t leave here grieving. Go away with joy, grateful for the resources, all the resources, that are in your care.

The Messiness of Wisdom

2009-08-20T17:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,
According to dictionary.com, wisdom is defined as “knowledge of what is true or right coupled with just judgment as to action; sagacity, discernment, or insight.”

Wisdom is more than intelligence. Wisdom uses our native intelligence to make decisions that are right and good. Wisdom keeps us from foolishness, according to the author of Ephesians. And wisdom is what Solomon sought when God asked him in a dream what it was he most wanted.

For people of the Christian faith, wisdom is a gift from God that is used to bring our world ever closer to God’s realm. Wisdom thus involves not just thought but action.

In worship on Sunday, I used a familiar image when I spoke of wisdom: Rodin’s sculpture The Thinker. But that’s only part of the story of wisdom. After one thinks, one is moved to action based on one’s thoughts.

As Paula Poceicha, our Regional Minister for Congregational Care, pointed out during the Invitation to Communion, wisdom can be messy. It’s chaotic. Wisdom is not linear like intelligence. Wisdom does not necessarily go neatly from point A to point B to point C.

We prefer in our daily lives the straightforwardness and sedentary nature of intelligence. With wisdom, we are moved to action in the midst of a world that doesn’t make sense.

Wisdom eschews the greed and denial of the world, opting instead for justice and getting our hands dirty with the work to which God calls us.

Wisdom is indeed chaotic as doing the right thing is not always clear and easy. Wisdom can lead us down paths we’d rather not travel and may even make us unpopular. Wisdom is engaging the intelligence of the world and bending it and turning it to become wise and discerning.

Seek wisdom; each and every day. Be ready for the chaos and the confusion it brings.

Peace,
Gerry

text © Gerry Brague
photo © Wally Gobetz, wallyg on flickr used by Creative Commons license

Sermon, Sunday, 16 August 2009

2009-08-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

1 Kings 2:10-12, 3:3-14 Ephesians 5:15-20

Suppose you were granted one wish, for what would you ask? I know that genies in lamps regularly allow three wishes, but this is an irregular lamp purchased at the seconds outlet and you only get one wish. Would you ask for money? For fame? For health? For power? Or perhaps, thinking on a bigger scale, you’d ask for world peace. Or for an end to any number of the terrible diseases that are all around us. Or for poverty and homelessness and hunger to cease.

I’m willing to wager that many people in our society today might ask for such things; either the self motivated or other-motivated wishes. Solomon, the son of King David who was given the kingdom upon David’s death, was indeed granted the opportunity to ask for something and, as we know, he chose wisdom. And along with building the Temple in Jerusalem, Solomon is known for his wisdom.

There are those who would argue that only a wise person would ask for wisdom, something of a circular argument, if you ask me. But Solomon, we heard, got it both ways: because he chose wisdom, he got riches and honor throughout his life.

Solomon said he chose wisdom because he was so young. And that’s likely true that he was young: he may have been about 20 years old when he became king. Such a young age to inherit a realm. And having to follow his father, David, the great king who made Israel what it was during its glory days. Not to mention having to deal with a jealous older brother who expected the throne as his and with his father’s several enemies still hovering around. With all the intrigue swirling about him, it’s no wonder that he asked to be discerning and wise.

Think for a moment about the difference between wisdom and intelligence. Is there any? Are intelligent people automatically wise? I don’t think they are. I wouldn’t be surprised, for example, to find out that our former president Richard Nixon was intelligent. But was he wise? Did he rule wisely? Some might ask the same thing about another former president, Bill Clinton. In fact, many of our world leaders in this era would likely be described as intelligent but I find wisdom is at a premium.

It’s interesting to note that in the Ephesians passage for this morning that the opposite of wisdom isn’t stupidity but foolishness: Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil. So do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is. (5:15-17) Ephesians’ author points to an important distinction between wisdom and intelligence; there is a relational and ethical aspect to wisdom that is not ascribed to intelligence. If we are wise, we seek to understand God’s will. It’s ongoing in its relationship as we attempt to use the intelligence we do have for the good.

Maintaining wisdom is a tricky business. Solomon struggled with it throughout his life and at the end he ended up looking fairly foolish by worshiping the gods of his many foreign wives. Though he sought wisdom as the fresh-faced young man we found in today’s reading, sustaining it through to the end was something he was unable to do. Because in worshiping other gods, in turning his back on the God of Israel who had sustained him and brought him the riches and honor that came as bonus gifts with the wisdom, he showed his foolishness and lack of willingness to seek out wisdom.

I keep hearing that we have the capacity to end hunger. We are intelligent enough to do that. We have the intelligence, I pray, to turn around global warming and stop the destruction of our planet. But sadly I’m not certain we are wise enough; because greed and denial seem always to be entering in and preventing us from actually doing the difficult work necessary to do that which is needed.

As a culture we have strained our relation with the divine, much as Solomon did at the end of his long life. Mind you, please note that I did not say “as a nation;” in spite of the vocal protestations of many of a more conservative stripe, I don’t believe we are or should be a Christian nation. But I wonder if those of us who do proclaim ourselves to be Christian (to keep it in the family) are actually wise. Are there among us, those who seek the will of God in daily dealings and each decision? Is that something each of us does? Do we seek wisdom each and every day? Or do we ask for it, assume we’ve got it, tuck it into our purse or back pocket and then forget it?

We can’t rely on our intelligence alone. I’ve already raised the examples of what happens when we’re intelligent without the moral and relational aspects of wisdom. It’s no different if we’re a regular old Joe or Jane and making day-to-day decisions that seemingly affect us and only perhaps a small circle of family and friends or if we’re one of those world leaders whose choices affects dozens and dozens of others.

Because we fool ourselves if we think the options we choose affect only a small circle around us. Behind each decision we make, because of the relational aspect of wisdom, are the lives of many others we don’t know. A theologian or philosopher, whose name I cannot recall, once said that the course of history rests on whether he decides to have a cup of tea or not.

Each moment in our lives we are making decisions and as people of faith, we are called to make them wisely; remembering our relationships, with God, with each other and recognizing the outcomes of those decisions. It’s very easy to fall into lockstep with a culture that is so firmly grounded in greed and denial, forgetting that our choices affect others, many of them much worse off than we are and opting for our own gain over the good of others.

Wisdom is portrayed as a female figure in other Hebrew Bible writings; a woman who calls out for believers to follow her. She says:

“Come, eat of my bread
and drink of the wine I have mixed.
Lay aside immaturity, and live,
and walk in the way of insight.”(Proverbs 9:5-6)

That is true wisdom, laying aside the immaturity that holds us back and walking in the way of true insight. Be as the young Solomon was and seek out wisdom, not once or twice, but each and every moment.

(Photo by Davic from Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/davic/3083793614/; Painting by Paolo Veronese, "Allegory of Wisdom and Strength," c. 1580)

Sermon, Sunday, 2 August 2009

2009-08-03T19:14:00.001-07:00

John 6:24-35

I don’t know about you, but I find it all too tempting and much too easy to spiritualize Jesus’ words especially as found in the book of John. We like to think that there’s something transcendent about what Jesus has to say. We’re looking for higher meaning. In fact, if you do a quick survey of the chapters preceding the one we heard this morning we find some rather otherworldly things going on. There’s Jesus speaking with Nicodemus about being born again or born of the Spirit turning the earthy, messy event of giving birth into a spiritual one. Then, shortly after that, Jesus has a conversation with a Samaritan woman at a well and speaks of living water. Again, he uses an image of water--splashing, wet water--and turns it into something else; something ethereal. And then in this morning’s reading, Jesus proclaims himself the bread of life; and once again we have a very basic staple from the earth, the stuff of life itself, bread, and talks about it in spiritual ways.

Jesus doesn’t really help things much by initiating what we call communion by using bread to speak of his body a little later on. We call communion a holy meal, sometimes even a feast, but when you stop to think about it, it’s not much of a meal, none-the-less a feast. It’s a little piece of bread; a tiny bit of flour and yeast and water mixed together; hardly enough to assuage anyone with a stomach-growling hunger who may approach the Table. By instituting this “meal” with bread, he further spiritualizes this very common commodity.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Because it’s dangerous to think of Jesus or his teaching just in spiritual terms. In doing so, we run the risk of falling into a trap of saying to those who suffer right here, right now that their reward will be in heaven or that they’ll have an extra star in their heavenly crown or some such unhelpful comment. By separating the spiritual from the physical, and elevating the spiritual over the physical, we just might miss the suffering that is going on all around us.

And there’s not really any reason to do so. If I may, I’d like to back up in John’s gospel again, but only going back a few verses this time rather than to the chapters I mentioned earlier. The start of chapter six, almost immediately preceding our reading this morning about living bread, is about real live bread which Jesus uses to feed five thousand. The narrative just prior to Jesus’ words this morning have Jesus using a young boy’s five loaves and two fishes to fill the stomachs of some very hungry people. Only the story of Jesus walking across the water to reach the boat the disciples were in intersects the two sections of the gospel about bread.

Bishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa spoke words that have echoes in our gospel reading today. He said: “I don't preach a social gospel; I preach the Gospel, period. The gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is concerned for the whole person. When people were hungry, Jesus didn't say, ‘Now is that political or social?’ He said, ‘I feed you.’ Because the good news to a hungry person is bread.”* Tutu recognizes that there is no split between our physical hunger and our spiritual hunger. He sees in Jesus one who reacts to people’s needs where they are and who they are.

Given the proximity of the feeding of the 5,000 story to our scripture for this morning, it is somewhat surprising that the big request that the crowd had for Jesus was for a sign that he was actually from God. “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you?” (6:30) they asked and then pointed out that manna appeared to their ancestors in the wilderness when they were hungry. Didn’t they just receive their fill of bread and fish? Didn’t they see that miracle happen right in front of them? Here they are chasing after a beleaguered Jesus only to require another sign.

I’m not certain I would have had Jesus’ patience because he just gives them the answer, “I’m the bread you’re looking for, the bread of life.”

It’s not surprising that manna comes up in this passage; manna was bread from heaven. John, our gospel writer, would have known that as would his original audience. The connection would have been immediate and strong for both author and hearer. Especially considering that by the time John’s gospel was written, the last of the four, a ritual of a holy meal had certainly taken hold; the holy meal that I’ve already mentioned that we call communion, the Eucharist, the Lord’s supper. A holy meal with an emphasis on bread. More than that, though, the early church had a sense of a feast; a common gathering for a meal that was in itself holy and sacred. This was a meal when the poorest of the community shared with the richest at table, breaking bread, holding in common a meal, the meal.

Manna comes from heaven and John reminds us that Jesus does too. Manna fed hungry people lost in the wilderness and Jesus fed a large gathering of people, out far from towns, from places they could get food. And Jesus offered himself as bread, bread once again from heaven. Bread for those wandering and hungry in their own wildernesses.

Yes, it is dangerous to overspiritualize all of this, but on the other hand there is a danger of ignoring the spiritual elements. It’s a balance between the earthy and the heavenly. The missionary and evangelist D.T. Niles sums it up when he says “Christianity is one beggar telling another beggar where he found bread.”*

Indeed we are all beggars, seeking bread, living bread, to appease a growling stomach that won’t let go, that won’t let us stop seeking the slaking of our hunger, our deep, deep hunger for the bread Jesus provides.

* Both quotes were found on the United Church of Christ lectionary website, Samuel (http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/august-2-2009-eighteenth-sunday.html)

Photo by John Cordes, used by permission
(c) Gerry Brague, 2 August 2009

Breaking Down the Fences--Article from 29 July 2009 Herald

2009-07-25T11:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

This past Sunday, I brought forth the image of the wall, building on the passage from Ephesians about God breaking down the dividing wall. I also used Robert Frost’s poem “Mending Wall” which begins “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall."

Though most people who know that poem remember the line “fences make good neighbors,", Frost’s intent, in my opinion, was the opposite. Fences divide us and keep us apart.

We are constantly fencing ourselves off from others. Though we may not erect physical barriers (though sometimes we do), we wall ourselves off from others with our attitudes, our preconceptions & prejudices and our unwillingness to extend ourselves into unknown territory.

Walls & fences & barriers are built for good reason often: for protection, for privacy, for claiming our own space. And indeed we need to feel safe.

But sometimes we erect those barriers when they don’t need to be there. Sometimes we fence ourselves in in a misguided attempt to close ourselves off from the world around us; God’s world. Sometimes the last thing we need, in order to live out our calls as Christians, is the safety within the confines of our walls and fences.
What barriers do you erect around you? What attitudes prevent you from being fully engaged as a child of God? What prejudices keep you from reaching across your fences to others who need a hand or simply understanding?

Stop for a moment and envision the fence that is around you. Is there a gate in it or have you made it impermeable? How high is your fence; can you see over it or is it so high that others can’t see in? What would happen if you took down the fence? Where would you be without your barriers? How might you find safety and privacy without your fence?

Ponder these questions as you remember that God seeks to break down the dividing walls.

Peace,
Gerry

text © Gerry Brague, photograph © Beatrice Murch, used with permission (http://www.flickr.com/photos/blmurch/)

Sermon, Sunday, 5 July 2009

2009-07-04T20:59:00.000-07:00

Mark 6:1-13a

I have a friend, Marge, who was a seminary student with me back in the beyond time. I became friends with Marge, as well as her husband (who was also one of our professors) and her teenage daughter, Aimee. I often housesat for Marge when she and her husband would travel, so Aimee and I got to be buddies. At one point, Aimee was set to travel for the first time out of the country, to Europe; to France, if I recall correctly. Having recently returned from my own sojourn beyond our country’s borders, I wanted to give Aimee a small bon voyage gift to mark the momentous occasion of her trip, so I purchased a passport case. When I gave it to her, I also provided a bit of advice, which was to keep close watch on her passport because U.S. passports are valuable overseas and can be stolen and used for nefarious activities.

Marge later told me that Aimee told them about my advice and seemed to take it as sacred truth. Marge also told me that they had said exactly the same thing to Aimee before but it wasn’t until she heard it from me, a non-parent in her life, did it really take hold.

I have a feeling that such a reaction is not completely unknown to parents of teenagers or parents with children of any age for that matter. And that reaction is not all that different from what Jesus must have experienced that day in Nazareth. We all know the familiar phrase “familiarity breeds contempt” and indeed that phrase could easily have been borne out of the incident we heard from the first part of the lectionary reading from Mark’s gospel this morning.

But before we get too hard on those folks from Nazareth, let’s consider the situation for a moment. If any of our neighbors in the apartment building where Allen & I live came up to me to tell me that they were sent by God to reform the world, I might be a little skeptical. Why, that’s just Cliff or Shana or Carlos. How can she or he be such an important person?

And of course, all this is only more intensified when you’re talking about someone returning to their hometown. How can he be that important? He’s just Walt & Susan’s kid, the one who got caught smoking behind the A&P. Who does she think she is? Her parents were plain old laborers who had little education. In fact, I’m not sure if her father is her father, if you know what I mean. Such comments and ones like them, perhaps not spoken but certainly considered, are all too common. And they lead to the discounting of many a prophet. And Jesus wasn’t the only one to note this phenomenon. Plutarch, who did his moral philosophizing during the first century not long after Jesus, said, “The most sensible and wisest people are little cared for in their own hometown.”

Just prior to our reading from today, Jesus had been out starting his ministry; traveling around healing, performing miracles, preaching, and teaching. Undoubtedly word of his activities filtered back to Nazareth; those sorts of events aren’t kept quiet for long, as the gospel writers themselves note from time to time. But I’m willing to bet that the miracles and the healings got much bigger and better press than his teachings and preaching ever did. It’s still true today; if you want to get a message across you do it rather than talk about it. We’re fascinated by action but not so interested in words. I believe it’s human nature transcending culture, time, and geography.

So very likely the home folks back in Nazareth heard about the paralyzed man in Capernaum who walked again, about the man with the withered hand who stretched out his cured hand, about the maniacal demoniac in the land of the Gerasenes who was brought back to sanity, about the woman who touched Jesus’ hem & was healed of her decades long flow of blood and about the young girl who was even brought back to life from death. Those stories travel. But had they heard what he had to say; what he was preaching and teaching throughout Galilee? If they even heard it, they probably didn’t remember it because the miracles were so impressive and words...well, words are just words.

So when Jesus got up to speak in the synagogue, his words, his thoughts of doing things differently, of interpreting scripture in a new way, came across as brand new to his listeners that day. They simply weren’t expecting what they heard. Jesus was issuing a challenge to the status quo and it was coming from within, from one of their own. It was coming, in fact, from the son of a carpenter for crying out loud. This was coming from Jesus, Mary’s son. Did you notice they didn’t even mention Joseph? “Jesus doesn’t have the credentials to do this,” was assuredly the thought in several minds that day.

Interestingly, this is the last time that Mark puts Jesus in the synagogue. From here on out, he goes out to the people directly, avoiding the standard routes of religious proclamation, eschewing what we would call “church” and instead preaching wherever he could gather a crowd of folks who would listen. As much as the crowd in the synagogue in Nazareth rejected Jesus that day, Jesus rejected them.

And the lectionary gets it right by making sure that the two seemingly disparate stories we heard from Mark earlier are indeed read together. Though the sending out of the disciples seems like a completely separate narrative, the fact that it follows this tale of rejection is important. Because as Jesus realizes that he won’t be accepted and heard through the usual religious routes, he discovers that he needs to do things in a new way. Sending forth his disciples in pairs is all part and parcel of the reaction to rejection. Jesus essentially says, “Fine, if I can’t do it your way, I’ll do it mine and put my message right out there in the midst of the people.”

Jesus’ instructions to his disciples as he sent them out was to pack light carrying only a staff; a staff for support? or defense perhaps? or because that’s what shepherds carry? Who knows. It was clear that he was saying, however, don’t get weighted down in non-essentials. What you need will be provided. Just take my word out there...to the people. And they did.

Those of us in the seemingly ever-shrinking mainline may need to pay attention to these two narratives closely if we wish to survive and be a presence within Christianity. Because if we’re going to expect “them” to come flocking to us in our churches, it may not happen. And you know whom I mean by “them.” “They’re” called the unchurched, which, I’ll point out, is our term for them, not theirs. “They’re” just folks. They don’t define themselves in relation to church or religion at all.

They’re the people Jesus went out to and sent his disciples to in order to heal and speak with after being rejected by the synagogue, by the religious establishment, by those who knew him best. They’re the people on which Jesus’ subsequent ministry focussed.

How often do we reject our own when they try to speak a new word? How frequently do we find that familiarity does indeed breed contempt? And of course, the very person we’re most familiar with, our very selves, is the one we reject the quickest. “I can’t do that because my ideas are too crazy, too far out there,” we hear ourselves saying. “I’m not a good speaker.” “I am unable because I don’t have the latest computer or the best clothes or a reliable car.” “I could never do that because…” and you fill in the blank. We all stop and reject ourselves all too quickly, as quickly as Nazareth rejected Jesus. We reject the one we know the best because indeed we can be very contemptuous of ourselves because of our familiarity.

But we are, like those early disciples, called to go out without our vast holdings of material goods and a simple supportive, defensive staff in hand. We need the support and defense that that staff provides because there are many places that will also reject us and our message of inclusivity and love. And just like the disciples were instructed to do, we need to shake the dust off our feet and continue on to more receptive ears.

You are equipped, right now, right here, to do ministry. Each of you. Every single one of us can leave this place this morning with all that we need to provide healing in an extremely broken world, a world that may be receptive or may not. But that’s not our concern. We are called, both individually and as communities of God’s church, to break down the walls and barriers that our culture tends to erect and speak a new word...out there...out in the midst of God’s people.

© Gerry Brague

Newsletter article for the week of 14 June 2009--Looking for power in all the wrong places

2009-06-21T16:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

What must have been going through young David’s mind. A few moments earlier he was in the fields, watching the family’s sheep: keeping them safe from predators and making sure none of them strayed off.
Then, suddenly, without warning, he was summoned to the sacrifice that was going on in his hometown of Bethlehem. There the priest Samuel looked at him and said, “Yep, this is the one that God wants!” And with that poured oil over him, anointing him and starting a process that would eventually make him king of Israel. Surrounding him were his father, his probably peeved brothers who had just been passed by for the same honor, and likely some astonished townsfolks.

I don’t think it’s an accident or coincidence that about a thousand years later, in those same hills outside of Bethlehem, other shepherds, perhaps minding descendent sheep of the ones that David was watching that day, were suddenly and unexpectedly drawn away from their duties to pay a visit to a newborn baby, himself of David’s lineage.

Shepherds are the least likely to grow up to be king or to get in early in paying homage to a just born king. Shepherds are just expected to stay with the sheep; that’s their job after all. When it comes to dead-end jobs,shepherding must rank up there with the best(or worst?) of them.

In our modern-day, non-agrarian culture though, we don’t get that joke so much. God chooses a shepherd to rule over the promised land?! God chooses shepherds as the first recipients of the good news of salvation of humanity?! Right! Tell me another good one.

But it’s true. God works with who God will to bring about God’s commonwealth here on earth. And there’s no reason to believe that God has given up yet on doing any of that.
If we think however that we’ll find God anointing anyone in the halls of power and places of influence, we’re looking in the wrong places and we need to read about shepherds a little more.

Peace,
Gerry

[This post is out of order--it should have come before the sermon on the 21st. Oops. My apologies.]

© Gerry Brague

Sermon, Sunday, 21 June 2009

2009-06-21T16:36:00.000-07:00

1 Samuel 17:1a, 4-11,19-23, 32-49 and Mark 4:35-41

Storms and giants. Giants and storms. The Hebrew Bible reading and the gospel reading together cause deep resonance some two and three thousand years after they occurred. And here we are, on a lovely Sunday morning in California, replete with images of storms and giants.

Now I have never faced a Goliath in my life: a real life, gargantuan person who was clearly out to do me harm. And, similarly, the times I have been on any sort of water craft have been peaceful, calm affairs without the stress and angst of a storm raging about me. (Okay, the time I did go water-skiing was not so calm, but it was a beautiful day.) But certainly, looking at these passages as metaphors, we each have faced our share of giants and storms in our lives. Each of us has stood toe-to-toe with our own personal Goliaths. Each of us has been buffeted and tossed helplessly about while we cling as best we can to whatever sense of reality we can grasp.

The reactions of the actors within these stories are worth investigating. I think that keeping an eye on David and on the disciples might be instructive. Both react differently to the particular stress they face. Both come out okay...eventually. And it might be useful to use the lens of art history to view these stories.

At the start of the Renaissance, that amazing period of time in history when humanity got its act together in some respects and dusted off the bleakest times of the dark ages, artists were finally seen as something more than craftspeople. Prior to this period, art adorned and the creators of art weren’t necessarily known entities; we don’t really have the names of many of the artists prior to the renaissance.

In the midst of this change comes Donatello, who, early in the renaissance, created some stunning works of art, including the first nude free-standing statue in a very long time. Statues, prior to this for several centuries, had been part of architectural features, not items to be viewed from all sides. And what was the subject of this first of its kind statue? None other than one of our heroes from the readings this morning, David.

Now, most of you probably know much better the famous other sculpture of David. But let’s look at this earlier take on the subject, which precedes Michelangelo’s version by about 70 years and is also found in Florence, Italy.

Donatello chose to cast his David in bronze, perhaps a reference to the armor of Saul’s which David didn’t wear or the obviously really heavy, impressive, and clearly useless armor that Goliath did wear. This David is not terribly large--true to the scripture, David is small, as is the statue itself.

We find David here at the point of having just killed Goliath. We see Goliath’s sword in David’s hand and there at David’s feet is the freshly decapitated head of Goliath, still wearing his less than helpful helmet. David’s face is calm repose, almost blank. This is still the early renaissance--emotion did not yet play a large role perhaps. But in that face, we see a David who is self-assured and certain. It seems like David has his eyes cast down; in humility perhaps, but also maybe regarding the spoils of his victory.

So, some 70 years later, one of the greatest artists who ever lived, took on the same subject, but with a very different approach, with a different medium, having a different result. Michelangelo took about three years to turn an enormous block of marble into the David who knew what he was about to do but had not yet done.

This David stands ready; facing his Goliath with assuredness and certainty. Against all the warnings of his own countrypeople and the derision of the opposing army, especially Goliath, David comes to face the foe who would enslave God ‘s people.

In his right hand, he holds a stone, visible only from behind. This hand is strong though and prepared; the veins are showing and the grip on his stone is tight. The right hand is prepared and ready to spring into action.

David’s face and left hand are different though. This face, in comparison to the face of Donatello’s David we just saw, is filled with emotion and confidence. David knows here that he is facing one of the biggest foes, at least physically, that he will ever face. The left hand is up at his shoulder, holding the slingshot waiting for its stone. You can’t quite see it here, but this hand is smooth; no bulging veins. The grip is loose yet ready.

Finally we turn to the painting that is on the bulletin cover: Rembrandt’s Christ in the Storm on the Lake of Galilee, painted about 120 years after Michelangelo was working on his David. The boat, if you’ll notice is barely visible heightening the sense of urgency; in the midst of this raging storm, there is little support for the terrified band of disciples. With waves that big and the wind obviously howling all around them, I’m not sure I don’t blame them their lack of nerve for which Jesus chastised them.

And there, at the center of all those frightened disciples, sits Jesus. You really have to look for him in the midst of all that’s going on. But he is the calm, the eye of the storm, so to speak. We peer into the situation through this painting in that moment just after Jesus has been awakened from his sleep and just before he calms the waters. The astonishment of the disciples which we heard about in the reading after he calmed the store has not yet replaced the fear and terror.

As we deal with the giants and storms of our lives, we can make choices: we can remove all the armor that surrounds us yet weighs us down, the armor that our culture insists we put up. We can strip ourselves of our defenses and face them with the certainty and knowledge that God stands with us. We can strive to listen for those simple words “peace, be still” and know that the storm will truly eventually end. We can rest assured that victory is ours, no matter the outcome of our struggles and that we are God’s people, in the midst of facing our giants and storms.

© 21 June 2009, Gerry Brague

Sermon, Sunday, 14 June 2009

2009-06-13T16:14:00.000-07:00

1 Samuel 15:34-16:13 Mark 4:26-34 2 Corinthians 5:6-17

Through the long liturgical season which we have just started, the season known as the days after Pentecost, when you hopefully like the color green in all its variations, there are actually two tracks in the revised common lectionary for the Hebrew Bible readings. One track is tied to the Christian Testament readings, especially the gospel reading. These readings are usually linked in some thematic way and they will bounce all over the Hebrew Bible. The other track is not tied to the gospel readings and goes through the sweep of a story. I have usually chosen to follow that 2nd track and am doing so this year. So our reading today from Samuel is the start of the narrative about David, the great king of Israel. Next week, we’ll pick up again in the story about David and in ensuring weeks hear more about him.

Therefore, there’s not really supposed to be a thematic link between this reading and the Mark reading. But did you notice a happy coincidental theme between them? David, small and young, is an unlikely candidate for the kingship. And Jesus, in the second parable he tells in today’s reading, makes a great deal about the mustard seed, which is tiny and one wouldn’t expect major things to come out of it. But Jesus points out that a shrub big enough for birds to nest in grows from it.

Our faith history, according to the Bible, is topsy-turvy this way so often. The weak become strong; the small, big. It’s unexpected. The powerful aren’t always as powerful as we think. Joseph’s brothers thought they were done with him when they sold him off to Egypt, but little did they know their little brother would have power in the end; power enough to save them from starvation.

Esther was a woman in the court of a mighty king and outwitted a powerful advisor who was going to kill the Jewish people. Mordecai, that nasty villain, was out to eradicate all the Jews but Esther, in a surprise turn, comes from her humble position and saves the people while eliminating the threat that Mordecai posed.

So it goes: Jeremiah was only a boy; Moses stuttered; “whatever you do for the least of these you do for me;” the angels announced the birth of Jesus to lowly shepherds. Even Paul gets it when he casts off the power he held that allowed him to search out and eliminate the new Christian faith and becomes one of those persecuted himself.

Throughout the Bible, tables are turned again and again. Maybe it’s what Paul was writing about in today’s epistle reading when he said that “there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (2 Corinthians 5:17) He really did get it: the old orders of things have got to change; in Christ everything is new and upside down.

And David, out there minding the family flock like a good boy, missing the big shindig in town, was no doubt surprised when he was summoned and found himself under the oil horn that Samuel was wielding. He was the least likely of the family to go far...after all, he was the youngest. Nothing was expected of him. When it came time for the whole anointing ritual, he was an afterthought on his father’s part.

Now remember, the kingship of Israel was a new thing, so it’s not like David or anyone else was sitting there aspiring to be king. Israel had not had kings. God was their king. Theirs was a loose confederation of tribes which had gone to judges to settle important matters. They had great generals who secured the promised land for them and kept out invaders. They had high priests who led the people in their religious life. But kings, earthly rulers, were not a part of their socio-political life.

The people grumbled though that they thought they needed a king like all the other countries around them. You know that ever-present drive of human nature that says if Mary has a red wagon then her neighbor Johnny has to have one too? It works the same for countries and governments. Israel grumbled loud and long enough that finally God gave in and said “alright already, you can have a king” and Saul was named.
Well, Saul is one of those tragic figures from the Bible who starts off good and ends up at the bottom of the heap. We won’t go into Saul’s decline here, but as you heard in today’s reading, God repents--yes, God repents--of having chosen Saul as king. And Samuel, who has been doing God’s work for several chapters now, has to go off and anoint a new king in Bethlehem.

Well, things around Israel must have been tense; Samuel doesn’t want to do this because if Saul gets wind that he’s getting the royal pink slip, he’s not going to be happy and Samuel has a good idea of how that regal unhappiness will play out. So Samuel is on edge. The people of Bethlehem seem a little edgy too; when they see Samuel approaching they don’t rush out to welcome him. No, their first jittery question is “Do you come peaceably?” It makes you think that there are things going on between the lines of our reading.

But Samuel says he’s come to do a sacrifice, which is the cover story for the anointing. So he begins and he gets Jesse to parade all his sons before him, all seven of them: big, handsome, strapping examples of manhood in its prime. But God has a surprise for everyone, including Samuel and David. The runt of the litter is the one God wants. God is not going to make the same mistake again from when God gave Saul the royal ball to run with.

It all reminds me of the search a certain prince carried out, when he was looking for the one woman who would fit into a glass slipper that he has kept as a souvenir. Of course all the maidens of the country want to fit into that slipper, and they all try, but, as we all know, it only fits the lowly, soot-covered Cinderella.

It’s a common story in human history, this rags to riches tale. It’s found from folklore to literature, including scripture. And Jesus knew that when he compared God’s realm to a mustard seed.

A mustard seed? How could that be? We all know that God’s realm is like the vast ocean; God’s realm is like the huge cities that we’ve built; God’s realm is fast cars and roaring jets and the expanse of the desert.
No, says Jesus, think smaller...think, in fact, tiny. God’s realm is so tiny you might just miss it, which most people do as they search for the grand and glorious. Because Jesus knows things little can and do grow. Jesus knows enough about farming to point out that it takes a seed, a wee seed, for something to grow. And Jesus knows too about David coming from the bottom of the heap to end up as the greatest ruler that Israel ever knew. If Samuel had said to Jesse, “yeah, you’re right...the kid out with the sheep probably smells bad anyways and God certainly wouldn’t want someone that low” things would have been very different in Israel’s history.

We don’t see as God sees; that’s stated plainly in our reading this morning. God sees beyond what we mortals can take in. God sees potential and hope and fulfillment while we usually look at size and stature and glitziness. And if we’re not careful, while we’re oohing and ahhing about how grand something is, we just might miss the fact that that little mustard seed is growing up and providing homes for birds and doing whatever else mustard bushes are meant to do.

Listen for God telling you to go ahead, hook up with the little ones all around you: the marginalized, the dispossessed, the have-nots. God already sees them. God wants you to see them too.

Image from http://www.finaltrump.com/2009/03/the-three-anointings-of-david/ and looks like an old Sunday School picture. I liked it though...those really put-off brothers in the background tell a story in and of themselves.

© Gerry Brague, 13 June 2009

Lection Divina--Newsletter Article for the week of 31 May 2009

2009-06-07T17:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

During worship on Pentecost Sunday, we used Lectio Divina, for our scripture reading, a spiritual practice in which one tries to listen actively to what the text, and God through the text, is trying to say to you.

Lectio Divina is active, sacred listening. It is a way of hearing a text in a new manner, allowing it to sink into your being. It is a different way of reading or hearing a text than how you might read or hear a newspaper story or a piece of junk mail. And though we did Lectio Divina as a group, it can be done privately also. Simply follow the same steps we did on Sunday with any text that you wish to go more deeply with.

To begin, select your text. You may want to follow the lectionary. Or you may wish to find some old, familiar texts that you need to hear in a new way.

Then quiet yourself. Turn off not only your stereo and tv and telephones and any other distractions you may have but also turn off, to the best of your ability, all the things that are nagging you and are running through your head. Spend a few minutes in silence.

Then read the passage. Though you can read it silently, I recommend that you do it aloud so that you can actually hear the words of the text. Read slowly and evenly, making sure each word gets its proper emphasis. Notice, as you read, what word or phrase sparkles or shines or jumps out at you. Don’t analyze why that word or phrase stood out. When you’ve finished the first reading, spend some time in silence with your word.
Then read the text again, this time through the lens of the word that spoke to you. Spend time in silence seeking understanding on what that word or phrase means to you.

On the third and final reading, seek to grasp what the text is calling you to do. Is it a call to action? Is it simply a response of gratitude? Is there something in your life that needs to be changed?

Finally, spend time in silence to bring all these experiences together. Throughout, seek God’s presence with you as you look to understand the word God sends to you.

Peace,
Gerry

Sermon, Sunday, 31 May 2009 -- Pentecost Sunday

2009-05-31T06:52:00.000-07:00

Acts 2:1-13

April in New England can be an iffy affair. Some in that section of our country joke that there are really only three seasons: summer, winter, and mud. April can be a part of that mud season with one day filled with spring sunshine and the warming of winter out of one’s bones while the next can bring a drop of many degrees and several inches of snow on the flowers doing their best to begin the growing process.

So it was in April 1934. There were some wonderful days of sunshine and then a terrible storm arose. Of course, on the tops of the White Mountain Range in New Hampshire, those changes in weather are only accentuated to the extremes. And the summit of Mt Washington, the tallest of the White Mountains and one of the highest on the eastern seaboard is no exception.

It was there, atop that treeless apex, that on April the 12th of 1934 that the fastest wind speed on earth was recorded, a measurement that stands to this day. Does anyone know what the speed of the wind was in that wild storm? There was a gust of 231 miles per hour.

Since that’s the fastest recorded wind speed, and because I sincerely doubt that anyone here today was there on top of Mt. Washington some 75 years ago, I imagine none of us have really experienced such high wind speeds. But who’s been in the midst of a hurricane? Or a wind storm sweeping across the plains? Or been atop a high, unprotected mountain in the midst of a storm.

I experienced the high winds of a hurricane while in seminary and those winds only got to 80 miles per hour or so. Still, from my dorm room window, we watched several of the tall pine trees on our campus lose their branches, one entire tree giving into the relentless pressure of those winds and toppling over. And those winds were only a quarter of those from the top of Mt. Washington back in 1934.

We’re told that on that day when the disciples gathered to celebrate the first Pentecost after Jesus’ death and resurrection, that besides the tongues of fire that appeared and the miraculous speaking in languages which everyone understood, there was a violent wind that rushed from heaven and filled the house in which they were gathered.

Let me be clear: this was not a puff...not a breeze...not a wafting zephyr. No, this was a VIOLENT wind. A wind that would knock your socks off, though I doubt they wore socks yet by this point in history.

In the original Greek, the word used here is biaios and it is not found elsewhere in the New Testament. The King James Version translates this word as ‘mighty’, but the translation of the word biaios is closer to forcible or violent, which is how the New Revised Standard Version translates it.

Too often we want to think of the Spirit as moving among us in those puffs and wafts and gentle zephyrs. Too often, we invite the Spirit into our midst and expect a breeze to blow through; nothing too strong or anything that would disturb our carefully coiffed theological stances. Our prayers often seek a kinder, gentler Spirit to blow around us.

But that’s not the Biblical precedent. If we are to read the Pentecost story and believe that nothing has changed since then, we should expect major, mighty, violent wind to accompany the Spirit. It’s not a wind that we can control like an oscillating fan in a too warm bedroom. It blows where it will and as strong as it will. And we’d just better be prepared for it not only to undo our tightly curled, perfectly in place hairstyle that we call church, but to blow us right along with it to places we may not want to go. This violent, forcible Spirit will move us and shake up everything we think is already right in place, and just where it should be.

I’ve been on the top of Mt. Washington. (Don’t think I got too athletic and hiked up or anything--there’s a road and a van that takes you there.) Like the top of most high, unprotected mountains, it is a very windy place, even on the best of days. I have a feeling though those winds, and the winds of that hurricane I experienced, are nothing to what God has in store for us when the Spirit is unleashed among us.

Photo of the Pentecost Dome at Basilica San Marco, Venezia, Italia; photographer unknown

Sermon, Sunday, 10 May 2009

2009-05-10T02:54:00.000-07:00

[Please note: I shall be on vacation for a little while, so this will be the last post until I return.]

Psalm 22 (25-31)

It’s a moment, even if we haven’t experienced or witnessed it ourselves, that is easy enough to imagine. Think of a crowded shopping mall...or a busy downtown street...or a teeming subway train. A small child becomes separated from her Mother, even if for a brief instant. Mom, of course, knows where her daughter is the whole time, but, in that instant, the child has no idea where her Mother is; Mother, her source of protection & nourishment. For a brief moment, a look of bewilderment flashes across the young girl’s face. Then comes fear followed by crying out. Reunion, because Mom is ever watchful, ever listening, is swift and brings comfort, quelling fears, reassuring the young one that all is well. But until that happens, there is confusion and fear and longing...longing for a return to safety and solace...longing for arms that hold and words that soothe.

Now age the young girl a few decades or so. Elongate that time of bewilderment, fear, and longing. Stretch it out to be several decades long itself in fact. Delay that reunion, withholding comfort, safety, and care from the one who longs for a return.

That description is the way many have experienced God; or better put, experience a lack of God. That description delineates what many of us feel about the Divine. Those of us who are bewildered or anxious or frightened because we feel we’ve been abandoned in the shopping mall we call life, surrounded by strangers in a strange land, seek and yearn for God’s return to our lives, yet think our cries go unheard; we feel abandoned because indeed God does not come to scoop us up in God’s arms right away. We stand amidst the swirl of people going to and fro all around us; people who are seemingly going about their business; people who seem to be connected to their God; people whom we want to be. Instead we yearn for the one who is no longer in sight. Instead we ache for God’s loving embrace once again. Instead, we are left seeking and crying out in our distress.

The verses from the Psalms that we read together today is the very end of Psalm 22. Those verses belie the beginning of the Psalm in which the author cries out in a way I have just described. Yes, we hear about the psalmist’s praise and how even the dead will bow down to God and deliverance is for generations and generations yet to come.

Yet hear the opening words of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Sound familiar? Of course, it’s the very same words that Jesus used from the cross; the words that he was mocked for saying, in the same way that the Psalmist was mocked and felt abandonment in the first 24 verses of this Psalm. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.” (1-2)

It sounds familiar because it is familiar to anyone who’s been around a church during Holy Week and know all too well the narrative of the crucifixion. For some of us though, it rings true for other reasons. Not only is it the cry of Jesus from the cross, in his pain and sorrow and grief as he hung awaiting death, but it’s the cry that many have exclaimed when feeling forsaken, abandoned, bereft, deserted. Deserted, indeed, by the Creator, by my God, my God.

We all know the good works of Mother Teresa, the Albanian religious sister who served the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, that poorest of the poor city. If anyone who has graced the pages of the daily newspapers in our lifetimes is going to end up being declared a saint, it is, no doubt, she. She worked tirelessly to alleviate suffering, to care for those who needed care, to bring the Christ into the lives of “the least of these.”

Yet listen to her words:

"There is so much contradiction in my soul, no faith, no love, no zeal. . . . I find no words to express the depths of the darkness. . . . My heart is so empty. . . . so full of darkness. . . . I don't pray any longer. The work holds no joy, no attraction, no zeal. . . . I have no faith, I don't believe." (as quoted in The Journey With Jesus Website, http://www.journeywithjesus.net/)

These words, made public at the occasion of the 10th anniversary of her death in 1997 from her letters, surprised many. But to many believers...yes, believers...her words had the ring of authenticity and truth. They all sound too familiar; too much the truth of our own lives; too resonant with the very thoughts that have found a home in the shadowed moments of our own lives.

The Psalmist complains that

“I am a worm, and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people...On you I was cast from my birth, and since my mother bore me you have been my God. Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help.” (6, 10-11)

This ancient author goes on to describe the bulls and dogs who surrounded and are ready to attack. We read of the pining for God...an ache so real that it calls out through the centuries upon centuries to Mother Teresa and to many of us.

In our yearning, we struggle to maintain our balance in the swirl all around us. As we reach out, stretching our arms into the seeming void,we hope to grasp onto something, anything that will lead us to God, to that reunion we desperately crave.

But like Mother Teresa, we all too often find need in our midst instead of God. Our yearning is overshadowed by the great deprivation which surrounds us. The work that needs to be done eclipses our own deep-seated want for God’s touch.

So we set off, off-balance as we are, to right whatever wrongs we can along the way, as we ourselves stumble along. We do right because it is, well, right; because in the absence of a God who calls, suffering must be addressed, whatever the motivation.

So the Mother Teresas and all who know too well the mood of the beginning of Psalm 22, reach out for God and in our reaching out happen upon those who cry not for spiritual food, but for real, belly-filling food. As we seek to be sheltered by God, we find those who don’t know what real shelter is, sleeping night after night in a new doorway on the street. Our thirsting for the connection with the Divine remains unslaked as we provide cool cups to those who thirst for water that quenches thirst from the lack of clean, accessible water.

If these sermon words of mine seem foreign to you, if Mother Teresa’s story is unfamiliar, if the early verses of Psalm 22 do not describe your situation, rejoice and be glad. Love the God who is your companion and your way.

If however you have noticed the nodding of your head throughout these words of mine, know you are not alone. From Mother Teresa around the globe to our community, there are many who seek God, but find God to be unreachable and remote. Continue to do the work that gives meaning to your life. God, when God reveals Godself to you again, will have been there with you as you reached out to those needing care.

Chalice Newsletter for the week of 3 May 2009 -- Defending Ourselves

2009-05-05T09:00:00.001-07:00

St Peter enthroned,
originally uploaded by Lawrence OP.

Dear Friends,

Peter stood before the court of the Priests and Elders of Jerusalem. He and his colleagues had been arrested the day before and, after spending a night in jail, found themselves before the leading religious figures of Judaism of their day.
Peter, if you remember, was always something of a foil throughout the gospels. Jesus likened him to Satan at one point in fact. Peter was always getting it wrong, it seemed, around Jesus.

But here he was, facing the authorities. They had been arrested because of a healing they did, though clearly the real reason they were brought in was because they were getting just a bit too popular. Luke, the autor of Acts, tells us they had 5,0000 followers. No doubt this is a representative number; no one went out a did a census of how many followers of The Way there were at that point. It is interesting that the number matches at least one account of the miraculous mass feeding that Jesus performed during his ministry. Luke’s point is that it was a large number who were following by this point.
So Peter, who bumbled his way through the gospels, is suddenly thrust into the position of being a spokesperson. Peter, who denied that he ever knew Jesus just hours before the crucifixion, faced the same people who schemed to have Jesus put to death. And, relying on the Spirit, Peter defended himself and those with him against the charges, those used as presenting charges as well as the unspoken ones.

If we had to defend our faith, would we open ourselves up to the movement of the Spirit and allow it to work through and in us? If we found ourselves facing a group of religious bigwigs, would we be confident of God’s presence with us?

And, actually, aren’t we in that situation more often than we like to admit? In our daily lives, when we are in contact with friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, don’t we have opportunities to tell the story of our church and our faith time and time again?
Peace,
Gerry

(Picture © Br Lawrence Lew, O.P. "St. Peter Enthroned" ;
text © Gerry Brague)