July 15, 2012
Gospel: Mark 6:14-29
1st Reading: Amos 7:7-15
Psalm 85:8-13
2nd Reading: Ephesians 1:3-24
When I was growing up, my grandmother mail-ordered books for my sister with her name in them as the name of the hero. To us, it was incredible that my sister could become the main character of a book! I don’t remember much about them except that one had space aliens in it and another had something about candy, two very important topics for little kids. And my name appeared too as the big sister.
Today, we are co-authoring a story with God. It is even more than blanks left and names being inserted. God writes and we write and together we weave a story of creativity and hope and joy and challenge and suffering and triumph. It isn’t just a story to write and to read, but a story to live. It is a story of relationship, a life of relationship and a story we know the beginning to and the end of, but the middle is still in process.
We know the beginning. We know a loving God created us to be in relationship with God and with all creation and with one another. And we know that isn’t always easy. We know characters before us have screwed it up and been given second chances and remained in relationship and struggled and come through it.
And we know the end, that in the fullness of time, God will gather all things together, in heaven and on earth, and that we will all be together with God. Sorry to ruin the end for you, but I think you knew it anyway. In many good stories, you have a feeling it is going to turn out ok, but it is how the characters are going to get there that is so exciting. For instance, Harry Potter: You know he’s going to be ok because there are 5 more books, but you’re at the edge of your seat wondering how he’s going to get out of this impossible situation, and he always does. It is the same with us, that our story goes on, and God’s story goes on. Sometimes we’re at the edge of our seat wondering how.
Let’s look at the first reading for this morning. Amos was the very first prophet. We get the benefit of reading his story thousands of years later, but think what it was like for him to live this story. We know the beginning, and so did he, that God created him and everything and everyone around him for relationship. And we know the end, that God will draw everything and everyone back together. The middle chapters of this book are being co-written by God and Amos. You might not think God would co-write a book with a shepherd and arborist. He’s nobody special. But God had been trying to co-write with the religious leaders and kings of Israel and it hadn’t been going well. The kings wanted to write their own book with themselves as the heroes, and themselves getting the money and women and land in the end. God was tired of that kind of trashy novel. The story God wants to write is leading to an ending with everything being drawn back to God. The story these important people are writing is driving a wedge between people.
God wasn’t going to give up on Israel either, because remember that God is all about relationship. So God goes to Amos, who isn’t distracted by all these other concerns and gives him a message to tell about holding Israel accountable and holding up a ruler, a plumb line to measure them by, a kind of an outline to follow when writing.
I think Amos responds like any of us would when invited to co-author a life with God and to go and speak a hard truth to the rulers of Israel. “You don’t want me, God, I’m just little ol’ me. I’m nobody special.” But God says to him, “You’re exactly who I’m looking for, someone not too full of himself, someone in relationship with animals and trees who can translate that caring to people and show them how to care for each other and get back to writing the story that God has in mind for them.
What happens next is that Amos warns the people. They don’t listen. They go into exile. God stays in relationship with them. They start to get it. God brings them back to Israel and in some ways their story still goes on, as they write a story together with God. The beginning is clear, God creating them and loving them and choosing them. The end is clear, with God drawing them all together again. The middle is still being written about whether or not they love their neighbors as themselves and difficulties and joys they face and God walks with them through the whole story.
Ephesians also talks about this story the people of the church in Ephesus write with God. It affirms the beginning where God chooses them and blesses them. And I also think this is our story. This was for the early Christians. For later Christians, it also holds true. Notice in this story, God is very active. God is the hero, not us. God chooses, blesses, bestows grace, destines, redeems, forgives, lavishes, gathers, marks, and accomplishes. We are co-writers, though, too. Our active words are believe, hope, hear, and praise. We are more recipients and yet God clearly works through us, as flawed and helpless as we are, to bring the kingdom of God to those who need it most, to bring justice, to share, to love, and to carry God’s story to people who might not have experienced it before.
Now we come to John the Baptist’s story. Kind of a downer for the middle of the summer as we’re getting ready to kick of VBS! We know the beginning of the story. God created everything including John, Jesus’ cousin. As a fetus, John lept in his mother’s womb when Mary came with her baby Jesus bump to his mother Elizabeth’s house. John was a wild, fiery guy. And we know the end of the story, that he was gathered together with God who never left his side, despite a gruesome death and many difficulties. God and John were writing the story of his life. John was very aware of that plumb line, that measuring stick. Herod had crossed it when he married his brother’s wife. There was a lot of corruption in this family and John wasn’t going to keep quiet about it. And Herod knew John was right. He was afraid and intrigued at the same time, so he would go and listen to John sometimes. A part of him wanted to write the story of his life the way God would have it go. Part of him wanted to do what was right.
Unfortunately, he probably had too much to drink and was showing off for a big crowd and because of that did something he probably regretted the rest of his life. He had John beheaded.
One thing I really like about John the Baptist was that he didn’t really know who the Messiah would be and what he would be like. But he was still able to point to him. He went around stirring people up to give up a life where they were the hero of their own story and to let God play that role. They were baptized into a new life of repentance to get ready for the coming Messiah. John knew it was imminent, even though he didn’t know what it would look like or what it would mean. Still he was able to pave the way for Jesus.
So God is writing the story of our lives with us as the co-authors. We know where we come from, from our good and loving creator. We know where we’re going—to be gathered together again. And we’re still writing the middle chapters of our lives or maybe some of the later chapters. There are times when God is calling us in those chapters and we’re humbly declining. “But God, I’m just a regular person. You couldn’t really want to use me to help other people, to speak up when I see an injustice, to change the world to better reflect the story that God intends for all people.” And God is saying, “I said what I meant. I choose you. Now let’s get to work!” And we get to do God’s work, feeding people, visiting the sick and imprisoned, speaking the truth even when it hurts, giving of ourselves and our time, and praising and thanking God.
“In the fullness of time, God will gather up all things in himself.” When you hear this, do you think of heaven, after we die? I do, too. But there is something about the word “time” here that you might not notice. This is not about chronological time. It is a “kyros” moment. Earlier in the service we sang, “Kyrie eleison” or “Lord have mercy.” Kyrie refers to our Lord. Kyros is from that same word. A kyros moment is a God moment. We don’t have to wait until we die to have God’s kingdom here on earth. Jesus says, “The Kingdom of God has come near.” It is breaking into our world, even now. Now is the fullness of time, when God writes the story with us. God is here now. And we can help usher in that kingdom now when we do justice, when we love others, when we quit making ourselves the hero of our story and instead put Jesus front and center. Then others experience the kingdom here and now where everyone has enough to eat, where there will be no more weeping, where all are welcome and all know God’s love.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Sermon for July 8, 2012
July 8, 2012
Gospel: Mark 6:1-13
1st Reading: Ezekiel 2:1-5
Psalm 123
2nd Reading: Corinthians 12:2-10
The 4th of July is something we can all get behind. Who wouldn’t want a day off work on a warm summer day? Who doesn’t like picnics and parties? Even if you don’t agree with everything our country is doing, we still love our country and appreciate our freedoms. And add to that a number of bright explosions in the sky, and you’ve got the perfect day. Aren’t fireworks amazing with all the power of the lights and sound, the whizzing through the air, zigzagging, popping, glittering! It is truly a display of power.
On the 5th of July I read a story about Depoe Bay that didn’t have a fireworks show because of the danger to sea birds who leave their nests because of the noise and return to find that predators have ruined their nests and eggs. I also heard an interview on the radio with Portland’s new fire chief and she mentioned the impact on pets and veterans with PTSD. We had a new perspective of it this year with a baby finally going down for the night at 11 pm, 3 hours later than usual.
I began to wonder whether it takes more power to have a fireworks display or not to. Maybe there was more power in their putting someone else ahead of themselves, than in all the loud booming fireworks that the rest of us shot off.
“Power” is the theme for this Sunday. I see a common thread about power in all the readings for today, but before I go into that I first want to talk about why the subject of power might matter to us.
Power is kind of a scary topic for a lot of people. It might especially be for meek Lutherans. It is for much of society who sees a lot of misuse of power in government or who associate power with power over, or abuse of power by dictators, or corporations, or doctors, and so on. I’ve learned a lot about power in the Metropolitan Alliance for the Common Good, or MACG, power is simply the ability to act. It is the ability to get something done. It is a tool that can be used for good or ill.
Churches used to be a powerful force in our communities. I have often heard people lamenting the times when Sundays were sacred and Wednesday evenings were reserved for church night. Soccer practice was held other times. The church has lost that automatic power. A pastor was given more authority and perhaps respect. That could be good or bad depending on how that pastor used that power. Now I have to convince you of what I am saying. And I’d rather you asked questions and thought for yourselves rather than do what I say anyway. In the same way, the greater world needs churches to prove that they are worth supporting. Pastors and churches have to earn that respect. Do they give back to the community? If I give my volunteer hours and money to a church will they use that power to make this world better? This kind of scrutiny is good for us because it helps us see what builds up the kingdom of God, what is doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God, which is our mission and purpose.
I also think we experience a lot of powerlessness in our lives. And these readings help remind us not to give up in those moments but that God can work with that. God can bring something powerful out of a situation of rejection and helplessness. God did that with Jesus on the cross and does that often with us, especially when we work together with others and share our power to get something done, like we have with the pantry and like we did with the Domestic Violence Survivor House.
The readings are all about power. The first reading is about the power of God. God reminds Ezekiel that he is just a little mortal human being. God is so powerful, that even though the people won’t listen, God is going to keep hounding them until they do. And we know that eventually they get it, since this writing from Ezekiel makes it into the Bible. Although God may seem weak since the people don’t listen, God is loving and persistent, and triumphs.
In the reading from 2 Corinthians, Paul is writing with authority that he can’t claim for himself, but he hopes that his readers will bestow on him. He’s just a little servant of God with no power of his own. Yet Paul has something to say to the people in Corinth, so he’s trying to convince them to listen to his important message. He wants to be powerful in their view so they listen, understand, and act accordingly.
Paul is talking about the power and authority that comes from God. It isn’t the kind of power that compels people to do whatever God wants or Paul tells them to. It isn’t the kind of power from the Roman Empire where people and nations obey Caesar or they get annihilated. It is the kind of power that is shared. It is the kind of power that takes a risk and reaches out a hand in friendship. It is power with. Because whenever you reach out a hand in relationship you can get rejected, it is a kind of power in weakness. It is a power that says we can do this better together. It is a more difficult kind of power than power over if you are the one in authority.
Now we come to the Gospel for today. Jesus comes to his hometown. He’s already shown that he can heal and feed people and speak with authority. Yet nobody in his hometown is open to that power. Jesus isn’t going to force them to be. He’s not going to use power over. He wants power with and they are unwilling and they lose out.
Then Jesus teaches the disciples how to have power with. They go out in pairs, supporting one another, modeling cooperation. They don’t bring so much they are self-sufficient. They are going to need the people they meet. They are going to need to build bridges and share power in order to survive.
They are going to have mixed success. There will be some people who reject them. In a power with situation, you put out your hand in connection and relationship and some people accept it and others spit in your face. When the disciples are welcomed, then Jesus encourages them to stay until they leave. Good advice for any of us. And when they are rejected, no skin off their noses. They can go on their way. No sense in making a big deal out of it. As a result of this approach, many people were helped.
The power of God stands against the powers of this world. There are a lot of powers at work in our world. Some of them are for good, but a lot of them hurt people, too. People have lost power in a lot of ways as they lose their jobs and then their homes. People get sick. People are sad and grieving. We work more hours. We are torn in a million different directions. Our school class sizes keep growing while our education budget gets cut every year. All of these powers are putting pressure on us.
Jesus came redistribute power, to empower those who were on the fringes, who didn’t have enough to eat and who were barely alive and who no one would listen to. That’s what we call justice—redistributing power so it is more equal. The church is a place where we redistribute money which is one indication of power. If you remember last week we had a lesson about sharing our money so that the one who had much, didn’t have too much and the one who had little didn’t have too little. It is about stepping in and using our power as a buffer in people’s lives, so that when the pressures of the world come crushing down, we help deflect those pressures. For example, when people meet the pressures of unemployment, they can continue to live and feed their children because of the food pantry. And best case scenario, the churches help get at the root causes of hunger so someone never gets into that situation in the first place, which is what I‘ve seen with the campaign to get rid of payday loan businesses. It is about restoring health so that people can be contributing members of society, which Jesus tries to do in today’s Gospel reading. It is about making sure that people have enough to eat, that they have a say in their communities, that they share power across all lines.
We use a power-with model because of who God has been for us. God decided from the very beginning to let people make up their own minds. God could have created a world where we all obey. But God gave us free will. God didn’t want to make us worship and acknowledge him. God wanted a real relationship with a feeling, thinking person. So here we are. God chose power with rather than power over. God wanted a relationship, someone to collaborate with and share with. Sometimes he reaches his hand out and we spit in his face. God reached out to us and we crucified his son. God has a weak spot for humankind, but God’s power is made perfect in weakness.
Any of you with children can understand. It might be easier if your children did everything you wanted and liked all the same things as you, but then they would just be you all over again. How boring would that be? Instead, you humble yourself to who they are becoming and let them develop and wonder in the beauty of it—the utterly frustrating beauty of this whole new person that you can’t control, but who you can have the most interesting relationship with and learn from and see yourself reflected back in.
Our God is powerful, so powerful that he can take a risk and be vulnerable. God’s power is made perfect in weakness. God’s power is love which does not compel or force. We are God’s people and our power is also love. Let us not lose heart when we face rejection or the daunting task of redistributing power, but let us instead use that power with others around us to make our neighborhood more like God’s Kingdom everyday.
Gospel: Mark 6:1-13
1st Reading: Ezekiel 2:1-5
Psalm 123
2nd Reading: Corinthians 12:2-10
The 4th of July is something we can all get behind. Who wouldn’t want a day off work on a warm summer day? Who doesn’t like picnics and parties? Even if you don’t agree with everything our country is doing, we still love our country and appreciate our freedoms. And add to that a number of bright explosions in the sky, and you’ve got the perfect day. Aren’t fireworks amazing with all the power of the lights and sound, the whizzing through the air, zigzagging, popping, glittering! It is truly a display of power.
On the 5th of July I read a story about Depoe Bay that didn’t have a fireworks show because of the danger to sea birds who leave their nests because of the noise and return to find that predators have ruined their nests and eggs. I also heard an interview on the radio with Portland’s new fire chief and she mentioned the impact on pets and veterans with PTSD. We had a new perspective of it this year with a baby finally going down for the night at 11 pm, 3 hours later than usual.
I began to wonder whether it takes more power to have a fireworks display or not to. Maybe there was more power in their putting someone else ahead of themselves, than in all the loud booming fireworks that the rest of us shot off.
“Power” is the theme for this Sunday. I see a common thread about power in all the readings for today, but before I go into that I first want to talk about why the subject of power might matter to us.
Power is kind of a scary topic for a lot of people. It might especially be for meek Lutherans. It is for much of society who sees a lot of misuse of power in government or who associate power with power over, or abuse of power by dictators, or corporations, or doctors, and so on. I’ve learned a lot about power in the Metropolitan Alliance for the Common Good, or MACG, power is simply the ability to act. It is the ability to get something done. It is a tool that can be used for good or ill.
Churches used to be a powerful force in our communities. I have often heard people lamenting the times when Sundays were sacred and Wednesday evenings were reserved for church night. Soccer practice was held other times. The church has lost that automatic power. A pastor was given more authority and perhaps respect. That could be good or bad depending on how that pastor used that power. Now I have to convince you of what I am saying. And I’d rather you asked questions and thought for yourselves rather than do what I say anyway. In the same way, the greater world needs churches to prove that they are worth supporting. Pastors and churches have to earn that respect. Do they give back to the community? If I give my volunteer hours and money to a church will they use that power to make this world better? This kind of scrutiny is good for us because it helps us see what builds up the kingdom of God, what is doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God, which is our mission and purpose.
I also think we experience a lot of powerlessness in our lives. And these readings help remind us not to give up in those moments but that God can work with that. God can bring something powerful out of a situation of rejection and helplessness. God did that with Jesus on the cross and does that often with us, especially when we work together with others and share our power to get something done, like we have with the pantry and like we did with the Domestic Violence Survivor House.
The readings are all about power. The first reading is about the power of God. God reminds Ezekiel that he is just a little mortal human being. God is so powerful, that even though the people won’t listen, God is going to keep hounding them until they do. And we know that eventually they get it, since this writing from Ezekiel makes it into the Bible. Although God may seem weak since the people don’t listen, God is loving and persistent, and triumphs.
In the reading from 2 Corinthians, Paul is writing with authority that he can’t claim for himself, but he hopes that his readers will bestow on him. He’s just a little servant of God with no power of his own. Yet Paul has something to say to the people in Corinth, so he’s trying to convince them to listen to his important message. He wants to be powerful in their view so they listen, understand, and act accordingly.
Paul is talking about the power and authority that comes from God. It isn’t the kind of power that compels people to do whatever God wants or Paul tells them to. It isn’t the kind of power from the Roman Empire where people and nations obey Caesar or they get annihilated. It is the kind of power that is shared. It is the kind of power that takes a risk and reaches out a hand in friendship. It is power with. Because whenever you reach out a hand in relationship you can get rejected, it is a kind of power in weakness. It is a power that says we can do this better together. It is a more difficult kind of power than power over if you are the one in authority.
Now we come to the Gospel for today. Jesus comes to his hometown. He’s already shown that he can heal and feed people and speak with authority. Yet nobody in his hometown is open to that power. Jesus isn’t going to force them to be. He’s not going to use power over. He wants power with and they are unwilling and they lose out.
Then Jesus teaches the disciples how to have power with. They go out in pairs, supporting one another, modeling cooperation. They don’t bring so much they are self-sufficient. They are going to need the people they meet. They are going to need to build bridges and share power in order to survive.
They are going to have mixed success. There will be some people who reject them. In a power with situation, you put out your hand in connection and relationship and some people accept it and others spit in your face. When the disciples are welcomed, then Jesus encourages them to stay until they leave. Good advice for any of us. And when they are rejected, no skin off their noses. They can go on their way. No sense in making a big deal out of it. As a result of this approach, many people were helped.
The power of God stands against the powers of this world. There are a lot of powers at work in our world. Some of them are for good, but a lot of them hurt people, too. People have lost power in a lot of ways as they lose their jobs and then their homes. People get sick. People are sad and grieving. We work more hours. We are torn in a million different directions. Our school class sizes keep growing while our education budget gets cut every year. All of these powers are putting pressure on us.
Jesus came redistribute power, to empower those who were on the fringes, who didn’t have enough to eat and who were barely alive and who no one would listen to. That’s what we call justice—redistributing power so it is more equal. The church is a place where we redistribute money which is one indication of power. If you remember last week we had a lesson about sharing our money so that the one who had much, didn’t have too much and the one who had little didn’t have too little. It is about stepping in and using our power as a buffer in people’s lives, so that when the pressures of the world come crushing down, we help deflect those pressures. For example, when people meet the pressures of unemployment, they can continue to live and feed their children because of the food pantry. And best case scenario, the churches help get at the root causes of hunger so someone never gets into that situation in the first place, which is what I‘ve seen with the campaign to get rid of payday loan businesses. It is about restoring health so that people can be contributing members of society, which Jesus tries to do in today’s Gospel reading. It is about making sure that people have enough to eat, that they have a say in their communities, that they share power across all lines.
We use a power-with model because of who God has been for us. God decided from the very beginning to let people make up their own minds. God could have created a world where we all obey. But God gave us free will. God didn’t want to make us worship and acknowledge him. God wanted a real relationship with a feeling, thinking person. So here we are. God chose power with rather than power over. God wanted a relationship, someone to collaborate with and share with. Sometimes he reaches his hand out and we spit in his face. God reached out to us and we crucified his son. God has a weak spot for humankind, but God’s power is made perfect in weakness.
Any of you with children can understand. It might be easier if your children did everything you wanted and liked all the same things as you, but then they would just be you all over again. How boring would that be? Instead, you humble yourself to who they are becoming and let them develop and wonder in the beauty of it—the utterly frustrating beauty of this whole new person that you can’t control, but who you can have the most interesting relationship with and learn from and see yourself reflected back in.
Our God is powerful, so powerful that he can take a risk and be vulnerable. God’s power is made perfect in weakness. God’s power is love which does not compel or force. We are God’s people and our power is also love. Let us not lose heart when we face rejection or the daunting task of redistributing power, but let us instead use that power with others around us to make our neighborhood more like God’s Kingdom everyday.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Sermon for July 1, 2012
July 1, 2012
Gospel: Mark 5:21-43
Psalm 30
1st Reading: Lamentations 3:22-33
2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 8:7-15
I’ve mentioned before my best friend growing up dying when she and I were both 14 years old. I used to think of her every day. When that stopped, I felt guilty. Was I forgetting her. Now I don’t think of her very often at all. But the last two weeks she’s been on my mind. The week before last we had the lesson of Jesus calming the storm. That was the scripture read at her memorial service. This week we’ve got the lesson of Jesus raising the girl from the dead. Of course, my friend Charmin came to mind again.
When she died, we didn’t have a lot of explanation of what had happened. It was sudden. A few months later her mom came to visit and to tell us more what had happened that day and the events leading up to her death. It was so nice of her to do it since we had so many questions. I think it helped us to grieve, to be able to ask questions, and to have more of a picture of what went on. And I’m sure it was good for her, too, to recount the story to friends, and to try to make sense of what happened. I remember my mom trying to find the words to express how sorry we were and how much we felt for her, losing a young daughter like that. And I remember Charmin’s mom saying that it must have been God’s will.
That’s the way she was making sense of it. It was what she needed to say to bear her pain. It was what she needed to hold on to as she pictured her daughter in Jesus’ arms, at peace and unafraid, waiting for her family to join her, there with her father by her side, who had also died of the same heart condition as a young man.
The Old Testament reading for this morning says, “Although he causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not willingly afflict or grieve anyone.” This is kind of a mixed message that God causes grief but not willingly.
The Bible isn’t exactly clear on this, because the writers of the Bible weren’t clear on it. What is the cause of suffering? If God is all powerful, then isn’t it God’s power which makes sick as well as heals? Or is it another force of chaos and evil that makes sickness? Does God let this other force run rampant? Why does God let bad things happen to good people?
Let’s see what the Gospel is saying about it. So we’ve got the story of two very sick people. Jesus is once again crossing into an unfamiliar place where he might be uncomfortable, where uncomfortable people are laying in wait to grab him and take him home to treat their friends and family members. Jesus is asked to use his healing powers to help a girl who is very ill. As Jesus is walking with him, someone else interrupts for healing. And then the story continues with the healing of the little girl.
You’ve got two very different people who come to Jesus for healing. One is a very important official making an appeal on behalf of his child. He’s got it all together, normally. The other is an unclean woman who no one will go near, hopeless and alone—someone who can’t even pretend to have it all together. These two very different people find themselves level with Jesus, level with each other, seeking the very same thing, meeting the very same Jesus, sharing the very same page of the Bible, the same paragraph. No matter how rich or important you are, you will know illness and grief. And no matter how poor and forgotten you are, you matter to God. Both of these people know pain and suffering. Both of these people are loved by God.
For those of us who like to have things all together, probably everyone here, we still need God. We iron our shirts (or our wife does). We eat right. We exercise. We speak properly. We get a good education. We show up to work. We sit and stand with the asterisk. We pray our prayers. And just like everyone else who doesn’t do these things, we get sick. We lose people we love. We die. And Jesus is there for us.
For those of us who are a mess, who cry in public and embarrass ourselves, who only have time to throw our shirt in the dryer for a moment to get the most obvious wrinkles out, whose shoes smell like mildew, who are unshaven, who limp about, Jesus is there for us, too.
And it is a good thing, because even if we were the one in the all together category we will inevitably find ourselves in this second category. I hear about that struggle all the time. When one can no longer drive, those who once had it all together, now have to ask for help getting place to place. It is a difficult situation to face that loss of independence. To have to rely one someone else is less than ideal. You have to be flexible to someone else’s schedule and reliability. You have to accept their vehicle—is it going to be too high to get into, or too low to get out of? Will it be so clean you can’t eat your snack in there or filled with junk so you can’t fit your bags in there with you? Will the person drop you off and pick you up or wait with you through your shopping or appointment? It isn’t easy. Whereas you once had the ability to do what you want when you wanted how you wanted, now you rely on others who don’t do things the same way you do.
It is a similar situation when you were once healthy and now you’re getting older, can’t climb ladders or eat sweets or hear very well. I experienced it too in my pregnancy. I had to rely on other people. I had to let them love me the way they wanted to, not necessarily the way I would want them to. It turned out to be lovely, but it caused plenty of anxiety. It was probably good. Any anxiety I had about the birth was nonexistent—I transferred it to silly things like my baby’s carbon footprint and not wanting to be the center of attention when I was as big as a house.
Ok, we’re going to have times of trouble no matter who we are. And Jesus is there for us, no matter who we are, according to this Gospel. The general and the old widow get the same treatment. Each approach Jesus for help. They are both quite desperate. They’ve got nothing to lose. They’ve tried everything else. Jairus, the religious leader, is confident. The widow is more meek. She doesn’t want to bother Jesus, she just wants to touch his cloak. Both of them believe in the power of God for healing. One marches right up to Jesus. The other sneaks up.
Jairus is probably used to asking for what he needs. People respect him as one of these folks who has it all together. They give him what he asks for.
The woman has asked and asked. She’s spent her last dime and endured many treatments with no effect. She’s at her wits end. Perhaps in their frustrations, her physicians have made her feel it was God’s will. They might have asked her many questions about her medical history which made her feel guilty. “Do you drink? Do you smoke? What are your eating habits?” These kind of questions don’t directly blame the patient, but don’t you feel kind of guilty as you’re putting down how many drinks a week? Maybe that is why she doesn’t ask Jesus. Maybe that is why she approaches with fear and trembling when he asked who touched him. Maybe she did feel she deserved her disease. Or maybe she thought it was God’s will in some way.
But this scripture makes it clear that it is not God’s will. Jesus came for healing. Jesus came to restore relationships between people. Jesus came to heal this world, to restore balance, to heal people’s physical bodies, to heal their minds of terrible thoughts of God inflicting people with tragedy and sickness. He is going to Jairus’ house, not ignoring him. He isn’t too busy to stop for a woman in need. He touches her even though that makes him unclean. He gives her a clean bill of health physically and spiritually. She is restored. Since he’s already unclean, he might as well touch a dead girl. And in some foreshadowing of his own resurrection he says, “Little girl, be resurrected. Rise up.” And immediately she rose from the dead, just as he would and she began to even walk around, not just lay there in bed.
Any of you who have been close to a child who has died, know how unsettling it is on top of all the other grief. There is that unsettling feeling that this isn’t the way it is supposed to be. God feels that way when we are sick or hurting and sends us Jesus, our great physician, to show us that God is a healer, not an afflicter.
God does not make us sick. God comes for healing. Sometimes that is for our bodies. Sometimes that comes through prayer. Sometimes it comes through doctors. Usually it comes through both. And yet we all know we’re going to die someday. Even Jesus had to die. But we can know that “Whether we live or we die, we are the Lord’s.” Jesus will be with us, his broken body at the side of our broken bodies. And he goes to the cross and grave to show us how to die everyday, to practice dying with him and to hear the words “Old man, old woman, rise, get up, you are resurrected with Christ!” Just like I know my friend, Charmin, heard those words, “Little girl, get up!” and welcomed her into his arms. Just like her mom heard those words, “Grieving mother, rise, get up. God is with you as you try to go on with your life having lost your baby girl.” God says to us, “ I, too, know what it is to lose a son and I will be with you through all your losses and bring you together on the last day.”
And leave it to Jesus, that the next thing he says after telling them to get up, is to say, “Let’s eat!”
Gospel: Mark 5:21-43
Psalm 30
1st Reading: Lamentations 3:22-33
2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 8:7-15
I’ve mentioned before my best friend growing up dying when she and I were both 14 years old. I used to think of her every day. When that stopped, I felt guilty. Was I forgetting her. Now I don’t think of her very often at all. But the last two weeks she’s been on my mind. The week before last we had the lesson of Jesus calming the storm. That was the scripture read at her memorial service. This week we’ve got the lesson of Jesus raising the girl from the dead. Of course, my friend Charmin came to mind again.
When she died, we didn’t have a lot of explanation of what had happened. It was sudden. A few months later her mom came to visit and to tell us more what had happened that day and the events leading up to her death. It was so nice of her to do it since we had so many questions. I think it helped us to grieve, to be able to ask questions, and to have more of a picture of what went on. And I’m sure it was good for her, too, to recount the story to friends, and to try to make sense of what happened. I remember my mom trying to find the words to express how sorry we were and how much we felt for her, losing a young daughter like that. And I remember Charmin’s mom saying that it must have been God’s will.
That’s the way she was making sense of it. It was what she needed to say to bear her pain. It was what she needed to hold on to as she pictured her daughter in Jesus’ arms, at peace and unafraid, waiting for her family to join her, there with her father by her side, who had also died of the same heart condition as a young man.
The Old Testament reading for this morning says, “Although he causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not willingly afflict or grieve anyone.” This is kind of a mixed message that God causes grief but not willingly.
The Bible isn’t exactly clear on this, because the writers of the Bible weren’t clear on it. What is the cause of suffering? If God is all powerful, then isn’t it God’s power which makes sick as well as heals? Or is it another force of chaos and evil that makes sickness? Does God let this other force run rampant? Why does God let bad things happen to good people?
Let’s see what the Gospel is saying about it. So we’ve got the story of two very sick people. Jesus is once again crossing into an unfamiliar place where he might be uncomfortable, where uncomfortable people are laying in wait to grab him and take him home to treat their friends and family members. Jesus is asked to use his healing powers to help a girl who is very ill. As Jesus is walking with him, someone else interrupts for healing. And then the story continues with the healing of the little girl.
You’ve got two very different people who come to Jesus for healing. One is a very important official making an appeal on behalf of his child. He’s got it all together, normally. The other is an unclean woman who no one will go near, hopeless and alone—someone who can’t even pretend to have it all together. These two very different people find themselves level with Jesus, level with each other, seeking the very same thing, meeting the very same Jesus, sharing the very same page of the Bible, the same paragraph. No matter how rich or important you are, you will know illness and grief. And no matter how poor and forgotten you are, you matter to God. Both of these people know pain and suffering. Both of these people are loved by God.
For those of us who like to have things all together, probably everyone here, we still need God. We iron our shirts (or our wife does). We eat right. We exercise. We speak properly. We get a good education. We show up to work. We sit and stand with the asterisk. We pray our prayers. And just like everyone else who doesn’t do these things, we get sick. We lose people we love. We die. And Jesus is there for us.
For those of us who are a mess, who cry in public and embarrass ourselves, who only have time to throw our shirt in the dryer for a moment to get the most obvious wrinkles out, whose shoes smell like mildew, who are unshaven, who limp about, Jesus is there for us, too.
And it is a good thing, because even if we were the one in the all together category we will inevitably find ourselves in this second category. I hear about that struggle all the time. When one can no longer drive, those who once had it all together, now have to ask for help getting place to place. It is a difficult situation to face that loss of independence. To have to rely one someone else is less than ideal. You have to be flexible to someone else’s schedule and reliability. You have to accept their vehicle—is it going to be too high to get into, or too low to get out of? Will it be so clean you can’t eat your snack in there or filled with junk so you can’t fit your bags in there with you? Will the person drop you off and pick you up or wait with you through your shopping or appointment? It isn’t easy. Whereas you once had the ability to do what you want when you wanted how you wanted, now you rely on others who don’t do things the same way you do.
It is a similar situation when you were once healthy and now you’re getting older, can’t climb ladders or eat sweets or hear very well. I experienced it too in my pregnancy. I had to rely on other people. I had to let them love me the way they wanted to, not necessarily the way I would want them to. It turned out to be lovely, but it caused plenty of anxiety. It was probably good. Any anxiety I had about the birth was nonexistent—I transferred it to silly things like my baby’s carbon footprint and not wanting to be the center of attention when I was as big as a house.
Ok, we’re going to have times of trouble no matter who we are. And Jesus is there for us, no matter who we are, according to this Gospel. The general and the old widow get the same treatment. Each approach Jesus for help. They are both quite desperate. They’ve got nothing to lose. They’ve tried everything else. Jairus, the religious leader, is confident. The widow is more meek. She doesn’t want to bother Jesus, she just wants to touch his cloak. Both of them believe in the power of God for healing. One marches right up to Jesus. The other sneaks up.
Jairus is probably used to asking for what he needs. People respect him as one of these folks who has it all together. They give him what he asks for.
The woman has asked and asked. She’s spent her last dime and endured many treatments with no effect. She’s at her wits end. Perhaps in their frustrations, her physicians have made her feel it was God’s will. They might have asked her many questions about her medical history which made her feel guilty. “Do you drink? Do you smoke? What are your eating habits?” These kind of questions don’t directly blame the patient, but don’t you feel kind of guilty as you’re putting down how many drinks a week? Maybe that is why she doesn’t ask Jesus. Maybe that is why she approaches with fear and trembling when he asked who touched him. Maybe she did feel she deserved her disease. Or maybe she thought it was God’s will in some way.
But this scripture makes it clear that it is not God’s will. Jesus came for healing. Jesus came to restore relationships between people. Jesus came to heal this world, to restore balance, to heal people’s physical bodies, to heal their minds of terrible thoughts of God inflicting people with tragedy and sickness. He is going to Jairus’ house, not ignoring him. He isn’t too busy to stop for a woman in need. He touches her even though that makes him unclean. He gives her a clean bill of health physically and spiritually. She is restored. Since he’s already unclean, he might as well touch a dead girl. And in some foreshadowing of his own resurrection he says, “Little girl, be resurrected. Rise up.” And immediately she rose from the dead, just as he would and she began to even walk around, not just lay there in bed.
Any of you who have been close to a child who has died, know how unsettling it is on top of all the other grief. There is that unsettling feeling that this isn’t the way it is supposed to be. God feels that way when we are sick or hurting and sends us Jesus, our great physician, to show us that God is a healer, not an afflicter.
God does not make us sick. God comes for healing. Sometimes that is for our bodies. Sometimes that comes through prayer. Sometimes it comes through doctors. Usually it comes through both. And yet we all know we’re going to die someday. Even Jesus had to die. But we can know that “Whether we live or we die, we are the Lord’s.” Jesus will be with us, his broken body at the side of our broken bodies. And he goes to the cross and grave to show us how to die everyday, to practice dying with him and to hear the words “Old man, old woman, rise, get up, you are resurrected with Christ!” Just like I know my friend, Charmin, heard those words, “Little girl, get up!” and welcomed her into his arms. Just like her mom heard those words, “Grieving mother, rise, get up. God is with you as you try to go on with your life having lost your baby girl.” God says to us, “ I, too, know what it is to lose a son and I will be with you through all your losses and bring you together on the last day.”
And leave it to Jesus, that the next thing he says after telling them to get up, is to say, “Let’s eat!”
Sermon for June 24, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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