June 24, 2012
Gospel: Mark 4:35-41
Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32
1st Reading: Job 38:1-11
2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 6:1-13
I remember in the early planning of the pantry Debbi saying to me, “Maybe one of these days you’ll preach about the pantry.” And now I feel like I preach about the pantry almost every week. King’s Cupboard has become such an integral ministry to King of Kings. It has taken us places I never dreamed we’d go, sometimes headfirst into brick walls and other times with doors and relationships and hearts opening wide before us. I see it as a sign of health that it can continue and be passed down to another set of leaders. I see it as a sign of health that even this old frail congregation can sustain a ministry as big as this and be rejuvenated by it, and experience leadership development by it, and stretch our compassion by it to people we’d never otherwise meet.
In the Gospel lesson for today, Jesus and the disciples get into the boat with a plan to cross to the other side. Many times this congregation has crossed the sea by night. Crossing to the other side means taking a risk. It means going to a place where you aren’t sure you want to go—where there are a lot unknowns. It means crossing boundaries to where you won’t be comfortable, where you might not belong, to the people who are different from you and who you don’t necessarily like. This congregation has headed across the dark seas when you’ve worked through your feelings of betrayal when you were hurt by a previous pastor or two. You’ve risked meeting people you might not like when you opened the church to the homeless for the Westwood Guest House. You’ve stepped onto a listing boat when you started tithing our offerings to help those in need around the world. And in starting the pantry, we took a leap of faith to cross the sea by night, to an unknown destination, where we didn’t know if we’d be welcomed, to unknown perils and risks.
And yet it seemed we couldn’t not go. Trudy was moving away. She’d run the pantry for JOIN clients from her home. The food moved to the church. We had to make room for it. We stuck our big toe in the water as we delivered bag after bag of groceries to people clear out in Gresham to overcrowded apartment buildings, sometimes not even knowing for sure that they’d really be there to get the groceries since they couldn’t afford to pay a phone bill.
So we were saying, we can do better than this. We can be more effective at this. Looking at our gifts, we had space downstairs that went mostly unused. We had supplies taking up room on the shelves—items that hadn’t been used in years. In digging through all that there were some wonderful surprises, purple die cut crosses to give out at Lent, supplies we could use if we just knew they were there, bookmarkers to give out to the kids, craft paper and about glue and on and on. This was the time we were preparing our boat to make the journey. And among our supplies we found a passion for feeding the poor, for crossing boundaries. As people who like to eat and are passionate about it, we found that we wanted others to eat well, too. And we found we had a new member with experience at the Oregon Food Bank with a vision of what would need to happen to get these boats on the water where they would be useful. We had Debbi who had confidence and vision and who could articulate that vision. When she talked about the pantry, she made it come alive in other people’s imaginations. They could imagine crossing this big sea even in the night, not knowing exactly what would be on the other side, but trusting in her experience and God’s providing to help guide us across.
Once you embark on God’s journey, you want it to feel like a blessing right? Don’t you know it will be smooth sailing if God is on your side? Not so much. God’s journeys are fraught with peril. Inevitably, you get a distance from shore and the storm comes blowing in. I was looking through this list in 2 Corinthians of all that they had been through as they were serving the Lord, every kind of terrible thing—beatings, hunger, imprisonment. Well the pantry hasn’t been that difficult, but I could easily call to mind a list of storm contents faced by the pantry, arguments between those in line for food, language and cultural barriers, boxes of rotting produce, the cost of pears and cauliflower, volunteers who don’t let you know whether they can come help, the ambulance being called a couple of times for clients who fell, somebody’s kid running loose clogging the toilet with TP, a volunteer who isn’t being friendly and welcoming, a client who takes more than their share, somebody’s bags of groceries going missing, and on and on. It is a regular soap opera here some Thursdays!
And we’re in the boat rowing to where we’re supposed to go. And we’re getting grouchy with each other—everyone loses patience occasionally. And we’re yelling at God, “Don’t you care that we’re perishing here!” Shouldn’t God give us an easy ride since we’re doing what we’re supposed to?
Of course it doesn’t work that way. Following Jesus means following the road to the cross. And it isn’t an easy road. We’re marching to our death. I don’t mean our literal death, but that we are marching to the place where we let go of
expectations, where we let go of who we thought we were. We thought we were this compassionate, welcoming church. We’re about to find out if we really are, when someone’s kid colors on the back of the pew. We said we wanted children, well here they are. Are we willing to deal with it, with grace? Will we reach out in love to that family or will we get excited that the furniture is getting ruined? Do we care more about our things than our relationships? Is there a way to take care of what God has given us (our church building) and take care of what God has given us (the people of God here on Thursdays who need lots of love but sometimes aren’t that easy to love.)
And here we are rowing, not sure if God is noticing, hoping that God will make it easier for us, and we don’t hear a peep from the bow of the ship. Our Sunday church attendance is staying the same. We’re getting tired of rowing—some of our volunteers are experiencing fatigue. We’re not sure if we’ll have enough bread this week. “Answer us, God! Wake up!” we shout.
Through all this our God is calm. He’s been through this before. He is in charge even when it seems like chaos. He’s not afraid. He is the boss whether we live or die. We will be with him whether we live or die.
If you’ve ever been here on a 2nd or 4th Thursday, you’ve seen that kind of chaos. People are moving in and out of the building. There might be a parking spot or there might not be. The line can start forming at 8 am some days even though there is no benefit to being there that early and there is no explaining that to some people. Children are playing. Clients are sharing pantry tips—where the new pantries are, when they are open and how to get there. Names and numbers are being called. Volunteers are carrying groceries this way and that. It looks messy a lot of times. And yet a lot of good things are happening. Smiles are shared. Clients bring in hats and scarves they’ve made for JOIN and we give them yarn that’s been donated. Sick clients are being prayed for. They are putting in prayer requests for friends and family in need. They are getting food they’ll actually eat and recipes that are easy to follow and affordable. They are getting samples to try that encourage them to cook from scratch or to use some weird item they are going to get downstairs. And people leave with more than bags of food. They leave with dignity. Many of them say, “Thank you!” Even this chaos leads to something good. Even the wind and sea obey him. God can make sense out of a mess like this one. God can teach an aging congregation how to grow their welcome. God can teach grumpy volunteers to love the toothless, the pushy, the smelly, the batty.
And now God has spoken the words “peace, be still” to Debbi. And she’s actually listening. She knows it is time to let others row the boat. They might not row it just how she pictured it, but the sea will be crossed and the boundaries will be crossed and this stormy miracle will continue to happen. I hope we all listen for those words. I looked for a blessing for today for those on which there are so many demands and who need to take a step back and all I found was prayers to help us power through and keep on working harder and harder. This is an unhealthy pattern. At some point we have to stop and be still. We have to give up control. We have to trust our storms to Jesus that he can work through other people too to row the boat and do the ministry.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Sermon for June 17, 2012
June 17, 2012
Gospel: Mark 4:26-34
1st Reading: Ezekiel 17:22-24
Psalm 92:1-4, 12-15
2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 5:6-17
We all love a good story about how the underdog overcomes adversity, don’t we? The Little Engine that Could, It’s a Wonderful Life, The Bad News Bears. We root for the little Charlie Brown Christmas tree because we identify with that feeling of being small and sad, but hoping that we are wanted and that we can still be useful somehow, that someone would see something beautiful in us and take us home to shine. We love these stories of the small but mighty.
The Mustard Seed is that underdog story once again. The ancient Israelites identified with that story. They had started small, just Abraham looking up at the night sky, childless, alone, an underdog that God befriended and promised a turnaround to. God promised offspring as plentiful as the stars. These stories are all over in the Bible. The Israelites became oppressed by the Egyptians. They were the little guys, and yet somehow, with God’s help they escaped and made their way through the sea, while the Egyptian army drowned. This little band of nomads wound their way through the wilderness and time and again overcame adversity to prevail. And they marched on Jericho around the walls and against all odds this small but mighty band blew their horns and the walls fell. And little David, the youngest and smallest of all his brothers was chosen to become King—small but mighty. When the people of Isreal and Judah were taken into captivity by the Babylonians they eventually made their way home, a small but mighty group to rebuild the temple and begin repairing their relationship with God. And when Jesus came, he was a baby, so small, yet feared by Herod, and he grew up to do mighty miracles and healings. As he hung there on the cross he must have seemed so small again, and as he breathed his last and died, he must have seemed very small and weak indeed. How could such a mighty God, creator of the universe, walk in a temporary body of flesh and bones, aches and pains, all kinds of limits? How could that God give himself over, accept all that human life brings, and willingly die? Of course we know that he was raised in the most incredible miracle yet and came back to forgive those who betrayed him and draw all creation to himself. What was big is small and what was small is mighty.
This small but mighty description can also be used for this congregation, and has been. Our attendance numbers are small and our age numbers are big! This congregation has been through plenty of difficulties over the years: at least one flood, plenty of losses of pastors and members, difficulties paying the bills, low self-esteem, declines in children, arguments of different kinds.
Yet we don’t dwell on the negative here. There is more good that has gone on over the years—deep friendships have been built, children have been born and now grandchildren, ministry has thrived—the Westwood Guest House served homeless families under this roof for years, the pantry serves record numbers of families and empowers them with more than just food but with hope and friendship and love, people have grown in leadership, they have rested when they needed to, people have responded to the community needs in our neighborhood. Just because we’re a small congregation, doesn’t mean that God can’t work through us. In fact maybe it is just the opposite. Maybe because we are small, we have certain gifts that God can use to do ministry through us.
Because we are small, many of us know each other. We have a tight knit community. Because we are small, every person’s gifts are important. We’re calling every last one of you to get your time and talent survey completed because we can’t do our ministry without you. You are necessary in God’s plan! No one is left out. Because we are small, we can identify with the vulnerable and weak and small groups in our neighborhood that really need help. We can notice them because they are like us and we can value them because we know God has a plan to work through them, too.
So here we are, small and mighty. If there is one pitfall to look out for, I see it in the first reading. It says in verse 24, “I will bring low the high tree, and I make high the low tree.” So far this reversal works in our favor. But we want to make sure we don’t get on our high horse, that we don’t get high and mighty about who we are, that we don’t begin to worship ourselves instead of God, that we don’t decide we’ve arrived and doing everything right because we’re small but mighty. “Pride comes before the fall,” right?
That kind of thing is all over in scripture, too. As Israel grows, people start forgetting about the widow and the orphan. They get too caught up in their military conquests. They get too proud, and they are brought low as army after army crushes them until they become small again and remember how much they need God. King David gets pretty high and mighty and decides he should get whatever he wants and that doesn’t end well, although he repents and asks God’s forgiveness and he and God continue to have a good relationship. In the New Testament the Pharisees start to get too full of themselves and decide they’ve got it right so they miss the Messiah right under their noses.
All over the Bible, God is raising up the lowly and bringing low the mighty. Think of the Virgin Mary’s famous song The Magnificat, “You have cast the mighty down from their thrones and uplifted the humble of heart.” Isaiah says, “Prepare the way of the LORD, make his path’s straight. Every valley shall be lifted up and the mountains made low.” In seminary we learn that “God comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.” But aren’t we a mixture of these two things at all times and bouncing back and forth on a continuum.
I think the way to stay on the right track is to remember what we’re here for. God tells Abraham in Genesis that he will bless him and give him numerous offspring so that he will be a blessing to others. The sprout of the cedar tree grows up in order to bear fruit and in order for the birds to have a nice shady place to congregate and live. And the tiny mustard seed grows and spreads and puts forth large branches, not for its own sake but to shelter others, to house others, to protect others.
So whatever we do in this small but mighty church, we need to always be asking ourselves, is this for others? Does this give glory to God? Is this what God would have us do? Does this help someone? Will this make a difference in someone’s life? Will this enrich our neighborhood? How can we be the blessing God made us to be?
I got a survey call the other day and since Nick was at work, the baby was sleeping, and I was just cleaning kitchen cupboards anyway, I took the survey as I scrubbed. They asked what I thought of the American Dream. Did I believe in it? Did I think that if you worked hard enough you could have the good life? Did I think that my generation would live longer and make more money than our parents? No, no, and no. I’ve seen too many people working hard that got pretty much nowhere. My dad worked as hard as anyone I knew and didn’t make enough to keep his family off food stamps and then he’d come home and roof the house! My generation is the first that won’t live as long as our parents and many of whom still live at home, not for lack of trying but because there is nothing out there work-wise. I like the story of the underdog rising to the challenge and making it to the top, but I think it is more of the exception. Those of us who are small but mighty can use our gifts from God to help lift those who are small and staying small, to lift them to greater possibilities, that God would work through us to make high the low tree and help others achieve the small but mighty designation we’ve enjoyed so much.
Gospel: Mark 4:26-34
1st Reading: Ezekiel 17:22-24
Psalm 92:1-4, 12-15
2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 5:6-17
We all love a good story about how the underdog overcomes adversity, don’t we? The Little Engine that Could, It’s a Wonderful Life, The Bad News Bears. We root for the little Charlie Brown Christmas tree because we identify with that feeling of being small and sad, but hoping that we are wanted and that we can still be useful somehow, that someone would see something beautiful in us and take us home to shine. We love these stories of the small but mighty.
The Mustard Seed is that underdog story once again. The ancient Israelites identified with that story. They had started small, just Abraham looking up at the night sky, childless, alone, an underdog that God befriended and promised a turnaround to. God promised offspring as plentiful as the stars. These stories are all over in the Bible. The Israelites became oppressed by the Egyptians. They were the little guys, and yet somehow, with God’s help they escaped and made their way through the sea, while the Egyptian army drowned. This little band of nomads wound their way through the wilderness and time and again overcame adversity to prevail. And they marched on Jericho around the walls and against all odds this small but mighty band blew their horns and the walls fell. And little David, the youngest and smallest of all his brothers was chosen to become King—small but mighty. When the people of Isreal and Judah were taken into captivity by the Babylonians they eventually made their way home, a small but mighty group to rebuild the temple and begin repairing their relationship with God. And when Jesus came, he was a baby, so small, yet feared by Herod, and he grew up to do mighty miracles and healings. As he hung there on the cross he must have seemed so small again, and as he breathed his last and died, he must have seemed very small and weak indeed. How could such a mighty God, creator of the universe, walk in a temporary body of flesh and bones, aches and pains, all kinds of limits? How could that God give himself over, accept all that human life brings, and willingly die? Of course we know that he was raised in the most incredible miracle yet and came back to forgive those who betrayed him and draw all creation to himself. What was big is small and what was small is mighty.
This small but mighty description can also be used for this congregation, and has been. Our attendance numbers are small and our age numbers are big! This congregation has been through plenty of difficulties over the years: at least one flood, plenty of losses of pastors and members, difficulties paying the bills, low self-esteem, declines in children, arguments of different kinds.
Yet we don’t dwell on the negative here. There is more good that has gone on over the years—deep friendships have been built, children have been born and now grandchildren, ministry has thrived—the Westwood Guest House served homeless families under this roof for years, the pantry serves record numbers of families and empowers them with more than just food but with hope and friendship and love, people have grown in leadership, they have rested when they needed to, people have responded to the community needs in our neighborhood. Just because we’re a small congregation, doesn’t mean that God can’t work through us. In fact maybe it is just the opposite. Maybe because we are small, we have certain gifts that God can use to do ministry through us.
Because we are small, many of us know each other. We have a tight knit community. Because we are small, every person’s gifts are important. We’re calling every last one of you to get your time and talent survey completed because we can’t do our ministry without you. You are necessary in God’s plan! No one is left out. Because we are small, we can identify with the vulnerable and weak and small groups in our neighborhood that really need help. We can notice them because they are like us and we can value them because we know God has a plan to work through them, too.
So here we are, small and mighty. If there is one pitfall to look out for, I see it in the first reading. It says in verse 24, “I will bring low the high tree, and I make high the low tree.” So far this reversal works in our favor. But we want to make sure we don’t get on our high horse, that we don’t get high and mighty about who we are, that we don’t begin to worship ourselves instead of God, that we don’t decide we’ve arrived and doing everything right because we’re small but mighty. “Pride comes before the fall,” right?
That kind of thing is all over in scripture, too. As Israel grows, people start forgetting about the widow and the orphan. They get too caught up in their military conquests. They get too proud, and they are brought low as army after army crushes them until they become small again and remember how much they need God. King David gets pretty high and mighty and decides he should get whatever he wants and that doesn’t end well, although he repents and asks God’s forgiveness and he and God continue to have a good relationship. In the New Testament the Pharisees start to get too full of themselves and decide they’ve got it right so they miss the Messiah right under their noses.
All over the Bible, God is raising up the lowly and bringing low the mighty. Think of the Virgin Mary’s famous song The Magnificat, “You have cast the mighty down from their thrones and uplifted the humble of heart.” Isaiah says, “Prepare the way of the LORD, make his path’s straight. Every valley shall be lifted up and the mountains made low.” In seminary we learn that “God comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.” But aren’t we a mixture of these two things at all times and bouncing back and forth on a continuum.
I think the way to stay on the right track is to remember what we’re here for. God tells Abraham in Genesis that he will bless him and give him numerous offspring so that he will be a blessing to others. The sprout of the cedar tree grows up in order to bear fruit and in order for the birds to have a nice shady place to congregate and live. And the tiny mustard seed grows and spreads and puts forth large branches, not for its own sake but to shelter others, to house others, to protect others.
So whatever we do in this small but mighty church, we need to always be asking ourselves, is this for others? Does this give glory to God? Is this what God would have us do? Does this help someone? Will this make a difference in someone’s life? Will this enrich our neighborhood? How can we be the blessing God made us to be?
I got a survey call the other day and since Nick was at work, the baby was sleeping, and I was just cleaning kitchen cupboards anyway, I took the survey as I scrubbed. They asked what I thought of the American Dream. Did I believe in it? Did I think that if you worked hard enough you could have the good life? Did I think that my generation would live longer and make more money than our parents? No, no, and no. I’ve seen too many people working hard that got pretty much nowhere. My dad worked as hard as anyone I knew and didn’t make enough to keep his family off food stamps and then he’d come home and roof the house! My generation is the first that won’t live as long as our parents and many of whom still live at home, not for lack of trying but because there is nothing out there work-wise. I like the story of the underdog rising to the challenge and making it to the top, but I think it is more of the exception. Those of us who are small but mighty can use our gifts from God to help lift those who are small and staying small, to lift them to greater possibilities, that God would work through us to make high the low tree and help others achieve the small but mighty designation we’ve enjoyed so much.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Sermon for June 10, 2012
June 10, 2012
Gospel: Mark 3:20-35
1st Reading: Genesis 3:8-15
Psalm 130
2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1
The favorite game at our house these days is, of course, peek-a-boo. We play “This little piggy,” and I just pulled “Wiggle fingers, wiggles toes” out of my dusty memory bank. We’re trying to think of all the little toddler games we can, to save the adults from boredom. But even if we never played another game, Sterling would be perfectly happy with peek-a-boo. We have a lot of variations of it. We play it behind our hands, behind appliances and doors, and from beneath the high chair tray. We play it with blankets and clothes. Even the puppets play it with the baby.
Peek-a-boo can be found in cultures around the world, a game of hiding and reappearing to show that something isn’t gone forever just because it is out of sight. I would even say that we have a game of peek-a-boo in the Bible here, maybe the first game of peek-a-boo.
The human is hiding in the garden behind some trees. This isn’t a game for amusement. I suppose that Adam thinks if he is out of sight, maybe God won’t remember that he exists. Maybe God won’t ask him what he’s been up to. Maybe God won’t see what he’s done or how vulnerable and naked he is. Adam hopes that out of sight is out of mind for God.
But God, like many parents, knows that it is too quiet in the garden. When the humans get too quiet something is going on. So God goes walking in the garden, looking for them, calling for them, and asking, “Where are you?”
Adam can’t resist answering. He doesn’t really say where he is. He’s not very sophisticated at giving excuses. “I was hiding because I was afraid of you, God,” He says. “I just realized I don’t have any clothes on and that was embarrassing.”
God knows exactly what has happened, that Adam has done exactly what God told him not to. It creates a rift between Adam and God. Adam is hiding from his loving creator and is afraid of God. Adam is not approaching God as someone trustworthy, like a loving father. Adam and Eve have a rift between them. Adam has blamed his wife. She’s not going to trust him, again. He’s thrown her under the bus. Humankind and the animals have a rift between them. Eve blames the serpent. “The snake made me do it!” What was once in harmony and balance is now broken and one break makes another and another until it all is unraveling. Now not only are Adam and Eve out of balance with God and creation, but their children will be, too!
What a mess! Here is the fall of human kind in a few short paragraphs, the explanation of when it all started to go wrong and why it can never be right again. Here we are, about 6000 years later, broken from each other, families divided, unfaithful to God, destroying nature.
This is supposed to be the story that backs up the church’s teaching on original sin. This is the teaching that we as human beings are inherently sinful from birth. It isn’t that we sin as babies, but that we are by nature sinful and that as part of the human family we are broken or imperfect. I see it more as that we are born into a sinful society. We will be taught to sin as part of our training as human beings and none of us escapes it.
Betsy has told me many times as she gazes at my little baby, and even before he was born or was ever thought of, that she doesn’t believe in original sin, but she prefers to believe in original grace.
That we are all born in a state of grace seems pretty obvious to me. When God created us, God called us “very good.” All of creation is good. We are made in God’s image and likeness. We are God’s precious children. We are amazing miracles—how our parents’ DNA came together to form us, how our cells divided, that we survived the womb, that we were born and live at this time in a particular place, how we developed completely unique from any other, all that we accomplished and all that we are, that we love, that we give, that we bear children and that they bear grandchildren, that they love, that they create, that they help others. It is extending grace, straight from God, to family, to friends, then to neighbors, and enemies. It is original grace and it is expanding.
But original grace doesn’t mean that it is always easy or happy. We have to admit doing things we regret. We have to admit the general broken nature of our society and world. We have to admit hiding from God. Or maybe we don’t have to admit anything and like Adam or Eve, we just blame someone else for everything that we did to bring shame on ourselves, for all our unjust acts, for all our hiding, for all our misunderstandings and hurts. Whether we accept it or deny it, we have deep wounds and separations from God, one another, and nature. This is what I call sin. Not sins or individual acts of wrong, but sin, a state of separation and division.
Even Jesus felt this separation. He felt it with his family who misunderstood him and thought he was crazy. They didn’t get him. It must have really hurt to have them come to get him and try to whisk him away, to try to undo all his hard work. In their minds they were being helpful. They were trying to protect him.
Jesus felt this separation from those who accused him of having a demon. He tried to explain it logically. Yet people continued to demonize him. They discredited everything he said by attributing it to a demon. It was an easy way to get him dismissed so no one would believe him.
It seems that humans have a fascination with eternal sins. The Roman Catholic Church has named the seven deadly sins. Like the dwarves, I can almost never name them all. Stuff like murder and gluttony gets put in a special category, even though it isn’t Biblical. Maybe we’re like teenagers who want to know if there is one thing we could do to get our parents to stop loving us. Maybe we want to know where that line is so we can push it to find out just how much our parents love us, or how much God loves us.
So here we have it, according to the Gospel, there is only one deadly sin and this is the only Gospel to mention it, which makes it suspect in my mind whether Jesus really said it or not. But it is here nonetheless—the one thing Jesus ever said we could do that would be unforgivable, and that is to blaspheme against the Holy Spirit. Do we even know what it is that he’s talking about so that we would be sure not to do it? It seems that calling something of God something of the devil since that is what these scribes seem to have done. What Jesus is doing is good and of God. They say it is of the devil or Satan.
Jesus makes it clear that all our sins are deadly. That even our thoughts will be counted against us. But we all sin and fall short of the glory of God, and God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world but so that the entire world might be saved through him. I am imagining that Mark’s community was experiencing some people being pretty judgmental and dictating what was of God and what was of Satan in an unhelpful way. He wants us to take special care when we judge and maybe not judge at all. What is of the Spirit might not be obvious. It might not be what we expect it to be. We should reserve judgment and not rush to label something good or evil. Instead we can stop and try to see the good in someone else.
So can we all agree that we are created good? And can we all agree that we have sin, or brokenness in our lives? And we, like Adam, hide and blame, and try to wriggle out of it. We are ashamed. We are hurting. We hurt others trying to hide and avoid responsibility for our actions.
And God comes walking in the garden. I love the detail about the time of the evening breeze. And God calls out to us and asks us, “Where are you?” God is still seeking us, wanting to be in relationship with us. God wants us to approach him even though we’ve done wrong. God wants to welcome us into God’s family even with all our flaws.
Jesus meant what he said when he called us all family, mother, and brothers, and sisters. He loved us so much that he gave his life, that instead of hiding behind a tree, he hung there naked upon one, and suffered the consequences of all our sin and brokenness, put it out there for us all to see. But he wasn’t ashamed of us. He didn’t put us out of sight and abandon us as would have been his right based on how we treated him and each other and God’s creation. We thought he was gone forever in the grave, but God raised him up to give us new life and to show us that family is forever, that though we hide, God will search for us and find us, that God’s love will find us, wherever we are.
Gospel: Mark 3:20-35
1st Reading: Genesis 3:8-15
Psalm 130
2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1
The favorite game at our house these days is, of course, peek-a-boo. We play “This little piggy,” and I just pulled “Wiggle fingers, wiggles toes” out of my dusty memory bank. We’re trying to think of all the little toddler games we can, to save the adults from boredom. But even if we never played another game, Sterling would be perfectly happy with peek-a-boo. We have a lot of variations of it. We play it behind our hands, behind appliances and doors, and from beneath the high chair tray. We play it with blankets and clothes. Even the puppets play it with the baby.
Peek-a-boo can be found in cultures around the world, a game of hiding and reappearing to show that something isn’t gone forever just because it is out of sight. I would even say that we have a game of peek-a-boo in the Bible here, maybe the first game of peek-a-boo.
The human is hiding in the garden behind some trees. This isn’t a game for amusement. I suppose that Adam thinks if he is out of sight, maybe God won’t remember that he exists. Maybe God won’t ask him what he’s been up to. Maybe God won’t see what he’s done or how vulnerable and naked he is. Adam hopes that out of sight is out of mind for God.
But God, like many parents, knows that it is too quiet in the garden. When the humans get too quiet something is going on. So God goes walking in the garden, looking for them, calling for them, and asking, “Where are you?”
Adam can’t resist answering. He doesn’t really say where he is. He’s not very sophisticated at giving excuses. “I was hiding because I was afraid of you, God,” He says. “I just realized I don’t have any clothes on and that was embarrassing.”
God knows exactly what has happened, that Adam has done exactly what God told him not to. It creates a rift between Adam and God. Adam is hiding from his loving creator and is afraid of God. Adam is not approaching God as someone trustworthy, like a loving father. Adam and Eve have a rift between them. Adam has blamed his wife. She’s not going to trust him, again. He’s thrown her under the bus. Humankind and the animals have a rift between them. Eve blames the serpent. “The snake made me do it!” What was once in harmony and balance is now broken and one break makes another and another until it all is unraveling. Now not only are Adam and Eve out of balance with God and creation, but their children will be, too!
What a mess! Here is the fall of human kind in a few short paragraphs, the explanation of when it all started to go wrong and why it can never be right again. Here we are, about 6000 years later, broken from each other, families divided, unfaithful to God, destroying nature.
This is supposed to be the story that backs up the church’s teaching on original sin. This is the teaching that we as human beings are inherently sinful from birth. It isn’t that we sin as babies, but that we are by nature sinful and that as part of the human family we are broken or imperfect. I see it more as that we are born into a sinful society. We will be taught to sin as part of our training as human beings and none of us escapes it.
Betsy has told me many times as she gazes at my little baby, and even before he was born or was ever thought of, that she doesn’t believe in original sin, but she prefers to believe in original grace.
That we are all born in a state of grace seems pretty obvious to me. When God created us, God called us “very good.” All of creation is good. We are made in God’s image and likeness. We are God’s precious children. We are amazing miracles—how our parents’ DNA came together to form us, how our cells divided, that we survived the womb, that we were born and live at this time in a particular place, how we developed completely unique from any other, all that we accomplished and all that we are, that we love, that we give, that we bear children and that they bear grandchildren, that they love, that they create, that they help others. It is extending grace, straight from God, to family, to friends, then to neighbors, and enemies. It is original grace and it is expanding.
But original grace doesn’t mean that it is always easy or happy. We have to admit doing things we regret. We have to admit the general broken nature of our society and world. We have to admit hiding from God. Or maybe we don’t have to admit anything and like Adam or Eve, we just blame someone else for everything that we did to bring shame on ourselves, for all our unjust acts, for all our hiding, for all our misunderstandings and hurts. Whether we accept it or deny it, we have deep wounds and separations from God, one another, and nature. This is what I call sin. Not sins or individual acts of wrong, but sin, a state of separation and division.
Even Jesus felt this separation. He felt it with his family who misunderstood him and thought he was crazy. They didn’t get him. It must have really hurt to have them come to get him and try to whisk him away, to try to undo all his hard work. In their minds they were being helpful. They were trying to protect him.
Jesus felt this separation from those who accused him of having a demon. He tried to explain it logically. Yet people continued to demonize him. They discredited everything he said by attributing it to a demon. It was an easy way to get him dismissed so no one would believe him.
It seems that humans have a fascination with eternal sins. The Roman Catholic Church has named the seven deadly sins. Like the dwarves, I can almost never name them all. Stuff like murder and gluttony gets put in a special category, even though it isn’t Biblical. Maybe we’re like teenagers who want to know if there is one thing we could do to get our parents to stop loving us. Maybe we want to know where that line is so we can push it to find out just how much our parents love us, or how much God loves us.
So here we have it, according to the Gospel, there is only one deadly sin and this is the only Gospel to mention it, which makes it suspect in my mind whether Jesus really said it or not. But it is here nonetheless—the one thing Jesus ever said we could do that would be unforgivable, and that is to blaspheme against the Holy Spirit. Do we even know what it is that he’s talking about so that we would be sure not to do it? It seems that calling something of God something of the devil since that is what these scribes seem to have done. What Jesus is doing is good and of God. They say it is of the devil or Satan.
Jesus makes it clear that all our sins are deadly. That even our thoughts will be counted against us. But we all sin and fall short of the glory of God, and God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world but so that the entire world might be saved through him. I am imagining that Mark’s community was experiencing some people being pretty judgmental and dictating what was of God and what was of Satan in an unhelpful way. He wants us to take special care when we judge and maybe not judge at all. What is of the Spirit might not be obvious. It might not be what we expect it to be. We should reserve judgment and not rush to label something good or evil. Instead we can stop and try to see the good in someone else.
So can we all agree that we are created good? And can we all agree that we have sin, or brokenness in our lives? And we, like Adam, hide and blame, and try to wriggle out of it. We are ashamed. We are hurting. We hurt others trying to hide and avoid responsibility for our actions.
And God comes walking in the garden. I love the detail about the time of the evening breeze. And God calls out to us and asks us, “Where are you?” God is still seeking us, wanting to be in relationship with us. God wants us to approach him even though we’ve done wrong. God wants to welcome us into God’s family even with all our flaws.
Jesus meant what he said when he called us all family, mother, and brothers, and sisters. He loved us so much that he gave his life, that instead of hiding behind a tree, he hung there naked upon one, and suffered the consequences of all our sin and brokenness, put it out there for us all to see. But he wasn’t ashamed of us. He didn’t put us out of sight and abandon us as would have been his right based on how we treated him and each other and God’s creation. We thought he was gone forever in the grave, but God raised him up to give us new life and to show us that family is forever, that though we hide, God will search for us and find us, that God’s love will find us, wherever we are.
Sermon for Holy Trinity Sunday 2012
June 3, 2012
Gospel: John 3:1-17
1st Reading: Isaiah 6:1-8
Psalm 29
2nd Reading: Romans 8:12-17
In this sermon I take on the perspective of Nicodemus who visits Jesus in the Gospel for this morning.
I am Nicodemus and I am an important, religious man. I always knew I would be a Pharisee like my father. We were getting tired of the Saducees. They were the priests who lorded over everyone, who spoke long prayers in the marketplaces to be noticed, and wore fine clothes and sat at the best tables. They were rich and used religion to get richer. We, Pharisees, were from a poor class. We were more flexible in our understanding of scripture—more understanding and merciful. We felt we were getting it right—or at least more right than others around us.
I had experienced God often. I spent much of my time praying at the temple and conducting meetings there. I always made my sacrifices and said my prayers. My family and I kept the Sabbath. We remembered the stories of how God had chosen our people, rescued us and brought us through the wilderness. We remembered how God saved us from the Babylonians and helped us get back on track as a people, worshiping God alone. We felt God with our people leading us forward, giving us laws to order our community, and helping us to be compassionate.
My grandfathers had known God in the house churches in Babylon, where they yearned for home, living among the pagans. They kept the faith strong. Many times, God was present when others said it was impossible away from the temple. But God was there, speaking through prophets and teachers, giving my family food and everything we needed. We lost many people we loved, but we always had God with us. God always keeps his promises and he led us back home again.
In the temple, I also experienced God, so majestic I almost can’t describe. Those tall pillars give the person praying a sense of being so small. The arc of the covenant was kept in its own secret room, behind many layers of curtains. That was to protect us from the power of God. If we were to behold God’s majesty we would be destroyed just by the intensity of it. Many times as I worshiped, I could almost feel that room pulsating with energy and life. So mysterious, so large, so far away—God the creator of the universe right here in our midst, and we bringing our feeble voices to pray and praise and offering a little gold, or a lamb or ox, a handful of grain or a flask of oil. Here we were coming together, heaven and earth, in one place, God and humankind in this temple. We came together, infinitely large and infinitesimal itty-bitty. We came together, the wise all-powerful creator and the cringing dim-wit. It was so humbling.
I’d watch the torches reflecting on the walls and think of the pillar of fire that guided the Israelites through the night. I thought of the fires that have cooked our food. I heard the crackle and wondered what kind of crackle the burning bush made as Moses stood before it, barefoot and bewildered, explaining to the great “I AM” that his speech impediment wouldn’t allow him to address the Pharaoh and that the people would never listen to him.
I heard the prayers and thought of how God’s mighty voice boomed over the waters of creation and spoke each star into being, every river, every plant, the sun and moon, the animals, and finally humankind. What are our little voices next to the creating voice of God?
I had experienced the power of God, and yet something was still missing. I was curious when I heard of Jesus. He and I studied in the same kind of schools. I heard of his miracles. But unlike many of the others, he did the miracles for others. He didn’t make a big deal of himself. He used his powers to help other people besides himself. That really made me curious. I wanted to be like that. I wanted to help other people.
I didn’t think my buddies would approve of my curiosity. They were pretty comfortable with the status quo. So I went by myself. And why make a scene, so I went in the evening.
I started out by buttering him up. “You’re pretty amazing,” I said. “You must be from God, you’re that amazing.” Jesus said something then that was confusing. He said we can’t experience God’s kingdom without being born in a different way. Well this sounded like the Babylonian cult goddess of fertility. A God giving birth? Yahweh was the creator of everything and in that way had given birth to all that we know, but he had done it through words and breath. This talk about giving birth was kind of embarrassing to me and seemed like women’s talk. So I asked him, “What are you talking about? Old people don’t grow in wombs and get pushed out into this world all wet and crying.”
But he said, “Birth can take many forms. There is always something being born in us. We are always learning and growing. God is always creating something new with us. Let God create something new with you. Let God give birth to you.”
I am not proud, but I said, “What are you talking about, Jesus?” I just didn’t have a clue. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation. I was going to ask where he studied. I was going to pick his brain. But instead he puzzled me with words I haven’t stopped thinking about since.
He said I was stuck in the concrete world, but there is more to life than that. There is eternal life and that God wanted to give that to all of us—the people, the animals, the water and plants, the planets and moon and stars. God sent a messenger, his son, to gather it all together for eternity.
I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I couldn’t take much more in. So I went away to ponder Jesus’ words. I slowly started to put some of the pieces together like clues in a great mystery. People were saying Jesus was God’s son. And when I heard that he had been crucified, I remembered that he said there was more to life than this concrete world. And so I went with Joseph of Arimethea to claim his body, to see what more there might be. Jesus had been tortured and he had been pierced in the side, and blood and water had flowed from this wound. And I thought of how he said we must be born from water and the spirit. How he must have suffered! Was it all for nothing or was something new to be born from this horrible death?
In my life I have known the presence of a majestic God, creator of the universe. When I met Jesus, did I meet God treating me like a brother, giving me so much to think about and encouragement to find new meaning and new birth? Did I sit and have a conversation with God, no big pillars needed or smoke or sacrifices? And does the Holy Spirit of God breathe new life in me, creating me anew everyday, making me a part of community with all of creation? God holy and majestic, so far away. God my brother, one who challenged me by his words, the kind of life he lived, and the death he died. God as close as my breath, within me and around me, in everyone I meet. Yet not three Gods but one, with different functions, offering different experiences to this beloved creation.
Maybe I will never understand and the Pharisee in me wants to understand. Maybe I can live in the mystery of this mult-faceted, mult-layered, interesting God and use my life to give him glory so that many can know rebirth and new life and God’s kingdom.
Gospel: John 3:1-17
1st Reading: Isaiah 6:1-8
Psalm 29
2nd Reading: Romans 8:12-17
In this sermon I take on the perspective of Nicodemus who visits Jesus in the Gospel for this morning.
I am Nicodemus and I am an important, religious man. I always knew I would be a Pharisee like my father. We were getting tired of the Saducees. They were the priests who lorded over everyone, who spoke long prayers in the marketplaces to be noticed, and wore fine clothes and sat at the best tables. They were rich and used religion to get richer. We, Pharisees, were from a poor class. We were more flexible in our understanding of scripture—more understanding and merciful. We felt we were getting it right—or at least more right than others around us.
I had experienced God often. I spent much of my time praying at the temple and conducting meetings there. I always made my sacrifices and said my prayers. My family and I kept the Sabbath. We remembered the stories of how God had chosen our people, rescued us and brought us through the wilderness. We remembered how God saved us from the Babylonians and helped us get back on track as a people, worshiping God alone. We felt God with our people leading us forward, giving us laws to order our community, and helping us to be compassionate.
My grandfathers had known God in the house churches in Babylon, where they yearned for home, living among the pagans. They kept the faith strong. Many times, God was present when others said it was impossible away from the temple. But God was there, speaking through prophets and teachers, giving my family food and everything we needed. We lost many people we loved, but we always had God with us. God always keeps his promises and he led us back home again.
In the temple, I also experienced God, so majestic I almost can’t describe. Those tall pillars give the person praying a sense of being so small. The arc of the covenant was kept in its own secret room, behind many layers of curtains. That was to protect us from the power of God. If we were to behold God’s majesty we would be destroyed just by the intensity of it. Many times as I worshiped, I could almost feel that room pulsating with energy and life. So mysterious, so large, so far away—God the creator of the universe right here in our midst, and we bringing our feeble voices to pray and praise and offering a little gold, or a lamb or ox, a handful of grain or a flask of oil. Here we were coming together, heaven and earth, in one place, God and humankind in this temple. We came together, infinitely large and infinitesimal itty-bitty. We came together, the wise all-powerful creator and the cringing dim-wit. It was so humbling.
I’d watch the torches reflecting on the walls and think of the pillar of fire that guided the Israelites through the night. I thought of the fires that have cooked our food. I heard the crackle and wondered what kind of crackle the burning bush made as Moses stood before it, barefoot and bewildered, explaining to the great “I AM” that his speech impediment wouldn’t allow him to address the Pharaoh and that the people would never listen to him.
I heard the prayers and thought of how God’s mighty voice boomed over the waters of creation and spoke each star into being, every river, every plant, the sun and moon, the animals, and finally humankind. What are our little voices next to the creating voice of God?
I had experienced the power of God, and yet something was still missing. I was curious when I heard of Jesus. He and I studied in the same kind of schools. I heard of his miracles. But unlike many of the others, he did the miracles for others. He didn’t make a big deal of himself. He used his powers to help other people besides himself. That really made me curious. I wanted to be like that. I wanted to help other people.
I didn’t think my buddies would approve of my curiosity. They were pretty comfortable with the status quo. So I went by myself. And why make a scene, so I went in the evening.
I started out by buttering him up. “You’re pretty amazing,” I said. “You must be from God, you’re that amazing.” Jesus said something then that was confusing. He said we can’t experience God’s kingdom without being born in a different way. Well this sounded like the Babylonian cult goddess of fertility. A God giving birth? Yahweh was the creator of everything and in that way had given birth to all that we know, but he had done it through words and breath. This talk about giving birth was kind of embarrassing to me and seemed like women’s talk. So I asked him, “What are you talking about? Old people don’t grow in wombs and get pushed out into this world all wet and crying.”
But he said, “Birth can take many forms. There is always something being born in us. We are always learning and growing. God is always creating something new with us. Let God create something new with you. Let God give birth to you.”
I am not proud, but I said, “What are you talking about, Jesus?” I just didn’t have a clue. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation. I was going to ask where he studied. I was going to pick his brain. But instead he puzzled me with words I haven’t stopped thinking about since.
He said I was stuck in the concrete world, but there is more to life than that. There is eternal life and that God wanted to give that to all of us—the people, the animals, the water and plants, the planets and moon and stars. God sent a messenger, his son, to gather it all together for eternity.
I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I couldn’t take much more in. So I went away to ponder Jesus’ words. I slowly started to put some of the pieces together like clues in a great mystery. People were saying Jesus was God’s son. And when I heard that he had been crucified, I remembered that he said there was more to life than this concrete world. And so I went with Joseph of Arimethea to claim his body, to see what more there might be. Jesus had been tortured and he had been pierced in the side, and blood and water had flowed from this wound. And I thought of how he said we must be born from water and the spirit. How he must have suffered! Was it all for nothing or was something new to be born from this horrible death?
In my life I have known the presence of a majestic God, creator of the universe. When I met Jesus, did I meet God treating me like a brother, giving me so much to think about and encouragement to find new meaning and new birth? Did I sit and have a conversation with God, no big pillars needed or smoke or sacrifices? And does the Holy Spirit of God breathe new life in me, creating me anew everyday, making me a part of community with all of creation? God holy and majestic, so far away. God my brother, one who challenged me by his words, the kind of life he lived, and the death he died. God as close as my breath, within me and around me, in everyone I meet. Yet not three Gods but one, with different functions, offering different experiences to this beloved creation.
Maybe I will never understand and the Pharisee in me wants to understand. Maybe I can live in the mystery of this mult-faceted, mult-layered, interesting God and use my life to give him glory so that many can know rebirth and new life and God’s kingdom.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Sermon for Pentecost Sunday 2012
May 27, 2012
Gospel: John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15
1st Reading: Acts 2:1-21
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
2nd Reading: Romans 8:22-27
According to 1 Corinthians 12, “With regard to spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed… To each person the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the benefit of all. For one person is given through the Spirit the message of wisdom, and another the message of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, and to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another performance of miracles, to another prophecy, and to another discernment of spirits, to another different kinds of tongues, and to another the interpretation of tongues. It is one and the same Spirit, distributing as he decides to each person, who produces all these things.” I quote you this portion of the Bible because it has to do with today’s readings from Acts when the Holy Spirit came upon the Disciples and they started speaking in tongues.
I have to admit that speaking in tongues is not my favorite of the spiritual gifts. You won’t find anyone signed up today to speak in tongues and to share that gift with us this morning. It isn’t found anywhere on our time and talent survey, but maybe we should throw it in there to make sure you are paying attention. With my luck you’d sign up for it. I’ve heard people speak in tongues and it just sounds like babbling to me. I don’t see who it helps or what the use of it is, so I don’t really see any need for it.
Reading the story from Acts makes tongues make more sense. On that day it was about sharing the message far and wide, about speaking so that people could understand in their native language. Part of me has to wonder if in this story time is compressed, so what really took many years is collapsed into one day. The Holy Spirit came. The people were on fire for the Gospel. They learned the languages of the surrounding people and shared the good news with people of every nation. In this case, speaking in tongues makes sense, because it is a tool for people to share the Gospel. It isn’t the babbling it has become, but real languages that are used the share the good news.
Part of the miracle of Pentecost is the speaking in tongues, but the other part of the miracle is in the hearing of it. The Gospel said the Galilean disciples spoke in other languages. Amazing! But perhaps even more amazing is that there was someone there to hear it and receive it. If you have known what it feels like to truly be heard, you know what a miracle that is. Listening is an art. More than a dozen years ago, I took an active listening class in college. There is so much more to listening than just hearing. We may hear sounds, but in listening we also pick up on body language and many other nonverbal cues, tone of voice, pauses, little clicks of the tongue, volume, enunciation, and so on.
We always hope that in committed relationship, a couple truly listens to each other. But that takes practice. When you come home at night and share about your day, do you look each other in the eye, or do you share while you’re watching TV, reading the paper, or cleaning up after dinner. When you stop and devote that time to sharing and listening, when you look each other in the eye, doesn’t it make a huge difference? I know it has for us in our family.
We can shout the good news from the rooftops and tell people about God’s love, but it won’t do any good unless there is someone there to listen and receive. And you can’t force someone to listen. The best thing to do is to listen to them. Build a relationship. Don’t do it because you’re going to fix their life with the good news of God’s love. Listen because they are precious. Listen to them because they are interesting and unique and special. Listen with curiosity about the language they speak. It might not be Spanish or Russian, or maybe it is, but I’m talking about the kind of language they use about what is meaningful for them or what gives them joy. Stop, look in their eyes, hear the words, the stories, the pain and the hope. Learn their language because they are a precious child of God. And someday they might ask you about where you get your faith and what it means to you and that is a good time to share your experience. And you’ll probably find that they’ve already shared God’s love with you in the friendship you share.
God’s message needs people to share it and people to listen to it, or receive it. We find ourselves in both rolls all the time. We need to constantly hear it. That’s why we read the Bible, do our daily devotions, pray at mealtimes, go to prayer group, volunteer, etc. And we need to constantly share it, so that our lives reflect God’s love. The Holy Spirit is more than just carrying Jesus in my heart. The Holy Spirit is carried between us. It takes a sharing to involve the Holy Spirit. That’s why the Bible says, “Whenever two or more are gathered in my name.” God is between us, to be given away and to be received. An individual experiences God in relationship with another. We experience God in our interactions with other people. We, who are the Christians, find that others are sharing God with us, when we thought it was our job to share God with them.
There were a few years in my home congregation when the organist would ring a bell during the words of institution leading up to Holy Communion. The pastor would quote Jesus and say, “Do this in remembrance of me.” And the little bell would ring. I thought it was a little cheesy. I would elbow my mom and snicker, “Here comes the Holy Spirit.” She would always glare at me for being snarky. I’ve come to believe that the miracle of the Lord’s Supper, the point when the Holy Spirit swoops in, is in the sharing of it. I try to make eye contact if people are willing. I try to see each person as I hand them the bread. I hold them in a little prayer. I say the words, “The body of Christ, given for you.” And I feel blessed back. The Holy Spirit stands between us at that moment, a miracle transforming us, connecting us and connecting this congregation, and other congregations, and our neighborhood, farther than we can imagine.
And you don’t have to wait for Holy Communion to share the Holy Spirit. That can be translated to any interaction between people. Take a moment to look in the eyes of the person who holds the door for you at the store, or your checker, or the guy holding the sign on the street. Look in the eyes of the pantry client and ask them with genuine curiosity how they are doing. Stop and take the time to let the Holy Spirit do her work. The Holy Spirit is something that happens between people that connects us to each other and to God and transforms our lives into ones of love.
Gospel: John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15
1st Reading: Acts 2:1-21
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
2nd Reading: Romans 8:22-27
According to 1 Corinthians 12, “With regard to spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed… To each person the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the benefit of all. For one person is given through the Spirit the message of wisdom, and another the message of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, and to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another performance of miracles, to another prophecy, and to another discernment of spirits, to another different kinds of tongues, and to another the interpretation of tongues. It is one and the same Spirit, distributing as he decides to each person, who produces all these things.” I quote you this portion of the Bible because it has to do with today’s readings from Acts when the Holy Spirit came upon the Disciples and they started speaking in tongues.
I have to admit that speaking in tongues is not my favorite of the spiritual gifts. You won’t find anyone signed up today to speak in tongues and to share that gift with us this morning. It isn’t found anywhere on our time and talent survey, but maybe we should throw it in there to make sure you are paying attention. With my luck you’d sign up for it. I’ve heard people speak in tongues and it just sounds like babbling to me. I don’t see who it helps or what the use of it is, so I don’t really see any need for it.
Reading the story from Acts makes tongues make more sense. On that day it was about sharing the message far and wide, about speaking so that people could understand in their native language. Part of me has to wonder if in this story time is compressed, so what really took many years is collapsed into one day. The Holy Spirit came. The people were on fire for the Gospel. They learned the languages of the surrounding people and shared the good news with people of every nation. In this case, speaking in tongues makes sense, because it is a tool for people to share the Gospel. It isn’t the babbling it has become, but real languages that are used the share the good news.
Part of the miracle of Pentecost is the speaking in tongues, but the other part of the miracle is in the hearing of it. The Gospel said the Galilean disciples spoke in other languages. Amazing! But perhaps even more amazing is that there was someone there to hear it and receive it. If you have known what it feels like to truly be heard, you know what a miracle that is. Listening is an art. More than a dozen years ago, I took an active listening class in college. There is so much more to listening than just hearing. We may hear sounds, but in listening we also pick up on body language and many other nonverbal cues, tone of voice, pauses, little clicks of the tongue, volume, enunciation, and so on.
We always hope that in committed relationship, a couple truly listens to each other. But that takes practice. When you come home at night and share about your day, do you look each other in the eye, or do you share while you’re watching TV, reading the paper, or cleaning up after dinner. When you stop and devote that time to sharing and listening, when you look each other in the eye, doesn’t it make a huge difference? I know it has for us in our family.
We can shout the good news from the rooftops and tell people about God’s love, but it won’t do any good unless there is someone there to listen and receive. And you can’t force someone to listen. The best thing to do is to listen to them. Build a relationship. Don’t do it because you’re going to fix their life with the good news of God’s love. Listen because they are precious. Listen to them because they are interesting and unique and special. Listen with curiosity about the language they speak. It might not be Spanish or Russian, or maybe it is, but I’m talking about the kind of language they use about what is meaningful for them or what gives them joy. Stop, look in their eyes, hear the words, the stories, the pain and the hope. Learn their language because they are a precious child of God. And someday they might ask you about where you get your faith and what it means to you and that is a good time to share your experience. And you’ll probably find that they’ve already shared God’s love with you in the friendship you share.
God’s message needs people to share it and people to listen to it, or receive it. We find ourselves in both rolls all the time. We need to constantly hear it. That’s why we read the Bible, do our daily devotions, pray at mealtimes, go to prayer group, volunteer, etc. And we need to constantly share it, so that our lives reflect God’s love. The Holy Spirit is more than just carrying Jesus in my heart. The Holy Spirit is carried between us. It takes a sharing to involve the Holy Spirit. That’s why the Bible says, “Whenever two or more are gathered in my name.” God is between us, to be given away and to be received. An individual experiences God in relationship with another. We experience God in our interactions with other people. We, who are the Christians, find that others are sharing God with us, when we thought it was our job to share God with them.
There were a few years in my home congregation when the organist would ring a bell during the words of institution leading up to Holy Communion. The pastor would quote Jesus and say, “Do this in remembrance of me.” And the little bell would ring. I thought it was a little cheesy. I would elbow my mom and snicker, “Here comes the Holy Spirit.” She would always glare at me for being snarky. I’ve come to believe that the miracle of the Lord’s Supper, the point when the Holy Spirit swoops in, is in the sharing of it. I try to make eye contact if people are willing. I try to see each person as I hand them the bread. I hold them in a little prayer. I say the words, “The body of Christ, given for you.” And I feel blessed back. The Holy Spirit stands between us at that moment, a miracle transforming us, connecting us and connecting this congregation, and other congregations, and our neighborhood, farther than we can imagine.
And you don’t have to wait for Holy Communion to share the Holy Spirit. That can be translated to any interaction between people. Take a moment to look in the eyes of the person who holds the door for you at the store, or your checker, or the guy holding the sign on the street. Look in the eyes of the pantry client and ask them with genuine curiosity how they are doing. Stop and take the time to let the Holy Spirit do her work. The Holy Spirit is something that happens between people that connects us to each other and to God and transforms our lives into ones of love.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Sermon for May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012
Gospel: John 15:9-17
1st Reading: Acts 10:44-48
Psalm 98
2nd Reading: 1 John 5:1-6
“Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people?” This is basically the same question we had in last week’s lesson when the Ethiopian Eunuch asks, “Here is some water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?”
The answer to these questions might not be so obvious. “Can anyone withhold water for baptizing?” The answer to the question in the early Christian church would have been yes. And to the question, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” the answer might well be, “Everything!”
There was a debate going on at the time about whether you had to follow the Jewish laws to be Christian or whether Gentiles could be Christian, too. So far the Christian church had been made up of all Jewish people. To follow Jesus, you had to be circumcised, follow the dietary laws, follow all the holiness laws about washing and sacrificing, etc. So as Christianity was forming, it was thought by many that you’d need to follow all the Jewish laws, too. Jesus, himself, said, “I have come not to abolish the law but to fulfill the law.”
So for Gentiles to try to sign on and be baptized, it would have been out of the question for most. And for an Ethiopian Eunuch to ask to be baptized and what could possibly prevent that, early Christians would have said that many things prevented it including his race, his damaged state as a Eunuch, his lack of understanding of scripture, and his lack of community to share in his faith.
And I don’t know if we are any better about this today. Certainly we don’t ask people whether they are circumcised before agreeing to baptize them, or if they eat pork or made a sacrifice or anything. But I fear what we do with baptism in the Christian church. We make it too easy and we make it too hard. We turn it into an initiation ritual into our church rather than the blessing and empowerment from God that it was intended to be. On the one hand we don’t want to make it a burden to be a Christian—to have rules and expectations that are too steep to even attempt so people give up in despair. On the other hand we don’t want to follow the cheap grace road that it is meaningless and doesn’t mean your life is changed in any way.
Recently a young woman asked me if we do private baptism. She does not go to church. But she believes it would be a meaningful thing for her young son. It is difficult to respond. On the one hand, here is some water, what is to prevent that child from being baptized? Who am I to stand in the way of that? Would Jesus really tell her no? I don’t think he would. He didn’t line up a bunch of rules that people have to follow before talking to them or welcoming them. He accepted them where they are at.
On the other hand, baptism is done in community. It isn’t something done away from other people. It isn’t a “me and God” moment. It takes God working through other people to help raise a kid to know about how much God loves them and to help show them how to love other people and have compassion. After Jesus talked to the woman at the well and after he healed the paralyzed man, he said, “Go and sin no more.” There is an expected life change that happens after an encounter with Jesus. There is something different.
And it isn’t just about baptism, but it is about how we live our lives as Christians. We can’t over-burden ourselves or other people. And yet the life of a Christian ought to be weighty. It ought to be meaningful and life-changing. We don’t expect anyone to give their last dime to the church or to give so much they can’t support themselves, and yet we ought to tithe enough so that we feel it. We don’t expect anyone to make themselves sick in service to the poor, volunteering so much their family life goes down the tubes. And yet we want people to stretch themselves beyond their comfort level, to do more than what is simple and easy.
In the end, each person has to decide for themselves what their level of giving or service will be and what will be their level of church attendance and devotion. I can help guide as a pastor and challenge and help remind people to also practice self-care. I can try to be an example of a good balance. Maybe I can be an example of how that struggle plays out. Sometimes I am overtired and other times maybe I play a little too much. I have tended to work too hard, I think, and am working to move a little more toward spending time with my family. I need to be sure to raise a son who also knows what it means to be balanced and healthy as well as giving.
As Christians we are freed in Christ. In the second reading for today it says we are children of God if we obey his commandments. That is a poor translation. It really says if we do his commandments and keep his commandments. We are freed because of our relationship to God and God’s forgiveness and love. Because of that relationship we are freed to be ourselves and freed to be who God made us. And because of that relationship we have responsibility to be Jesus’ hands and feet in the world, helping our neighbor and trying to live in a way that brings God’s Kingdom to those on the fringes. It is a kind of both/and, the freedom and the responsibility. But what a blessing that we don’t have to do anything out of guilt or obligation, but we do what we can because God has loved us and freed and empowered us to love.
So I walked that line about the baptism. I asked if they intended when the child was able, to bring him to services in God’s house, since that is one of the promises in the baptismal service. I, of all people, know how difficult it is to mess with a baby’s sleep schedule and that this kind of service doesn’t work for a baby who naps anywhere between 9 and 11:30, which I have to believe is most babies. I told them that we don’t do private baptisms, but that a baptism doesn’t necessarily have to happen at church. We could do a baptism somewhere else. If you don’t go to church, you might feel hypocritical or awkward having it at church. And we need to surround this child with Christian community in whatever form. Family and friends can be invited. But someone needs to be that community surrounding that child and teaching him and loving him with a love that comes from God, is God’s.
To tell someone “no” that we won’t baptize because they don’t meet the norm, is not going to help. But to find a way for God’s love to be known, for God’s love to be a “yes” in their lives is what God asks us to do. That family may never come to church, but you never know if someday in that child’s life, maybe even after they grow up, they remember they are loved and claimed and connected by a power greater than themselves who empowers them to live and love more fully. And because of that, even when churches are no longer, the love of God will remain and grow and touch countless lives.
Gospel: John 15:9-17
1st Reading: Acts 10:44-48
Psalm 98
2nd Reading: 1 John 5:1-6
“Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people?” This is basically the same question we had in last week’s lesson when the Ethiopian Eunuch asks, “Here is some water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?”
The answer to these questions might not be so obvious. “Can anyone withhold water for baptizing?” The answer to the question in the early Christian church would have been yes. And to the question, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” the answer might well be, “Everything!”
There was a debate going on at the time about whether you had to follow the Jewish laws to be Christian or whether Gentiles could be Christian, too. So far the Christian church had been made up of all Jewish people. To follow Jesus, you had to be circumcised, follow the dietary laws, follow all the holiness laws about washing and sacrificing, etc. So as Christianity was forming, it was thought by many that you’d need to follow all the Jewish laws, too. Jesus, himself, said, “I have come not to abolish the law but to fulfill the law.”
So for Gentiles to try to sign on and be baptized, it would have been out of the question for most. And for an Ethiopian Eunuch to ask to be baptized and what could possibly prevent that, early Christians would have said that many things prevented it including his race, his damaged state as a Eunuch, his lack of understanding of scripture, and his lack of community to share in his faith.
And I don’t know if we are any better about this today. Certainly we don’t ask people whether they are circumcised before agreeing to baptize them, or if they eat pork or made a sacrifice or anything. But I fear what we do with baptism in the Christian church. We make it too easy and we make it too hard. We turn it into an initiation ritual into our church rather than the blessing and empowerment from God that it was intended to be. On the one hand we don’t want to make it a burden to be a Christian—to have rules and expectations that are too steep to even attempt so people give up in despair. On the other hand we don’t want to follow the cheap grace road that it is meaningless and doesn’t mean your life is changed in any way.
Recently a young woman asked me if we do private baptism. She does not go to church. But she believes it would be a meaningful thing for her young son. It is difficult to respond. On the one hand, here is some water, what is to prevent that child from being baptized? Who am I to stand in the way of that? Would Jesus really tell her no? I don’t think he would. He didn’t line up a bunch of rules that people have to follow before talking to them or welcoming them. He accepted them where they are at.
On the other hand, baptism is done in community. It isn’t something done away from other people. It isn’t a “me and God” moment. It takes God working through other people to help raise a kid to know about how much God loves them and to help show them how to love other people and have compassion. After Jesus talked to the woman at the well and after he healed the paralyzed man, he said, “Go and sin no more.” There is an expected life change that happens after an encounter with Jesus. There is something different.
And it isn’t just about baptism, but it is about how we live our lives as Christians. We can’t over-burden ourselves or other people. And yet the life of a Christian ought to be weighty. It ought to be meaningful and life-changing. We don’t expect anyone to give their last dime to the church or to give so much they can’t support themselves, and yet we ought to tithe enough so that we feel it. We don’t expect anyone to make themselves sick in service to the poor, volunteering so much their family life goes down the tubes. And yet we want people to stretch themselves beyond their comfort level, to do more than what is simple and easy.
In the end, each person has to decide for themselves what their level of giving or service will be and what will be their level of church attendance and devotion. I can help guide as a pastor and challenge and help remind people to also practice self-care. I can try to be an example of a good balance. Maybe I can be an example of how that struggle plays out. Sometimes I am overtired and other times maybe I play a little too much. I have tended to work too hard, I think, and am working to move a little more toward spending time with my family. I need to be sure to raise a son who also knows what it means to be balanced and healthy as well as giving.
As Christians we are freed in Christ. In the second reading for today it says we are children of God if we obey his commandments. That is a poor translation. It really says if we do his commandments and keep his commandments. We are freed because of our relationship to God and God’s forgiveness and love. Because of that relationship we are freed to be ourselves and freed to be who God made us. And because of that relationship we have responsibility to be Jesus’ hands and feet in the world, helping our neighbor and trying to live in a way that brings God’s Kingdom to those on the fringes. It is a kind of both/and, the freedom and the responsibility. But what a blessing that we don’t have to do anything out of guilt or obligation, but we do what we can because God has loved us and freed and empowered us to love.
So I walked that line about the baptism. I asked if they intended when the child was able, to bring him to services in God’s house, since that is one of the promises in the baptismal service. I, of all people, know how difficult it is to mess with a baby’s sleep schedule and that this kind of service doesn’t work for a baby who naps anywhere between 9 and 11:30, which I have to believe is most babies. I told them that we don’t do private baptisms, but that a baptism doesn’t necessarily have to happen at church. We could do a baptism somewhere else. If you don’t go to church, you might feel hypocritical or awkward having it at church. And we need to surround this child with Christian community in whatever form. Family and friends can be invited. But someone needs to be that community surrounding that child and teaching him and loving him with a love that comes from God, is God’s.
To tell someone “no” that we won’t baptize because they don’t meet the norm, is not going to help. But to find a way for God’s love to be known, for God’s love to be a “yes” in their lives is what God asks us to do. That family may never come to church, but you never know if someday in that child’s life, maybe even after they grow up, they remember they are loved and claimed and connected by a power greater than themselves who empowers them to live and love more fully. And because of that, even when churches are no longer, the love of God will remain and grow and touch countless lives.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Sermon for May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 Gospel: John 15:1-8 1st Reading: Acts 8:26-40
Psalm 22:25-31 2nd Reading: 1 John 4:7-12
There was once a gardener who decided to grow vines. He found a place perfect for growing grapes. The climate was just right with warm days and cool nights. The sun shone directly on this plot of land. There was just enough rainfall, and not too much. The soil contained all the right nutrients and was loose, fast draining, and loamy.
So the gardener built a system of trellises and supports the grapes could grow on. He planted cuttings with plenty of room for roots that could spread three to six feet from the base of the plant.
Although the plants had all the information they needed to grow and produce good fruit they needed a lot of help. The Gardener had to watch for fungus and rot. He had to train the vines along the supports. He had to wait a couple of years for the root system to develop and the vines to bear fruit. When the fruit started to appear he had to keep watch that animals and insects didn’t devour them and then he had to check their ripeness.
This gardener knew he was supposed to prune the vines, but he didn’t have the heart to do it. Every branch seemed like a miracle, every twist and turn of the vine was a delight. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
The second or third year the vines began producing fruit. They started as tiny dots on the branch. As they slowly expanded, delicious, beautiful grapes began to dangle from above. The clusters glistened with dew in the morning. As the weeks went by they began to blush with ripeness. The entire vineyard began to smell so sour and sweet it would make your mouth water just to be nearby. And what a harvest it was that year, plentiful grapes, mouthwatering tart and sweet, everything the gardener had hoped for.
He thought to himself, if it is this good this year, just think how much better it will be next year. And he let the grape vines grow where they would. The next year was almost as good. In fact the gardener wondered if he had just romanticized the previous year, misremembered how good it had been. But the third year, it was clear. Production was way down. The vines were so thick you could hardly find the grapes that were there. Most of the vines were empty. Others had rotted because of a lack of air circulation. All of the plants’ resources were being used to keep the vines alive. There was no extra energy for growing grapes.
Finally the gardener realized that the pruning was necessary. The vines that produced no fruit, he cut them back. He even cut the ones that had produced, knowing it would cause them to bear more. Even as he did it, he was afraid that he might be hurting the plant. He cut them back to what looked like dead wood. And when he was done, he looked around in despair. There was no more green anywhere.
He spent the next few months in a depression. Where would he go now that he had destroyed his precious vineyard? What would he do now that he had failed as a gardener?
Of course, when fall came, it was a complete turn around. The gardener found himself surrounded by such healthy thick vines, and fat, juicy, sweet grapes. And he took them to all his neighbors and friends and donated the extra to the food pantry and let the kids from next door come and pick all they wanted. And he took cuttings and gave them away. And his cup truly overflowed as he had more grapes and friends than he knew what to do with.
At the Synod Assembly this past weekend, we talked as gardeners whose vineyards aren’t producing very well these days. Most congregations are shrinking and aging. Some are dying. We’ve all been aware of this for some time now. Reactions to this fact range from sad to confused. Sometimes we blame ourselves. Sometimes we blame the pastor. Sometimes we blame that world out there and those people who don’t know what they’re missing. If they would just come here instead of going to soccer on Sunday mornings. If they would just meet us, they would like us, and they’d join us.
Part of the problem may be that we’re afraid of pruning. We let every branch grow because you can’t be sure if something might eventually grow there. We want to keep every activity, every communion setting and hymn, every committee, every classroom. You never know what person might have a connection to it. You never know what it might produce.
And in our lives we aren’t always good at setting priorities. Families are pulled in so many directions. It must be hard to pick and choose what activities to participate in and which ones to keep doing.
So we find ourselves pulled in every direction. Our resources dwindle as our time and energy go so many different places.
But God gives us a standard for pruning. We can ask ourselves, what produces fruit? When I hear this, I always think this means bringing people to Christ. I’ve done a few baptisms, taught a few Bible studies, and led Bible School, but I don’t know that I single-handedly brought anyone to Christ. When I ask myself whether I have born any fruit, I can’t truly say that I did.
What if bearing fruit, means sharing love?
The vine supports life. It is a branching out of that life in different directions. It is an experiment to try to reach the sun, to give life and growth to the plant. So maybe when we realize that we’re stretched too thin, we can ask ourselves, is this particular branch giving me life? Is it a branch that can support and grow love?
I know in my life I need to do some pruning. When I had the baby, it was like sending out a new shoot and that one is growing so fast. And my roots can’t support so many directions. There are parts of my vine that aren’t giving me life. I am not sure which branches those are, but I am certainly going to be doing some pruning. And our lives are in constant change, so it is good to be watching out for those places that could use a little snip.
Jesus came among us, a strong and healthy vine. He wasn’t afraid to send his vine into unlikely places. Everywhere he went he produced fruit—so much fruit that others were jealous. And he let his vine be pruned all the way back. It looked like it would be dead. The vines lay limp all over the ground. His friends mourned the loss of hope, the loss of life, the loss of love. But that vine sprung up with new life and once again it reached out to all of us. And we have become his branches. One vine together sharing love and life with all we meet.
Psalm 22:25-31 2nd Reading: 1 John 4:7-12
There was once a gardener who decided to grow vines. He found a place perfect for growing grapes. The climate was just right with warm days and cool nights. The sun shone directly on this plot of land. There was just enough rainfall, and not too much. The soil contained all the right nutrients and was loose, fast draining, and loamy.
So the gardener built a system of trellises and supports the grapes could grow on. He planted cuttings with plenty of room for roots that could spread three to six feet from the base of the plant.
Although the plants had all the information they needed to grow and produce good fruit they needed a lot of help. The Gardener had to watch for fungus and rot. He had to train the vines along the supports. He had to wait a couple of years for the root system to develop and the vines to bear fruit. When the fruit started to appear he had to keep watch that animals and insects didn’t devour them and then he had to check their ripeness.
This gardener knew he was supposed to prune the vines, but he didn’t have the heart to do it. Every branch seemed like a miracle, every twist and turn of the vine was a delight. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
The second or third year the vines began producing fruit. They started as tiny dots on the branch. As they slowly expanded, delicious, beautiful grapes began to dangle from above. The clusters glistened with dew in the morning. As the weeks went by they began to blush with ripeness. The entire vineyard began to smell so sour and sweet it would make your mouth water just to be nearby. And what a harvest it was that year, plentiful grapes, mouthwatering tart and sweet, everything the gardener had hoped for.
He thought to himself, if it is this good this year, just think how much better it will be next year. And he let the grape vines grow where they would. The next year was almost as good. In fact the gardener wondered if he had just romanticized the previous year, misremembered how good it had been. But the third year, it was clear. Production was way down. The vines were so thick you could hardly find the grapes that were there. Most of the vines were empty. Others had rotted because of a lack of air circulation. All of the plants’ resources were being used to keep the vines alive. There was no extra energy for growing grapes.
Finally the gardener realized that the pruning was necessary. The vines that produced no fruit, he cut them back. He even cut the ones that had produced, knowing it would cause them to bear more. Even as he did it, he was afraid that he might be hurting the plant. He cut them back to what looked like dead wood. And when he was done, he looked around in despair. There was no more green anywhere.
He spent the next few months in a depression. Where would he go now that he had destroyed his precious vineyard? What would he do now that he had failed as a gardener?
Of course, when fall came, it was a complete turn around. The gardener found himself surrounded by such healthy thick vines, and fat, juicy, sweet grapes. And he took them to all his neighbors and friends and donated the extra to the food pantry and let the kids from next door come and pick all they wanted. And he took cuttings and gave them away. And his cup truly overflowed as he had more grapes and friends than he knew what to do with.
At the Synod Assembly this past weekend, we talked as gardeners whose vineyards aren’t producing very well these days. Most congregations are shrinking and aging. Some are dying. We’ve all been aware of this for some time now. Reactions to this fact range from sad to confused. Sometimes we blame ourselves. Sometimes we blame the pastor. Sometimes we blame that world out there and those people who don’t know what they’re missing. If they would just come here instead of going to soccer on Sunday mornings. If they would just meet us, they would like us, and they’d join us.
Part of the problem may be that we’re afraid of pruning. We let every branch grow because you can’t be sure if something might eventually grow there. We want to keep every activity, every communion setting and hymn, every committee, every classroom. You never know what person might have a connection to it. You never know what it might produce.
And in our lives we aren’t always good at setting priorities. Families are pulled in so many directions. It must be hard to pick and choose what activities to participate in and which ones to keep doing.
So we find ourselves pulled in every direction. Our resources dwindle as our time and energy go so many different places.
But God gives us a standard for pruning. We can ask ourselves, what produces fruit? When I hear this, I always think this means bringing people to Christ. I’ve done a few baptisms, taught a few Bible studies, and led Bible School, but I don’t know that I single-handedly brought anyone to Christ. When I ask myself whether I have born any fruit, I can’t truly say that I did.
What if bearing fruit, means sharing love?
The vine supports life. It is a branching out of that life in different directions. It is an experiment to try to reach the sun, to give life and growth to the plant. So maybe when we realize that we’re stretched too thin, we can ask ourselves, is this particular branch giving me life? Is it a branch that can support and grow love?
I know in my life I need to do some pruning. When I had the baby, it was like sending out a new shoot and that one is growing so fast. And my roots can’t support so many directions. There are parts of my vine that aren’t giving me life. I am not sure which branches those are, but I am certainly going to be doing some pruning. And our lives are in constant change, so it is good to be watching out for those places that could use a little snip.
Jesus came among us, a strong and healthy vine. He wasn’t afraid to send his vine into unlikely places. Everywhere he went he produced fruit—so much fruit that others were jealous. And he let his vine be pruned all the way back. It looked like it would be dead. The vines lay limp all over the ground. His friends mourned the loss of hope, the loss of life, the loss of love. But that vine sprung up with new life and once again it reached out to all of us. And we have become his branches. One vine together sharing love and life with all we meet.
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