Gospel: Matthew 2:1-12
1st Reading: Isaiah 60:1-6
2nd Reading: Ephesians 3:1-12
In 1999 I did my internship in Oakland, California, at Resurrection Lutheran Church. I met a lot of new people there, almost daily. This church did a lot of community organizing and I remember one of the organizers asking me, “Where's home?” This was a confusing question for me. He meant, “Where are you from?” but to me it went a lot deeper than that. My mom had just sold the home I grew up in and moved to Eastern Oregon. My parents had been divorced about 4 years by then, but, although I encouraged it, it hadn't entirely sunk in. Berkeley wasn't exactly home at that point. We lived in a tiny little seminary apartment that absorbed all the light. It was like a dark cave in there. Internship was going well, but I wasn't exactly comfortable there. I couldn't have told you where home was in that instant so I made some awkward paragraph-long answer to a very simple question. I finally settled on the notion that home was where my husband was.
Where's home? That might be a question that the wise ones heard again and again on their journey. They were wise. They were wealthy. They had resources to travel. They had comforts. They had a home in the east. Yet, somehow it wasn't enough. There was something more they were seeking. Their readings of the stars told them that something amazing was happening that they wouldn't want to miss, something that might redefine home, so they set out from all their books and friends and charts and telescopes to find this new king.
For Jesus, home was also hard to define. As his family traveled to Egypt to escape King Herod, they were probably asked this question many times. Were they afraid to answer for fear they would be found? Did their travels early in Jesus' life affect him as an adult, make him the traveling Messiah that he became? Where was home? Was it in Nazareth, Bethlehem, or Egypt? During Jesus' ministry was it Galilee, Capurnaum, or Jerusalem?
A home for a king ought to be in a castle, right? That's what the wise ones were thinking. So they went to Herod's castle to find the King of the Jews. Instead they found Herod, placed there by the Emperor, to do the Emperor's bidding, to keep control. Herod directs his scribes to comb the scriptures for hints about where the Messiah will be born. They find it in the book of Micah. Bethlehem is the answer. Bethlehem doesn't seem like a likely place for a king to be born, when you'd expect him to come from the castle, nearby in Jerusalem. Bethlehem is humble and quiet. It is a place where shepherds are born. It seems unexpected for a king to be born there, but it did happen once before. King David was also born in Bethlehem and chosen there from amongst his brothers, although he was the youngest, to shepherd the people of Israel. It makes me wonder if the cave or barn in which Jesus was born was one that David had been in. Maybe the shepherds who saw and heard the angel's announcement on Christmas were in one of the same fields that David used to frequent as a shepherd.
David knew what it was like to be without a home, camping in the outdoors, keeping watch over the sheep. He knew what it was like to lose all sense of home, having offended God by taking Bathsheba as his wife after sending her husband to the front lines to die. And he tried to establish a home for God, building a temple to worship, a place he could reliably find God. Which made it very difficult when the temple was destroyed. Where was God's home then? The whole book of Ezekiel in the Old Testament is devoted to that topic. Ezekiel saw a vision of a burning wheel with eyes all over it. It was a vision of a mobile God, still with the people even though they were far from home and even though God's home had been destroyed. Where was home for the exiles? Where was home for God?
And where is home for us, these days? Families live increasingly apart. We move much more frequently than we did 50 years ago. We change jobs a lot. We relocate. Just before Christmas I visited several homebound members whose family members rarely visit them. It was apparent they had to move from their own homes, but some were moved halfway across the US to be near to their children. They have left all their friends behind. They have almost no one, aside from a few caregivers. Where is home for them? Where is home for any of us?
I have been in some pretty fancy houses that didn't feel very comfortable. It made me wonder if it ever felt like home. And I've camped out in the woods and felt very much at home. Maybe home is less of a place and more of a state of mind. Maybe we could think of home as an experience of the presence of God.
The wise ones had their own religion, their own way of life, yet everything they were reading in the stars pointed them toward something more. They were having an experience of God, there in their own country, in the east. But they wanted to come see for themselves the source of this wonder and joy they were experiencing. God was at once everywhere and in a specific place, in a specific person, this child to which the star led them. They were having an experience of God back home, but God had more to show them than they could see and experience at home. They gathered provisions for a long journey. I doubt travel by camel is very comfortable. They certainly encountered many different kinds of people on their way. Some were likely kind and generous. Others were probably not so friendly. They put themselves at great risk on this journey. Maybe it taught them more about relying on God. Maybe they encountered God each day in the different people they met, in beggars, and fellow travelers, refugees, and so forth. Maybe they noticed the presence of God more because they were out of their ordinary day to day routines. Sometimes you have to leave home to find it.
The Israelites found repentance and a reclaiming of their story during the time they were captive in Babylon, when Ezekiel was writing. They made a home in their new land and then found their home again when they returned to Jerusalem and rebuilt. David found his home again as he kept up his relationship with God, as he repented and continued to converse with God and worship God, even though he was ashamed of his previous behavior, even though he would rather have hid away. He found that even though he made mistakes, God was still with him, guiding and loving him and blessing him and correcting him.
Jesus seemed never to stay in one place for long. This is a testament to the availability and mobility of God. He didn't have a home in the sense of having a house, but he made his home among the people, and not the rich and powerful but ordinary everyday people, the poor and sick, women and children, tax collectors, fishermen, and so on. Our home, the presence of God in Jesus, traveled around in this world, even going beyond the grave to be with those who died, and then going on to the heavenly realm where we will all someday be united in the full presence of God.
For us now, home as the presence of God is anywhere the hungry are fed, where the sick find healing, where the lonely are visited, where malaria nets or warm quilts are distributed, where we share all we have, where we are kind and loving and generous, where all are included despite differences. Home isn't a place where we go, it is a place we make when we get out of our comfort zones, when we interact with people different from us, when we take a risk, we volunteer our talents and gifts, when we do something unexpected, when we let go of our own ideas of how thing should go, when we follow God's light and shining star despite the unlikelihood that anything good could ever be found by its glow.
Today we celebrate Epiphany, a festival day in the church calendar. The word epiphany means “Showing forth.” We may associate the word with an “ah-ha!” moment, the moment we finally get it. Today the star is illuminating the way to the infant Jesus, to the Messiah for the wise-ones, the foreigners. At the moment, we may or may not get it. But God is here just the same, illuminating our lives, showing us a better way. The presence of God is here. It always has been and always will be. That hasn't changed. But maybe something in us will change as we leave our homes, our comforts and possessions and strike out in search of something more, the state of mind that shows us that God is our home, that we are always welcome, and then help prepare that home to welcome others on an similar search.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Friday, January 2, 2015
Christmas Eve 2014
Gospel: Luke 2:1-20
1st Reading: Isaiah 9:2-7
2nd Reading: Titus 2:11-14
“In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God,” begins the Gospel according to John. His account links the story of Jesus to the beginning of Creation. In the beginning, God spoke and all creation came into being, God's every word coming to life, the planets and stars, the sun and moon, the land and sea, the animals and all creeping things bursting forth through God's imagination and creative power. Finally God created humankind in God's image, someone who would be aware of God, someone that God could talk to. We all know that God was not done creating in 6 days, nor is God done creating, yet.
The scriptures tell us, “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us.” God has a heart for this world and for all the people who have walked in darkness. God's love grows and grows. It isn't a kind of love that makes sense. The people hurt each other. They turn their back on God, on their values, on who they are, but still God's love grows. And God tries to show that love in so many ways. God tries guiding the people, speaking through prophets, granting kings to rule, giving a home, rescuing them, punishing them, teaching them, and so on. Some of this love is noticed and received and reciprocated, but much of it goes unnoticed. Still God has this love for the people, a heart bursting with love. God knows if the people knew they were so loved, they wouldn't treat each other so poorly, they'd value themselves, they would live loving lives. Finally God's love grows so strong, that it is literally born into this world. From God's heart comes this child, this human with a heart beating with love for all of us.
One of the most anticipated times for a couple who is pregnant, is hearing the heartbeat of the fetus for the first time. That fast-paced whooshing is hardly what we expected, especially after such a long search for the sound. It turned out our child was 3 weeks younger than they thought—a heartbeat much more difficult to find. Yet there it was. And it became reassuring each time we went in for exams leading up to our child's birth. And yet more reassuring after I took a fall in my 8th month and sat listening to that sound for 4 hours straight in the hospital. And finally listening to that sound on the day I gave birth, as they monitored us, a sound that gave me the strength to push with all my might to bring my baby into this world.
The heartbeat of one child was a miracle to us. They didn't have stethoscopes in Jesus' day, but I have watched, “Call the Midwife” and they did have something that they may very well have had in Jesus' time, a kind of cone shaped device that the nurse puts up to the enlarged belly of the mother through which they can hear the baby's heartbeat. The beating heart of God has been developing within the Christ child, a quick whooshing, sending blood and mother's nutrients from the umbilical cord throughout the body. These nutrients passed by the beating of the mother's heart to her child, the same mother's heart who pondered the announcement of the angel 9 months before, the same mother's heart which is pondering the words of the shepherd, the same mother's heart who will cradle this child close, the same mother's heart which will break when the world treats her son so cruelly. The fetal Jesus hears her heart beating, as he grows in the womb, and when he is born it will be one of the things that will calm him, as she holds the infant Christ to her chest, because of his familiarity with that reassuring sound.
I was curious to see, when I went shopping at Barnes and Noble for my 14 year old niece, a pen that you give to a child that will read the book to them in your voice. This would be the perfect gift if a parent has to be away for a long period of time, incarcerated or called up in the armed services or if grandma lives far away. I hope parents don't get lazy and let the pen read for them. I am all about reading and sometimes I get tired of reading “And the Cow Said Moo” to my child because I don't have to even look at the pages anymore, I've got it memorized, but there is something so miraculous about sitting down together with a book, reading, laughing, pointing out pictures, asking questions, and snuggling, holding a child close to our heart. I hope that this pen would only be used in emergencies. And I realize what a miracle it is that I live in a place and time when I am literate, that books are common and available to me, and that I have the time and resources to own hundreds of them and a happy, healthy child who still wants to sit and read with me. So rather than berate others, I will give thanks that I get to hold my child close and read to him, even if we are going to read, “And the cow said moo.” There is nothing like being there in person, and that is what God had in mind when God came to earth in Jesus Christ.
In person, God holds us close. We are God's children, and we are comforted by the sound of God's beating heart. To come as a child, to sneak into our hearts, to bring God's heart so close to us, to interact with us, to teach us, to laugh with us, to suffer with us, it is a miracle. We find ourselves close to the heart of God, listening to it beat with love for us and for all God's children and Creation, sharing stories together, interacting, loving, learning values, beating hearts affecting each other and growing in love.
When we really listen, we might realize that God still has a broken heart because God loves so deeply. God's heart is broken because there God's children are going hungry, because they live in slavery and fear, because their beating hearts are not valued, because we get so wrapped up in the beating of our own heart and whether it skips for joy because we own the latest gadget, or a new car, or fancy jewelry that we forget that our brothers and sisters need us and that their hearts beat with the love of God, too. God's heart breaks for every heart in Ferguson, for members of ISIS and their victims, for every drug lord and heroin addict, for every abusive parent and battered child, for all who walk in darkness, for a great light has shined, the light of Christ for every child of God, according to our Titus reading, “bringing salvation to all.”
It may seem that each of us has a heart that serves just one person. One heart for each body, but as God holds us close, may we remember the heart that God gave us, one that nourishes us, a miracle in itself, but also one that was open to others who are different, that felt compassion for those in need, and especially that was willing to quit beating out of great love for all Creation. God didn't come into this world with a beating heart to keep God's own heart beating, but so that ours would beat again with the familiar sound of God's heart, the sound of justice, the sound of joy, the sound of praise, the sound of love. Maybe we get so used to hearing it that we tune it out, and only notice it when it is absent, that quiet that sounds so loud after Jesus breathed his last. But Jesus' death didn't mean that God's love was gone, but only that it expanded to include all who had gone before and all who had died for all time.
So let us take a moment in this busy season to turn off the Christmas music, to stop moving for even an instant, to listen not for jingling bells but for the heartbeat of God. God is holding us close to God's own heart to tell us how much God loves us, to show us how much God loves all our brothers and sisters, how much God loves this beautiful world, and to give us the courage and strength and peace to glorify and praise God with every beat of our heart, until all have a chance to experience the heart of God and be enfolded in God's love.
1st Reading: Isaiah 9:2-7
2nd Reading: Titus 2:11-14
“In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God,” begins the Gospel according to John. His account links the story of Jesus to the beginning of Creation. In the beginning, God spoke and all creation came into being, God's every word coming to life, the planets and stars, the sun and moon, the land and sea, the animals and all creeping things bursting forth through God's imagination and creative power. Finally God created humankind in God's image, someone who would be aware of God, someone that God could talk to. We all know that God was not done creating in 6 days, nor is God done creating, yet.
The scriptures tell us, “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us.” God has a heart for this world and for all the people who have walked in darkness. God's love grows and grows. It isn't a kind of love that makes sense. The people hurt each other. They turn their back on God, on their values, on who they are, but still God's love grows. And God tries to show that love in so many ways. God tries guiding the people, speaking through prophets, granting kings to rule, giving a home, rescuing them, punishing them, teaching them, and so on. Some of this love is noticed and received and reciprocated, but much of it goes unnoticed. Still God has this love for the people, a heart bursting with love. God knows if the people knew they were so loved, they wouldn't treat each other so poorly, they'd value themselves, they would live loving lives. Finally God's love grows so strong, that it is literally born into this world. From God's heart comes this child, this human with a heart beating with love for all of us.
One of the most anticipated times for a couple who is pregnant, is hearing the heartbeat of the fetus for the first time. That fast-paced whooshing is hardly what we expected, especially after such a long search for the sound. It turned out our child was 3 weeks younger than they thought—a heartbeat much more difficult to find. Yet there it was. And it became reassuring each time we went in for exams leading up to our child's birth. And yet more reassuring after I took a fall in my 8th month and sat listening to that sound for 4 hours straight in the hospital. And finally listening to that sound on the day I gave birth, as they monitored us, a sound that gave me the strength to push with all my might to bring my baby into this world.
The heartbeat of one child was a miracle to us. They didn't have stethoscopes in Jesus' day, but I have watched, “Call the Midwife” and they did have something that they may very well have had in Jesus' time, a kind of cone shaped device that the nurse puts up to the enlarged belly of the mother through which they can hear the baby's heartbeat. The beating heart of God has been developing within the Christ child, a quick whooshing, sending blood and mother's nutrients from the umbilical cord throughout the body. These nutrients passed by the beating of the mother's heart to her child, the same mother's heart who pondered the announcement of the angel 9 months before, the same mother's heart which is pondering the words of the shepherd, the same mother's heart who will cradle this child close, the same mother's heart which will break when the world treats her son so cruelly. The fetal Jesus hears her heart beating, as he grows in the womb, and when he is born it will be one of the things that will calm him, as she holds the infant Christ to her chest, because of his familiarity with that reassuring sound.
I was curious to see, when I went shopping at Barnes and Noble for my 14 year old niece, a pen that you give to a child that will read the book to them in your voice. This would be the perfect gift if a parent has to be away for a long period of time, incarcerated or called up in the armed services or if grandma lives far away. I hope parents don't get lazy and let the pen read for them. I am all about reading and sometimes I get tired of reading “And the Cow Said Moo” to my child because I don't have to even look at the pages anymore, I've got it memorized, but there is something so miraculous about sitting down together with a book, reading, laughing, pointing out pictures, asking questions, and snuggling, holding a child close to our heart. I hope that this pen would only be used in emergencies. And I realize what a miracle it is that I live in a place and time when I am literate, that books are common and available to me, and that I have the time and resources to own hundreds of them and a happy, healthy child who still wants to sit and read with me. So rather than berate others, I will give thanks that I get to hold my child close and read to him, even if we are going to read, “And the cow said moo.” There is nothing like being there in person, and that is what God had in mind when God came to earth in Jesus Christ.
In person, God holds us close. We are God's children, and we are comforted by the sound of God's beating heart. To come as a child, to sneak into our hearts, to bring God's heart so close to us, to interact with us, to teach us, to laugh with us, to suffer with us, it is a miracle. We find ourselves close to the heart of God, listening to it beat with love for us and for all God's children and Creation, sharing stories together, interacting, loving, learning values, beating hearts affecting each other and growing in love.
When we really listen, we might realize that God still has a broken heart because God loves so deeply. God's heart is broken because there God's children are going hungry, because they live in slavery and fear, because their beating hearts are not valued, because we get so wrapped up in the beating of our own heart and whether it skips for joy because we own the latest gadget, or a new car, or fancy jewelry that we forget that our brothers and sisters need us and that their hearts beat with the love of God, too. God's heart breaks for every heart in Ferguson, for members of ISIS and their victims, for every drug lord and heroin addict, for every abusive parent and battered child, for all who walk in darkness, for a great light has shined, the light of Christ for every child of God, according to our Titus reading, “bringing salvation to all.”
It may seem that each of us has a heart that serves just one person. One heart for each body, but as God holds us close, may we remember the heart that God gave us, one that nourishes us, a miracle in itself, but also one that was open to others who are different, that felt compassion for those in need, and especially that was willing to quit beating out of great love for all Creation. God didn't come into this world with a beating heart to keep God's own heart beating, but so that ours would beat again with the familiar sound of God's heart, the sound of justice, the sound of joy, the sound of praise, the sound of love. Maybe we get so used to hearing it that we tune it out, and only notice it when it is absent, that quiet that sounds so loud after Jesus breathed his last. But Jesus' death didn't mean that God's love was gone, but only that it expanded to include all who had gone before and all who had died for all time.
So let us take a moment in this busy season to turn off the Christmas music, to stop moving for even an instant, to listen not for jingling bells but for the heartbeat of God. God is holding us close to God's own heart to tell us how much God loves us, to show us how much God loves all our brothers and sisters, how much God loves this beautiful world, and to give us the courage and strength and peace to glorify and praise God with every beat of our heart, until all have a chance to experience the heart of God and be enfolded in God's love.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
December 14, 2014
1st Reading: 2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
Psalm: Luke 1:46-55
2nd Reading: Romans 16:25-27
Last year at the our gathering of Oregon Lutherans, one of the speakers used the image of the finger play we all learned as kids: Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors and see all the people. He changed it to be this: Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors and send out the people. If you would have asked me when I was a kid where is God's house, I would have said it was church, but I hope if we asked the kids or any of us today, we would point out into the world, to people who are in prison or suffering from Ebola or neglected children or our neighbor in need. That is God's house, within people all around us.
When King David wondered where God's house was, he pictured a beautiful house of cedar, with grand architecture and large stones and carvings. He pictured what would eventually become the temple. He was naturally grateful for all that God had done for him: Taken him from the pasture to make him a prince, been present with him throughout his life, cut off all his enemies, and made for him a great name. God had taken him from a nobody and made him a great king. Now David wants to thank him and his gift is to make him a dwelling, a fancy house, a grand mansion. God quickly dismisses the notion and then changes the subject, turns it back to David and what God has done for David.
Mary, too, was a nobody that God lavished with grace and favor. We assume that there was something really special about Mary that would make God approach her with this assignment to bear God's only Son. There isn't anything in the reading that indicates anything special about her. In fact it may be that like King David, it was her lowliness that got her the job. Now she will be a house for God until Jesus is born and a shelter for him during his childhood.
She doesn't have any cedar to offer to build God a house. All she can do is say, “Thank you!” and stand there dumbfounded and wonder at the mystery of God coming in this unexpected way. Some have said that Mary gave her affirmation—her yes. And yet, when the reading says “servant” the word is really “slave.” Instead of calling herself God's servant, she calls herself God's slave. This shows that this isn't really about her will, but God's. This is God's action, not Mary's, to be born into this world. She does give her affirmation, but that was just icing on the cake. That she gave it was a response to what God is doing in this world, and also it was an affirmation without all the information about what this would mean for her or for her son or for any of us.
God is so active and Mary so passive. But even King David was pretty passive when it came to being chosen by God to lead. Every time he does get active, he does something stupid that gets him in trouble. What does go well for each of these chosen lowly people is that the lines of communication are kept open between them and God and a dialogue goes on in which God is present and they try to understand what God is doing and respond to it appropriately. God keeps on acting despite their imperfection and keeps the plan of love on track.
Now, after Mary has had some time to think about what's going on with her, we get today's psalm, Mary's song to Elizabeth when she arrives at her home to find that what the angel has told her is true. Elizabeth, although she is pretty old, has conceived a child. Mary is pregnant. She's found a relative willing to take her in and care for her during her pregnancy. This is just the beginning of what the angel has been saying, that nothing is impossible with God.
Nothing is impossible. It is possible that the lowliest will be chosen for the most important jobs. It is possible that God would break into human existence. It is possible that a virgin and an old lady would become pregnant. It is possible that prayers uttered year after year would finally be answered. It is possible that God's relationship with people is challenging and compassionate. It is possible that Jesus won't have a house in which to be born or a house to minister from or lay his head, but that will make his ministry even better. It is possible that God doesn't need a cedar house or any building, but must be free to move about and be available for everyone. It is possible that he would show us how to feed and heal and love and do so for us, too. It is possible that we would put God to death and inflict such suffering upon Jesus that he would die. And it is possible that he would rise to forgive us and give us new life.
God doesn't need a house. God doesn't need protection. God needs to be free and available. It turns out that the buildings we make to glorify God, say more about us than about God. They are walls that make us feel safe. They are walls that create insiders and outsiders. They are monuments to ourselves and a show of our wealth. That God does something good from them is another indication that nothing is impossible with God. I've loved seeing the downstairs transformed to accommodate the pantry. For years that closet was full of useless papers and old equipment. What fun to dig through and make it relevant, useful space that actually gives glory to God, not because it is big or fancy, but because it enables food to move through our church and out to hungry people.
God's ideal house is not big or fancy, but it is utilitarian, made to serve and welcome people in need. And furthermore, God is promising David another kind of house. “You want to build me a house, David? I'll show you a house. This will be the kind of house that really lasts for all ages.” Not like the temple which has already been destroyed when Luke's Gospel was written. This is house in the sense of family and lineage, a family of misfits that God is building, starting with David and expanding to all outsiders and aliens and gentiles. This is a house built out of love and compassion, a house that will be made sure forever because of Jesus and the life that he gives to all of us. In God's house, those in power keep their mouths shut and get out of the way and the smallest and shyest are empowered to be front and center, take the most important roles and receive the most attention. As they gain in power, they get to pass that privilege and favor on to the new lowliest ones, until all share power and God is able to work through each one and be present to each one and make each one a home for God's love.
God's ideal house is not one where people sit around and sing praises to God, the way I used to think of church. It is a heart open, a people going out to find God in unexpected places, it is in fields of sheep, it is in a barren womb, it is within the young and the old, it is in us even when we don't get it. The think about David and about Mary is that they could have been any of us, that they are us. God is taking what is humble and undeveloped and fresh and raw within all of us and doing what God does best, breaking into our world, surprising us, turning our systems of power and strength on their heads, and leaving us speechless and completely dumbfounded.
As messed up as this world is, God is active and breaking in. 150 families were fed through the pantry with a Christmas ham, homemade cookies, and many other extras to make it special and when one family lost their ham voucher, a man with compassion gave his away. There is the amazing miracle of giving and thinking of others that happens this time of year, with food and gifts for kids and meals, and kindness. A family who has been trying for a pregnancy finds out twins are on the way. A child asks to be baptized. New friendships are formed. A country has a difficult conversation about race. Someone gives up driving their car for a week, a month, a year. Under the soil, seeds wait until conditions are right to grow. Someone learns to read. Someone plays beautiful music. Someone visits a sick relative. Someone apologizes for a wrong from long ago. Someone seeks healing in a broken relationship. God is breaking in. God is being born. Love is developing and is the size of a pineapple this week, the right size to sneak in to all our Christmas preparations, but growing and bringing light and newness.
We don't always respond appropriately. Sometimes we want to build a structure to box that in and capture it for a lifetime. Sometimes we don't know what to say. But our hearts are bursting with thanks and sometimes that's all we can say. And once it soaks in that really all things are possible with God, we may find our emotions need expression either in words or a song or an action or two that helps someone, or in a changed life, oriented toward going out and finding God on the absolute margins, among the weakest, the least refined, the most lowly. May you find God active in the world around you and in your life. May you let that love wash over you and affect you. May you respond in whatever way you do, letting God make something of that imperfect response and break down the walls of the temple, our church, our homes and our hearts, until we all know that we are in God's family, and that God's house is big enough for all of us.
Psalm: Luke 1:46-55
2nd Reading: Romans 16:25-27
Last year at the our gathering of Oregon Lutherans, one of the speakers used the image of the finger play we all learned as kids: Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors and see all the people. He changed it to be this: Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors and send out the people. If you would have asked me when I was a kid where is God's house, I would have said it was church, but I hope if we asked the kids or any of us today, we would point out into the world, to people who are in prison or suffering from Ebola or neglected children or our neighbor in need. That is God's house, within people all around us.
When King David wondered where God's house was, he pictured a beautiful house of cedar, with grand architecture and large stones and carvings. He pictured what would eventually become the temple. He was naturally grateful for all that God had done for him: Taken him from the pasture to make him a prince, been present with him throughout his life, cut off all his enemies, and made for him a great name. God had taken him from a nobody and made him a great king. Now David wants to thank him and his gift is to make him a dwelling, a fancy house, a grand mansion. God quickly dismisses the notion and then changes the subject, turns it back to David and what God has done for David.
Mary, too, was a nobody that God lavished with grace and favor. We assume that there was something really special about Mary that would make God approach her with this assignment to bear God's only Son. There isn't anything in the reading that indicates anything special about her. In fact it may be that like King David, it was her lowliness that got her the job. Now she will be a house for God until Jesus is born and a shelter for him during his childhood.
She doesn't have any cedar to offer to build God a house. All she can do is say, “Thank you!” and stand there dumbfounded and wonder at the mystery of God coming in this unexpected way. Some have said that Mary gave her affirmation—her yes. And yet, when the reading says “servant” the word is really “slave.” Instead of calling herself God's servant, she calls herself God's slave. This shows that this isn't really about her will, but God's. This is God's action, not Mary's, to be born into this world. She does give her affirmation, but that was just icing on the cake. That she gave it was a response to what God is doing in this world, and also it was an affirmation without all the information about what this would mean for her or for her son or for any of us.
God is so active and Mary so passive. But even King David was pretty passive when it came to being chosen by God to lead. Every time he does get active, he does something stupid that gets him in trouble. What does go well for each of these chosen lowly people is that the lines of communication are kept open between them and God and a dialogue goes on in which God is present and they try to understand what God is doing and respond to it appropriately. God keeps on acting despite their imperfection and keeps the plan of love on track.
Now, after Mary has had some time to think about what's going on with her, we get today's psalm, Mary's song to Elizabeth when she arrives at her home to find that what the angel has told her is true. Elizabeth, although she is pretty old, has conceived a child. Mary is pregnant. She's found a relative willing to take her in and care for her during her pregnancy. This is just the beginning of what the angel has been saying, that nothing is impossible with God.
Nothing is impossible. It is possible that the lowliest will be chosen for the most important jobs. It is possible that God would break into human existence. It is possible that a virgin and an old lady would become pregnant. It is possible that prayers uttered year after year would finally be answered. It is possible that God's relationship with people is challenging and compassionate. It is possible that Jesus won't have a house in which to be born or a house to minister from or lay his head, but that will make his ministry even better. It is possible that God doesn't need a cedar house or any building, but must be free to move about and be available for everyone. It is possible that he would show us how to feed and heal and love and do so for us, too. It is possible that we would put God to death and inflict such suffering upon Jesus that he would die. And it is possible that he would rise to forgive us and give us new life.
God doesn't need a house. God doesn't need protection. God needs to be free and available. It turns out that the buildings we make to glorify God, say more about us than about God. They are walls that make us feel safe. They are walls that create insiders and outsiders. They are monuments to ourselves and a show of our wealth. That God does something good from them is another indication that nothing is impossible with God. I've loved seeing the downstairs transformed to accommodate the pantry. For years that closet was full of useless papers and old equipment. What fun to dig through and make it relevant, useful space that actually gives glory to God, not because it is big or fancy, but because it enables food to move through our church and out to hungry people.
God's ideal house is not big or fancy, but it is utilitarian, made to serve and welcome people in need. And furthermore, God is promising David another kind of house. “You want to build me a house, David? I'll show you a house. This will be the kind of house that really lasts for all ages.” Not like the temple which has already been destroyed when Luke's Gospel was written. This is house in the sense of family and lineage, a family of misfits that God is building, starting with David and expanding to all outsiders and aliens and gentiles. This is a house built out of love and compassion, a house that will be made sure forever because of Jesus and the life that he gives to all of us. In God's house, those in power keep their mouths shut and get out of the way and the smallest and shyest are empowered to be front and center, take the most important roles and receive the most attention. As they gain in power, they get to pass that privilege and favor on to the new lowliest ones, until all share power and God is able to work through each one and be present to each one and make each one a home for God's love.
God's ideal house is not one where people sit around and sing praises to God, the way I used to think of church. It is a heart open, a people going out to find God in unexpected places, it is in fields of sheep, it is in a barren womb, it is within the young and the old, it is in us even when we don't get it. The think about David and about Mary is that they could have been any of us, that they are us. God is taking what is humble and undeveloped and fresh and raw within all of us and doing what God does best, breaking into our world, surprising us, turning our systems of power and strength on their heads, and leaving us speechless and completely dumbfounded.
As messed up as this world is, God is active and breaking in. 150 families were fed through the pantry with a Christmas ham, homemade cookies, and many other extras to make it special and when one family lost their ham voucher, a man with compassion gave his away. There is the amazing miracle of giving and thinking of others that happens this time of year, with food and gifts for kids and meals, and kindness. A family who has been trying for a pregnancy finds out twins are on the way. A child asks to be baptized. New friendships are formed. A country has a difficult conversation about race. Someone gives up driving their car for a week, a month, a year. Under the soil, seeds wait until conditions are right to grow. Someone learns to read. Someone plays beautiful music. Someone visits a sick relative. Someone apologizes for a wrong from long ago. Someone seeks healing in a broken relationship. God is breaking in. God is being born. Love is developing and is the size of a pineapple this week, the right size to sneak in to all our Christmas preparations, but growing and bringing light and newness.
We don't always respond appropriately. Sometimes we want to build a structure to box that in and capture it for a lifetime. Sometimes we don't know what to say. But our hearts are bursting with thanks and sometimes that's all we can say. And once it soaks in that really all things are possible with God, we may find our emotions need expression either in words or a song or an action or two that helps someone, or in a changed life, oriented toward going out and finding God on the absolute margins, among the weakest, the least refined, the most lowly. May you find God active in the world around you and in your life. May you let that love wash over you and affect you. May you respond in whatever way you do, letting God make something of that imperfect response and break down the walls of the temple, our church, our homes and our hearts, until we all know that we are in God's family, and that God's house is big enough for all of us.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
December 7, 2014
1st Reading: Isaiah 40:1-11
Gospel: Mark 1:1-8
There's old news and there's good news. Here's the old news: An army takes a country by force, overtaxes it, controls it with arms, oppresses its people. That was the situation in Israel when Jesus was born. More old news: A people are dragged off to a foreign land and kept there for 200 years. That was the situation of our reading in Isaiah, the Israelites taken into slavery in Babylon. More old news: Unarmed black men are killed by white police officers and grand juries don't bring criminal charges against the officers. That's our situation in the US over the past couple of weeks. It isn't old news in that it is boring, but old news in that we've heard it before, experienced it before, and it is part of an old order and system that keeps some people in power and others powerless.
But God is promising something completely new—new life, comfort for those who have been wronged, and justice for those who have hurt others, a whole new start, a chance to heal and to have relationship, good news. But the pathway from the old news to the good news seems so long and full of potholes. It seems almost impossible to get from where we are now, with all the injustice and inequality and prejudice and fear and anger, to a place of peacemaking, and healing, of new life and the Kingdom of God.
Thankfully, it doesn't depend on us, because we are like withering flowers and blades of tender grass on a hot day. We wilt and fail. But whether the Kingdom of God, God's reign of justice and peace and love, comes and when, doesn't depend on us, thankfully. That is something guaranteed by God and dependent upon God who stands forever, reliable, and powerful.
This partly sounds like old news. God is powerful and mighty, starting a huge highway project so he can have his grand parade, ruling with might. Yet there is something unexpected and brand new. God is also gentle and tender. These verses are so beautiful, “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.” There is an old news view of God, vengeful, angry, violent. Yet, here is the good news, a different view of God, powerful, yet gentle and very patient.
We are watching the old news unfold on TV and hearing it on the radio and reading about it in the newspaper and online, racial mistrust and divides in our country. People are dying. People are protesting. People are afraid of each other. How will we ever find our way from the old news of fighting and hurting each other to the good news of justice and peace?
When I was growing up the “N” word was used in my house almost every day. It was used in an often repeated joke that my dad would say, and that I still don't understand, to this day. My mom did daycare. My dad had to quit saying that word when my mom started babysitting little Andrew, who was a mixed race kid. We saw the before and after picture, the old news, the old way dad talked and acted, and we saw that wasn't the way it was supposed to be when he had to quit doing it. My parents told me they moved to Oregon so we wouldn't have to go to school with children of other races and that they wouldn't allow us to ever date someone of a different race because that person wouldn't have the same values that we did, of caring for family. They also sent me a mixed message because they said I was lucky to be born a white girl in the United States. To me this meant that I could have been born with any color skin from anywhere in the world. It meant that I could be a person of any race and I should treat others how I would want to be treated. That could be me.
It was a strange picture I got growing up: old news-racism, lack of understanding, and prejudice combined with this mixed-up good news of a different perspective, something new possible, a connection between me and all the other people of the world, and an awareness of my privilege, something I had that other people didn't have, that I shouldn't ever take for granted, and that I could use to help people with less privilege than I had, often by getting out of the way.
What do I mean by privilege? I don't get pulled over all the time by cops and when I do they let me off with a warning. No one follows me around in the store expecting me to shoplift. Nobody expects me to be carrying a gun or to be a threat of any kind. That is all because of an accident of birth, something completely out of my control—my race. That's old news, the way people are treated differently because of the color of their skin.
Also old news is the reaction that a lot of white people have when others talk about their experiences as a person of color. We often dismiss it. We often get defensive, as if the other person is asking us to fix it and take responsibility for every person of our race who has ever been prejudiced.
It is hard to listen to these painful stories. We want to take away the pain. We want to fix it. We want it not to be true. But the telling of these stories is what is going to take us from the old news to the good news. The good news is that if we can let ourselves hear these stories and internalize them, if we can recognize and honor the pain, then we will be changed and new life will spring up. Then we will speak up if we hear someone say something rude to someone else just because of race or gender or age or sexuality. Then we will stand up to bullies in our midst. Then we will question those stereotypes in our heads about other people. We will venture to make friends with people of different races. And the world will be changed because we are sick and tired of the old news and ready for the Kingdom of God to break in and transform us.
This is part of what it means that the hills be made low and the valleys lifted up. Hills and valleys are the barriers of inequality that keep some people from seeing and experiencing God's kingdom, the good things in life that we all hope for our friends and family. If someone is in a valley, they won't be able to see and hear what is going on on the mountain. If there is a hill or mountain, it can block the view of those below to able to see the goodness of God. If you've ever been to Holden Village, you may have noticed that it is perched between mountain peaks. It is my understanding that there are many days in the winter that the sun doesn't fall on Holden Village because of its placement there. In the same way, the hills and valleys, the inequalities of life keep the sun from falling on people we know and love, our friends of different races and skin colors.
We have become accustomed to dismantling the hills and valleys for the genders and in discussing and listening to stories of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. We need to open ourselves to hearing the stories of our friends and neighbors and sons-in-law and daughters-in-law and fellow church members who have experienced discrimination because of race.
When I hear those stories of prejudice and pain, I have been learning to listen and to go to that place within myself that has experienced something similar. Although I am privileged, I have been met with laughter when I have said I am a pastor. There were many who doubted that I would be able to do it, including people in my own family. We've all had times of struggle that we can tap into when someone shares their experience, either in person or even in a news story. We all know what it is like to be put into a category and be labeled and to be treated differently because of it. I think of my poor boy and the pressures put on boys to fight each other and be a man and not show their emotions. It breaks my heart to think that someday other people will try to tell him who he is and how he ought to act if he is going to be a man. Our own story of struggle, rather than making us say to another to quit whining, ought to open our heart to hear what they've been through and to vow not to let that happen anymore. We know our world isn't as it should be, isn't how God envisions it. Are we going to put up more mountains and valleys and make things harder for our brothers and sisters, or are we going to listen, let those stories affect us, and do something about it so that our world is a little bit better for all of us.
The chasms between people seem so huge—how can we ever make peace between us? God is building a road. He says, “Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up and every mountain and hill made low, and uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.” “Prepare the way of the Lord.” This is the road that Jesus will use to march straight into human life, into our lives. It will become the road of Joseph and Mary on the way to Bethlehem, the birth canal that Jesus passes through as he is born, the road that he walks as he carries his cross. It is a road that links two places together that seem completely divided—a road between races and genders and ages and sexualities—it is the road of love and we're always invited on it to love and be loved as God loves.
Gospel: Mark 1:1-8
There's old news and there's good news. Here's the old news: An army takes a country by force, overtaxes it, controls it with arms, oppresses its people. That was the situation in Israel when Jesus was born. More old news: A people are dragged off to a foreign land and kept there for 200 years. That was the situation of our reading in Isaiah, the Israelites taken into slavery in Babylon. More old news: Unarmed black men are killed by white police officers and grand juries don't bring criminal charges against the officers. That's our situation in the US over the past couple of weeks. It isn't old news in that it is boring, but old news in that we've heard it before, experienced it before, and it is part of an old order and system that keeps some people in power and others powerless.
But God is promising something completely new—new life, comfort for those who have been wronged, and justice for those who have hurt others, a whole new start, a chance to heal and to have relationship, good news. But the pathway from the old news to the good news seems so long and full of potholes. It seems almost impossible to get from where we are now, with all the injustice and inequality and prejudice and fear and anger, to a place of peacemaking, and healing, of new life and the Kingdom of God.
Thankfully, it doesn't depend on us, because we are like withering flowers and blades of tender grass on a hot day. We wilt and fail. But whether the Kingdom of God, God's reign of justice and peace and love, comes and when, doesn't depend on us, thankfully. That is something guaranteed by God and dependent upon God who stands forever, reliable, and powerful.
This partly sounds like old news. God is powerful and mighty, starting a huge highway project so he can have his grand parade, ruling with might. Yet there is something unexpected and brand new. God is also gentle and tender. These verses are so beautiful, “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.” There is an old news view of God, vengeful, angry, violent. Yet, here is the good news, a different view of God, powerful, yet gentle and very patient.
We are watching the old news unfold on TV and hearing it on the radio and reading about it in the newspaper and online, racial mistrust and divides in our country. People are dying. People are protesting. People are afraid of each other. How will we ever find our way from the old news of fighting and hurting each other to the good news of justice and peace?
When I was growing up the “N” word was used in my house almost every day. It was used in an often repeated joke that my dad would say, and that I still don't understand, to this day. My mom did daycare. My dad had to quit saying that word when my mom started babysitting little Andrew, who was a mixed race kid. We saw the before and after picture, the old news, the old way dad talked and acted, and we saw that wasn't the way it was supposed to be when he had to quit doing it. My parents told me they moved to Oregon so we wouldn't have to go to school with children of other races and that they wouldn't allow us to ever date someone of a different race because that person wouldn't have the same values that we did, of caring for family. They also sent me a mixed message because they said I was lucky to be born a white girl in the United States. To me this meant that I could have been born with any color skin from anywhere in the world. It meant that I could be a person of any race and I should treat others how I would want to be treated. That could be me.
It was a strange picture I got growing up: old news-racism, lack of understanding, and prejudice combined with this mixed-up good news of a different perspective, something new possible, a connection between me and all the other people of the world, and an awareness of my privilege, something I had that other people didn't have, that I shouldn't ever take for granted, and that I could use to help people with less privilege than I had, often by getting out of the way.
What do I mean by privilege? I don't get pulled over all the time by cops and when I do they let me off with a warning. No one follows me around in the store expecting me to shoplift. Nobody expects me to be carrying a gun or to be a threat of any kind. That is all because of an accident of birth, something completely out of my control—my race. That's old news, the way people are treated differently because of the color of their skin.
Also old news is the reaction that a lot of white people have when others talk about their experiences as a person of color. We often dismiss it. We often get defensive, as if the other person is asking us to fix it and take responsibility for every person of our race who has ever been prejudiced.
It is hard to listen to these painful stories. We want to take away the pain. We want to fix it. We want it not to be true. But the telling of these stories is what is going to take us from the old news to the good news. The good news is that if we can let ourselves hear these stories and internalize them, if we can recognize and honor the pain, then we will be changed and new life will spring up. Then we will speak up if we hear someone say something rude to someone else just because of race or gender or age or sexuality. Then we will stand up to bullies in our midst. Then we will question those stereotypes in our heads about other people. We will venture to make friends with people of different races. And the world will be changed because we are sick and tired of the old news and ready for the Kingdom of God to break in and transform us.
This is part of what it means that the hills be made low and the valleys lifted up. Hills and valleys are the barriers of inequality that keep some people from seeing and experiencing God's kingdom, the good things in life that we all hope for our friends and family. If someone is in a valley, they won't be able to see and hear what is going on on the mountain. If there is a hill or mountain, it can block the view of those below to able to see the goodness of God. If you've ever been to Holden Village, you may have noticed that it is perched between mountain peaks. It is my understanding that there are many days in the winter that the sun doesn't fall on Holden Village because of its placement there. In the same way, the hills and valleys, the inequalities of life keep the sun from falling on people we know and love, our friends of different races and skin colors.
We have become accustomed to dismantling the hills and valleys for the genders and in discussing and listening to stories of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. We need to open ourselves to hearing the stories of our friends and neighbors and sons-in-law and daughters-in-law and fellow church members who have experienced discrimination because of race.
When I hear those stories of prejudice and pain, I have been learning to listen and to go to that place within myself that has experienced something similar. Although I am privileged, I have been met with laughter when I have said I am a pastor. There were many who doubted that I would be able to do it, including people in my own family. We've all had times of struggle that we can tap into when someone shares their experience, either in person or even in a news story. We all know what it is like to be put into a category and be labeled and to be treated differently because of it. I think of my poor boy and the pressures put on boys to fight each other and be a man and not show their emotions. It breaks my heart to think that someday other people will try to tell him who he is and how he ought to act if he is going to be a man. Our own story of struggle, rather than making us say to another to quit whining, ought to open our heart to hear what they've been through and to vow not to let that happen anymore. We know our world isn't as it should be, isn't how God envisions it. Are we going to put up more mountains and valleys and make things harder for our brothers and sisters, or are we going to listen, let those stories affect us, and do something about it so that our world is a little bit better for all of us.
The chasms between people seem so huge—how can we ever make peace between us? God is building a road. He says, “Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up and every mountain and hill made low, and uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.” “Prepare the way of the Lord.” This is the road that Jesus will use to march straight into human life, into our lives. It will become the road of Joseph and Mary on the way to Bethlehem, the birth canal that Jesus passes through as he is born, the road that he walks as he carries his cross. It is a road that links two places together that seem completely divided—a road between races and genders and ages and sexualities—it is the road of love and we're always invited on it to love and be loved as God loves.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
November 30, 2014
Gospel: Mark 13:24-37
1st Reading: Isaiah 64:1-9
2nd Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:3-9
I was truly thinking of tossing the readings for today, on this day of celebration, the baptism of two young children and two adults and the day we receive two other new members. Family and friends in attendance—we want to make a good impression. “All our deeds are like a filthy cloth,”--it just doesn't have the happy Christian feeling that we all want to impress on everyone today, guest and longtime member alike. But being Christian is about telling the truth and these readings tell the truth, not just about the difficulties in life, but also about the joy of the fellowship of God's Son, Jesus Christ. These readings don't gloss over the challenges that life brings, but also celebrate that we are all God's people.
The reading from Isaiah doesn't say that we are all filthy rags—it says our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth and we have become like one who is unclean. However the reading also affirms that we are all God's children made good from the very beginning. “We are all the work of your hand.” And “God works for those who wait for him.” God made us all good and sees us as good.
But let's be real—this world is rough and we are part of it. I started reading an article about how people aren't completely domesticated. Dogs started to be domesticated much earlier than cats, and that's why your dog wants to please you and your cat couldn't care less. People have not always been civilized. We haven't always lived together in groups in which we had rules to order us and help us take care of each other. Sometimes our animal nature makes us more cat-like than dog-like, less caring of what other people think, less friendly, less able to follow directions, more likely to go off and do what we want to without a thought for anyone else. In other words we get off track. God made us and loves us and still loves us when we screw up, but we do screw up and this world leads us astray and teaches us bad manners. And when we do good, too often it is only to get what we want, so that even our motivations are impure and our righteous acts can be filthy rags, full of holes and dirt.
Thinking of Kasen and Kamryn and all the kids in the congregation, we don't want our children to know how difficult life can be, or at least we want to tell them in an age-appropriate way, a little at a time. We warn them of stranger danger and help them understand what to do if they get lost. We explain, in simplified terms, news stories they overhear or ask about, that reveal how people are hurting and hungry. We try to help them respond with compassion. We praise their good behavior and explain how their naughty behavior makes mommy cry. But we don't want them to live their lives in fear of us or God or life. Right now it is all about curiosity and exploration and taking in information and learning and celebrating who they are and who God made them to be.
These references to God coming back and the stars falling and being ready can invoke a feeling of fear, of anxiety. But in this waiting of Advent, are we waiting for someone or something that we fear, or are we waiting for something good to come into our midst? When all the smoke clears, we find ourselves looking in a manger at a little newborn baby. If you've had a newborn baby, you know the element of fear that can come into play—the fear of being responsible for something so helpless, the pure vulnerability of a human being at the beginning of life and through childhood and all the way through life for that matter, the fear of a changed life and not knowing what that will mean.
But usually the joy and hope and even the exhaustion overcomes that fear, and you find a way to do what seems impossible, raise a child, with the help of many many other people. And you aren't afraid that this baby will hurt you. It is a helpless child, full of peace in the quiet moments and full of need at other moments. We look in the manger, and we have nothing to fear from God who would come this way, the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ.
This Advent we find ourselves preparing—are we preparing for something we fear? We've got every reason to be anxious. This congregation has been through all kinds of anxiety-provoking situations over the years, from difficulties paying the bills, to expensive repairs being needed on the building, to pastoral leadership making poor decisions, to falling numbers of members and so on. However, because of these troubles, you all know what is most important and how reliable and faithful God is. Because no matter what the trouble, you've never been alone. God has been in your midst, reminding you why your here and keeping you faithful and focussed and awake and continuing to call you into the fellowship of Jesus Christ.
One of the anxieties this congregation has faced has been the absence of children—a problem which we do not have today, and haven't had for the last three months. It was almost a year ago that the Sandness family started coming here. I think it was last summer, I asked Jamie, wouldn't they rather go to a church that has more kids. I didn't want to gloss over the truth—I wasn't saying anything she wasn't aware of. I had laid aside my anxiety about our aging congregation and decided that if God was going to keep giving us seniors, then it was seniors we would minister to. I think many others had let it go, as well. And Jamie in her non-anxious way said something to this effect, “No. We want to be here and we're planning to stay. When the next family comes along they will see another young family here and be more inclined to stay.” And now with the help of some of the other young families that had been on the sidelines and another few who have recently started coming, something new is happening here.
This is about hope in action. Here is a family that had let go of future outcomes, and was content with how things were going. Yet they also had a vision of what could be—not only their own vision of their kids mixing with other kids, but a vision for other families that might come and what they might experience when they met another young family. And they actively worked to make it happen. They could have stayed home and waited until those other families came. Instead they were faithful and let these children teach the congregation how to expand our welcome for little people, by learning their names, by coming to expect their noises, by reaching down for a little hand at the sharing of the peace, and so forth.
It is a healthy balance of letting go and letting what happens happen, of hope and vision, and of working toward that vision. The readings are all about letting go—letting go of expectation of what will happen when, and letting go of control—you are our potter and we are your clay. There are some things we don't know and can't know, so we let go of that. We don't need to know. But not knowing, doesn't mean that we don't do anything. “Keep awake” the Gospel says. Be prepared. Keep watch. Watch for what? Are we watching for some awful outcome, like the collapse of society and and escalation of violence or for our church to peter away? When we look for that, do we bring about a self-fulfilling prophecy? Or do we look for signs of life, for Jesus Christ in our guests and in the stranger and in all those unexpected places? And when we set ourselves up to see that, don't we treat each other with greater respect and create a better church and neighborhood and world?
You know this sudden appearance of families and younger people is not our savior. They will not make or break our church. Some will come and some will go. These children will grow up into adults—and most likely into elderly people. They will struggle to stay awake and to let go of what they can't control and not to be too anxious. But whether they are 3 or 5 or 35 or 60 or 80, God is saying to them and to us, “You are all my people, the work of my hand.” It isn't about who we used to be or who we will be, but the celebration of who we are right now, God's own precious children. And most of all, it is a celebration of our Lord Jesus Christ, who reminded us that it is all out of our hands, to let go of what we can't control. But also that doesn't mean we sit back and do nothing. In faithfulness, we move forward in hope, knowing that the fulfillment of all our hopes is about to be born in our midst, has already been born, and given his life to show us how best to live, putting others before ourselves, and making this world more loving and just.
What a gift for this Savior to be born among us. We think we are going to pass on our values to another generation, but children pass their values on to us of creativity and spontaneity and living in the moment and celebrating life. Let us serve these little ones and strangers in our midst, and by doing so serve Jesus and let them change us to more reflect the love of God.
1st Reading: Isaiah 64:1-9
2nd Reading: 1 Corinthians 1:3-9
I was truly thinking of tossing the readings for today, on this day of celebration, the baptism of two young children and two adults and the day we receive two other new members. Family and friends in attendance—we want to make a good impression. “All our deeds are like a filthy cloth,”--it just doesn't have the happy Christian feeling that we all want to impress on everyone today, guest and longtime member alike. But being Christian is about telling the truth and these readings tell the truth, not just about the difficulties in life, but also about the joy of the fellowship of God's Son, Jesus Christ. These readings don't gloss over the challenges that life brings, but also celebrate that we are all God's people.
The reading from Isaiah doesn't say that we are all filthy rags—it says our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth and we have become like one who is unclean. However the reading also affirms that we are all God's children made good from the very beginning. “We are all the work of your hand.” And “God works for those who wait for him.” God made us all good and sees us as good.
But let's be real—this world is rough and we are part of it. I started reading an article about how people aren't completely domesticated. Dogs started to be domesticated much earlier than cats, and that's why your dog wants to please you and your cat couldn't care less. People have not always been civilized. We haven't always lived together in groups in which we had rules to order us and help us take care of each other. Sometimes our animal nature makes us more cat-like than dog-like, less caring of what other people think, less friendly, less able to follow directions, more likely to go off and do what we want to without a thought for anyone else. In other words we get off track. God made us and loves us and still loves us when we screw up, but we do screw up and this world leads us astray and teaches us bad manners. And when we do good, too often it is only to get what we want, so that even our motivations are impure and our righteous acts can be filthy rags, full of holes and dirt.
Thinking of Kasen and Kamryn and all the kids in the congregation, we don't want our children to know how difficult life can be, or at least we want to tell them in an age-appropriate way, a little at a time. We warn them of stranger danger and help them understand what to do if they get lost. We explain, in simplified terms, news stories they overhear or ask about, that reveal how people are hurting and hungry. We try to help them respond with compassion. We praise their good behavior and explain how their naughty behavior makes mommy cry. But we don't want them to live their lives in fear of us or God or life. Right now it is all about curiosity and exploration and taking in information and learning and celebrating who they are and who God made them to be.
These references to God coming back and the stars falling and being ready can invoke a feeling of fear, of anxiety. But in this waiting of Advent, are we waiting for someone or something that we fear, or are we waiting for something good to come into our midst? When all the smoke clears, we find ourselves looking in a manger at a little newborn baby. If you've had a newborn baby, you know the element of fear that can come into play—the fear of being responsible for something so helpless, the pure vulnerability of a human being at the beginning of life and through childhood and all the way through life for that matter, the fear of a changed life and not knowing what that will mean.
But usually the joy and hope and even the exhaustion overcomes that fear, and you find a way to do what seems impossible, raise a child, with the help of many many other people. And you aren't afraid that this baby will hurt you. It is a helpless child, full of peace in the quiet moments and full of need at other moments. We look in the manger, and we have nothing to fear from God who would come this way, the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ.
This Advent we find ourselves preparing—are we preparing for something we fear? We've got every reason to be anxious. This congregation has been through all kinds of anxiety-provoking situations over the years, from difficulties paying the bills, to expensive repairs being needed on the building, to pastoral leadership making poor decisions, to falling numbers of members and so on. However, because of these troubles, you all know what is most important and how reliable and faithful God is. Because no matter what the trouble, you've never been alone. God has been in your midst, reminding you why your here and keeping you faithful and focussed and awake and continuing to call you into the fellowship of Jesus Christ.
One of the anxieties this congregation has faced has been the absence of children—a problem which we do not have today, and haven't had for the last three months. It was almost a year ago that the Sandness family started coming here. I think it was last summer, I asked Jamie, wouldn't they rather go to a church that has more kids. I didn't want to gloss over the truth—I wasn't saying anything she wasn't aware of. I had laid aside my anxiety about our aging congregation and decided that if God was going to keep giving us seniors, then it was seniors we would minister to. I think many others had let it go, as well. And Jamie in her non-anxious way said something to this effect, “No. We want to be here and we're planning to stay. When the next family comes along they will see another young family here and be more inclined to stay.” And now with the help of some of the other young families that had been on the sidelines and another few who have recently started coming, something new is happening here.
This is about hope in action. Here is a family that had let go of future outcomes, and was content with how things were going. Yet they also had a vision of what could be—not only their own vision of their kids mixing with other kids, but a vision for other families that might come and what they might experience when they met another young family. And they actively worked to make it happen. They could have stayed home and waited until those other families came. Instead they were faithful and let these children teach the congregation how to expand our welcome for little people, by learning their names, by coming to expect their noises, by reaching down for a little hand at the sharing of the peace, and so forth.
It is a healthy balance of letting go and letting what happens happen, of hope and vision, and of working toward that vision. The readings are all about letting go—letting go of expectation of what will happen when, and letting go of control—you are our potter and we are your clay. There are some things we don't know and can't know, so we let go of that. We don't need to know. But not knowing, doesn't mean that we don't do anything. “Keep awake” the Gospel says. Be prepared. Keep watch. Watch for what? Are we watching for some awful outcome, like the collapse of society and and escalation of violence or for our church to peter away? When we look for that, do we bring about a self-fulfilling prophecy? Or do we look for signs of life, for Jesus Christ in our guests and in the stranger and in all those unexpected places? And when we set ourselves up to see that, don't we treat each other with greater respect and create a better church and neighborhood and world?
You know this sudden appearance of families and younger people is not our savior. They will not make or break our church. Some will come and some will go. These children will grow up into adults—and most likely into elderly people. They will struggle to stay awake and to let go of what they can't control and not to be too anxious. But whether they are 3 or 5 or 35 or 60 or 80, God is saying to them and to us, “You are all my people, the work of my hand.” It isn't about who we used to be or who we will be, but the celebration of who we are right now, God's own precious children. And most of all, it is a celebration of our Lord Jesus Christ, who reminded us that it is all out of our hands, to let go of what we can't control. But also that doesn't mean we sit back and do nothing. In faithfulness, we move forward in hope, knowing that the fulfillment of all our hopes is about to be born in our midst, has already been born, and given his life to show us how best to live, putting others before ourselves, and making this world more loving and just.
What a gift for this Savior to be born among us. We think we are going to pass on our values to another generation, but children pass their values on to us of creativity and spontaneity and living in the moment and celebrating life. Let us serve these little ones and strangers in our midst, and by doing so serve Jesus and let them change us to more reflect the love of God.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
November 9, 2014
Gospel: Matthew 25:1-13
1st Reading: Amos 5:18-24
2nd Reading: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Are you one of those people who likes to be prepared, who is always ready well ahead of time and has everything organized? Or are you one of those people who always puts everything off until the last minute? Or maybe you fall somewhere in between. I remember being so frustrated with my fellow seminarians who would be up until 2 or 3 in the morning the night before a test studying, or finishing a paper because they put it off. That just seemed ridiculous to me. I almost always started papers well ahead of time and nowadays I always have a draft of my sermon on Thursday, or I can't enjoy my day off. I know several pastors who's sermons are bouncing around in their head all week. Then they come in early Sunday morning and put it all down on paper. I tweak mine on Sunday morning, but you're not going to see me sitting down to a blank page that day and starting then. That would make me anxious.
I could congratulate myself for being wise and put others down for being foolish, but maybe it is more that I am nervous and they are more relaxed. Or it could be that we each have our own style and process that works for us, so we are all wise. And even when I am well prepared, sometimes things happen to ruin all my preparations, and I have to think on my feet or scramble to get something together.
For the early Christians, they were expecting Jesus' return any day. They had been told that some of them would live to see it happen. Now, 40 or so years had passed and people were starting to die and others were getting anxious and others were forgetting about Jesus' teachings and going back to their old ways. They weren't acting like wise people prepared for Jesus' return. So Matthew tells this parable about the wise and foolish bridesmaids and being prepared.
Being prepared for what? Is this ultimate salvation that these bridesmaids are getting in on or missing out on? What are these early Christians preparing for? What are they gaining or losing by being prepared or not? I have a hard time thinking of the bridegroom as Jesus, locking the foolish, wedding-crashing, latecomers out. We attend more than one wedding in a lifetime. I tend to think this is more about missing celebrating with Jesus. Sometimes we are unprepared to meet Jesus and go to his party. That doesn't mean we'll be unprepared for the next time he appears among us. And it certainly doesn't mean that he's locking all us foolish ones out of heaven. Hopefully we'll learn from our mistakes and either bring more oil or share our lamps or not let ourselves be distracted from the party to go off and get oil.
What does the oil represent? Is it faith? Is it a changed life? Does it matter? What do we need to have a lot of, in order to wait? I'm not sure we know. But I will say, if this is about Jesus coming again, and not having enough of something stored up to last until he did come again, since we're still waiting 2000 years later, it is hard to imagine having enough oil or food or anything to last that long. Not knowing how long of a wait we're talking about, how can anyone be completely prepared?
Now who here is really wise or foolish? Can you call someone wise who won't share her lamp with her sister? Can you call someone wise who sends her sister away to go get more oil, knowing that the Bridegroom could be coming at any moment? Can you call someone foolish for bringing enough but not packing extra? Can you call someone foolish for allowing herself to be shamed and distracted and convinced to leave the vicinity of the party to go off on this errand?--ok, maybe we can say yes to that one. The question for us is this, if we are prepared, are we willing to help others who might have been a little more foolish and share what we have, either the oil or the light? If we feel unprepared, are we willing to wait it out without our light, knowing that the light of the world is coming to illumine our way? Or might we be willing to ask for help, for someone to share their light with us so we don't have to wait in the dark? Can we keep a focus on our Savior Jesus, however he appears to us—as a groom, as a child, as a person with ebola, as a person who is hungry or filthy or weak or undocumented? Will we stick with keeping our watch, however prepared or unprepared we are? Or will we be distracted telling our unprepared sisters and brothers to go jump in a lake, shaming them and sending them on an unnecessary errand? Will we be distracted by those who would shame us, telling us we didn't bring enough and go off to find it instead of staying to find that very thing we are there for, the presence and joy of Christ?
Jesus Christ came to us, the most unprepared of all. He came as a baby. He had no language, no clothes, no defenses, no knowledge. He grew up with no royal title, no crown or throne, no status. As an adult, he had no place to lay his head, no armed forces to command, went long periods without food, was followed by foolish disciples and women no one had a kind word about and finally surrendered all that he had, even his very safety and his body over to death, no dignity, no privacy, no pardon, finally no breath. So completely unprepared. Yet, he had what mattered most—he knew who he was in God's eyes, and he lived and understood his calling to love others and to serve those who are rejected and hated.
In God's eyes, all our preparations must seem silly. We must seem quite foolish, whether we are under-prepared or over-prepared. And notice all the bridesmaids fell asleep. We all get tired. Yet, we are all invited to the party. We are all invited to be near Jesus. We all get another chance to try again and learn to share and not be distracted. We are children of God and guests at the wedding feast, and so are those around us, prepared or not. We get to extend the invitation by our words and actions so that others know they are invited and we are especially encouraged to share our light, or Christ's light, so that we can all enjoy the party, together.
So what is it that distracts us today from seeing Jesus in our midst? Funny to go back to the Old Testament reading this morning. Some things never change. The real point is seeing “justice roll down like waters and righteousness, or goodness like an ever-flowing stream.” But we get distracted by our solemn assemblies, and our noisy songs. We think that our worship is the place Jesus mostly is, and when we worship, we always hope that it isn't the actual hymns or musical instruments, or colors of the day, or pews or the pastor preaching from the pulpit or down in front. Actually, worship should strengthen us to meet Jesus in our everyday lives. It should renew us so that we use our time and energy to share all we have and bring justice to those who never get a fair shake.
I probably spend too much time on Facebook, but I had my latest chuckle on the ELCA Clergy page when one pastor suggested switching church buildings with another congregation for a season to get us out of the worship we all get caught up in, of our own spaces and buildings. I just love thinking like this, about the chaos, but not just all the confusion, but of meeting Christ there and what we would see about ourselves and how we get distracted by things that don't matter and miss Christ standing right in our midst. I love it, in theory. I would certainly be as discombobulated as the rest of you and have difficulty producing sermons and probably drive to the wrong place half the time and never know where such and such is kept. We don't actually have to go through the exercise to start to see a picture of ourselves among these wise and foolish bridesmaids. We are completely foolish and distracted and unprepared, yet Jesus comes to us anyway, gives us his light, keeps us from burning out, feeds us, and parties with us forever more. And in turn we get to be foolish like Jesus, completely unprepared from the world's standpoint, living simply, hanging out with all kinds of rough characters and misfits, welcoming, taking risks, being open to God's leading, and loving, so that more people might know the presence of God.
Maybe the oil is love. Left to our own foolishness, if the abundance and sharing of life is based on who deserves it or who didn't offend us, it runs out. But based in God's own generosity, it never runs out, and so we keep our lamps of love lit, so that others can see what we see, Jesus present with us and celebrating with us.
1st Reading: Amos 5:18-24
2nd Reading: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Are you one of those people who likes to be prepared, who is always ready well ahead of time and has everything organized? Or are you one of those people who always puts everything off until the last minute? Or maybe you fall somewhere in between. I remember being so frustrated with my fellow seminarians who would be up until 2 or 3 in the morning the night before a test studying, or finishing a paper because they put it off. That just seemed ridiculous to me. I almost always started papers well ahead of time and nowadays I always have a draft of my sermon on Thursday, or I can't enjoy my day off. I know several pastors who's sermons are bouncing around in their head all week. Then they come in early Sunday morning and put it all down on paper. I tweak mine on Sunday morning, but you're not going to see me sitting down to a blank page that day and starting then. That would make me anxious.
I could congratulate myself for being wise and put others down for being foolish, but maybe it is more that I am nervous and they are more relaxed. Or it could be that we each have our own style and process that works for us, so we are all wise. And even when I am well prepared, sometimes things happen to ruin all my preparations, and I have to think on my feet or scramble to get something together.
For the early Christians, they were expecting Jesus' return any day. They had been told that some of them would live to see it happen. Now, 40 or so years had passed and people were starting to die and others were getting anxious and others were forgetting about Jesus' teachings and going back to their old ways. They weren't acting like wise people prepared for Jesus' return. So Matthew tells this parable about the wise and foolish bridesmaids and being prepared.
Being prepared for what? Is this ultimate salvation that these bridesmaids are getting in on or missing out on? What are these early Christians preparing for? What are they gaining or losing by being prepared or not? I have a hard time thinking of the bridegroom as Jesus, locking the foolish, wedding-crashing, latecomers out. We attend more than one wedding in a lifetime. I tend to think this is more about missing celebrating with Jesus. Sometimes we are unprepared to meet Jesus and go to his party. That doesn't mean we'll be unprepared for the next time he appears among us. And it certainly doesn't mean that he's locking all us foolish ones out of heaven. Hopefully we'll learn from our mistakes and either bring more oil or share our lamps or not let ourselves be distracted from the party to go off and get oil.
What does the oil represent? Is it faith? Is it a changed life? Does it matter? What do we need to have a lot of, in order to wait? I'm not sure we know. But I will say, if this is about Jesus coming again, and not having enough of something stored up to last until he did come again, since we're still waiting 2000 years later, it is hard to imagine having enough oil or food or anything to last that long. Not knowing how long of a wait we're talking about, how can anyone be completely prepared?
Now who here is really wise or foolish? Can you call someone wise who won't share her lamp with her sister? Can you call someone wise who sends her sister away to go get more oil, knowing that the Bridegroom could be coming at any moment? Can you call someone foolish for bringing enough but not packing extra? Can you call someone foolish for allowing herself to be shamed and distracted and convinced to leave the vicinity of the party to go off on this errand?--ok, maybe we can say yes to that one. The question for us is this, if we are prepared, are we willing to help others who might have been a little more foolish and share what we have, either the oil or the light? If we feel unprepared, are we willing to wait it out without our light, knowing that the light of the world is coming to illumine our way? Or might we be willing to ask for help, for someone to share their light with us so we don't have to wait in the dark? Can we keep a focus on our Savior Jesus, however he appears to us—as a groom, as a child, as a person with ebola, as a person who is hungry or filthy or weak or undocumented? Will we stick with keeping our watch, however prepared or unprepared we are? Or will we be distracted telling our unprepared sisters and brothers to go jump in a lake, shaming them and sending them on an unnecessary errand? Will we be distracted by those who would shame us, telling us we didn't bring enough and go off to find it instead of staying to find that very thing we are there for, the presence and joy of Christ?
Jesus Christ came to us, the most unprepared of all. He came as a baby. He had no language, no clothes, no defenses, no knowledge. He grew up with no royal title, no crown or throne, no status. As an adult, he had no place to lay his head, no armed forces to command, went long periods without food, was followed by foolish disciples and women no one had a kind word about and finally surrendered all that he had, even his very safety and his body over to death, no dignity, no privacy, no pardon, finally no breath. So completely unprepared. Yet, he had what mattered most—he knew who he was in God's eyes, and he lived and understood his calling to love others and to serve those who are rejected and hated.
In God's eyes, all our preparations must seem silly. We must seem quite foolish, whether we are under-prepared or over-prepared. And notice all the bridesmaids fell asleep. We all get tired. Yet, we are all invited to the party. We are all invited to be near Jesus. We all get another chance to try again and learn to share and not be distracted. We are children of God and guests at the wedding feast, and so are those around us, prepared or not. We get to extend the invitation by our words and actions so that others know they are invited and we are especially encouraged to share our light, or Christ's light, so that we can all enjoy the party, together.
So what is it that distracts us today from seeing Jesus in our midst? Funny to go back to the Old Testament reading this morning. Some things never change. The real point is seeing “justice roll down like waters and righteousness, or goodness like an ever-flowing stream.” But we get distracted by our solemn assemblies, and our noisy songs. We think that our worship is the place Jesus mostly is, and when we worship, we always hope that it isn't the actual hymns or musical instruments, or colors of the day, or pews or the pastor preaching from the pulpit or down in front. Actually, worship should strengthen us to meet Jesus in our everyday lives. It should renew us so that we use our time and energy to share all we have and bring justice to those who never get a fair shake.
I probably spend too much time on Facebook, but I had my latest chuckle on the ELCA Clergy page when one pastor suggested switching church buildings with another congregation for a season to get us out of the worship we all get caught up in, of our own spaces and buildings. I just love thinking like this, about the chaos, but not just all the confusion, but of meeting Christ there and what we would see about ourselves and how we get distracted by things that don't matter and miss Christ standing right in our midst. I love it, in theory. I would certainly be as discombobulated as the rest of you and have difficulty producing sermons and probably drive to the wrong place half the time and never know where such and such is kept. We don't actually have to go through the exercise to start to see a picture of ourselves among these wise and foolish bridesmaids. We are completely foolish and distracted and unprepared, yet Jesus comes to us anyway, gives us his light, keeps us from burning out, feeds us, and parties with us forever more. And in turn we get to be foolish like Jesus, completely unprepared from the world's standpoint, living simply, hanging out with all kinds of rough characters and misfits, welcoming, taking risks, being open to God's leading, and loving, so that more people might know the presence of God.
Maybe the oil is love. Left to our own foolishness, if the abundance and sharing of life is based on who deserves it or who didn't offend us, it runs out. But based in God's own generosity, it never runs out, and so we keep our lamps of love lit, so that others can see what we see, Jesus present with us and celebrating with us.
November 23, 2014
Gospel: Matthew 25:31-46
1st Reading: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
2nd Reading: Epesians 1:15-23
“I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy.” This reminds me of the Magnificat, the part of the Bible where the Virgin Mary has just learned that she will carry the Son of God and she sings a song that we sing at Holden Evening Prayer, “You have filled the hungry with wondrous things and left the wealthy no part.”
When I was growing up, I would never sing this part because I was in the poorest family in my congregation, and I couldn't sing this about the wealthier people in my congregation. They were so kind to me. They gave me their hand-me-downs, gave me employment babysitting and picking blueberries. They served with me on committees. They were my Sunday School teachers and Confirmation Instructors. They were my fellow Christians and I loved them and they loved me.
Now I have stepped out of poverty. I find myself in a place of privilege. I can pay my bills without worrying where the money will come from. I have disposable income.
So who am I, in this story? I have been both the poor, and the wealthy. I have been hungry and fed. At times in our lives we have been all of these things. Some have said that these readings aren't about us. They are about who Jesus is. And on Christ the King Sunday it is a good idea to stop thinking of ourselves all the time and really celebrate Christ Jesus.
So what does this reading say about Jesus? As king, where is his throne? Where is his Kingdom and what is it like? Who is this King that we celebrate on Christ the King day and who we've even named our church after?
For a long time, God was the only ruler the Israelites knew. God led them out of Egypt and set them up in a new land, gave them laws to guide them, and gave them judges to help resolve disputes. But the people really wanted a king, like all the other nations around them. They begged for one. God told them they would regret it, that a king would never rule with the compassion and justice of God. The king would get wrapped up in getting more riches and impressing people. No matter how good the king, he would get off track and lose sight of the ideals and values of God. But the people still insisted. If you read the books of Kings in the Old Testament, you've got about 6 good kings total in a list of about 40 between the two kingdoms of Israel and Judah. In other words, having a king was a failure. The kingdom was divided into two. Kings kept taking the throne by coup. They didn't take care of their widows and orphans. They kept going back to worshiping Baal. If one king got the nation back in order, the next ruined all his good work. The kings were unreliable, and even those who were pretty faithful usually lost their way and made huge mistakes that hurt people and dishonored God.
Now enter, Christ the King. God is saying, “Human kings didn't work out very well. You want a ruler, a king. I will come in person and be your king.” Put aside everything you've ever thought about a king, because God is going to show us how it is done. This is a king who isn't concerned with amassing power, or conquering other lands, or being big and powerful the way we think of power. This is a king who gives power away and when necessary takes it away from those who are hoarding it, to pass it around.
To Christ the King, power is not something that you can run out of or is scarce. Jesus knows that power is something that can be shared between us and that can grow and increase as people are empowered. The other kings thought of land and money as power. Those things are finite. They are meaningless because they can be taken away. They aren't powerful at all.
Jesus thought of as power in a completely different way. To him it was powerful to share so that everyone had enough and could contribute. Sharing food and drink, sharing clothing, sharing stories, sharing our time. What Jesus thought of as powerful were relationships of care and love in which the poor and hungry and imprisoned were ministered to and valued as part of the whole, where everyone's well-being was considered and tended to. What Jesus thought of as powerful was thinking the best about another person and letting God be the judge, so that there weren't barriers or prejudices that keep us from helping people in need. When we see someone suffering, we want to tell ourselves that couldn't happen to me. We make up some story in our minds about how they deserve their fate of being lost or hurting—whether we blame a bad decision or drug abuse or whether a person got an education or not. And in the same breath, we worship ourselves and our actions and give ourselves credit for many accidents of life that give us wealth and stability.
When we are poor, we also believe in the stories we tell ourselves that someone must have done something to deserve that wealth, that opulent house, all those amazing vacations, all those nice clothes. That's the myth in our society—that anyone can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, that if we're poor we deserve it and if we are rich we deserve it. These stories we tell ourselves keep us from reaching across to our neighbor who is different from us and getting to know them, to find out the real story and from building power between us that grows.
Jesus is turning that myth on its head. The creator of the universe deserved to have all the comforts and luxuries of life. Instead he had a pile of hay to be born in, fled for his life, had no possessions, was misunderstood by his family, didn't even have competent followers, and was executed as a young man in the prime of his life for standing up to this myth and spending time with the most rejected people of his time. Christ the King is a different kind of king, valuing the poor, redistributing resources, and subjecting the rich to judgment.
A congregation can be a beautiful place where people come together of all different socio-economic backgrounds and situations. It was in my home congregation and it is here. Where else do different kinds of people gather and make decisions together and build relationships and work and worship side by side? Christ has brought rich and poor together to destroy these myths we've been living with and replace them with real relationships, the stuff that really matters and builds power between people for good in the world.
I see before me, a lot of people who are wealthy. I also see people who struggle with finances. Some in this congregation are formerly homeless. Some are just squeaking by and some I would describe living in mansions. Some are rich in money, some rich in health, some rich in family relationships, some rich in friendship. Some are poor in health, some poor in possessions, some poor in self-esteem, some have experienced great losses in their lives, most have had their share of struggles, rich or poor. I would say to all, Jesus is with you. Jesus is the kind of King whose throne is in the midst of struggles and difficulties. And I would say, value one another and get to know one another. You are each a gift and you each have pieces of a puzzle can help other people, here and in the wider world, meet a need or find a connection. God has given us one another as a gift, so open this gift, invite one another to form deeper relationships, share your hopes and dreams and struggles and joys and frustrations. This will build power, it will build compassion, it will make this church stronger and richer in the ways that matter most and that will last.
Jesus is the kind of King who would lose it all to show us what power and glory are really about. I am reminded of the way they stripped Jesus of his clothes at his arrest in Jerusalem—how he stood naked. I am reminded of how he was charged with a crime and held as a criminal in prison. I a reminded of Jesus' words on the cross, “I thirst.” I am reminded of how Peter denied him and no one came to his aid. He was hungry, thirsty, imprisoned, a stranger, naked, and sick. He's been there. What a comfort for us when we are there to know that we are not alone. And he is there. Whenever we meet someone in any of these difficult situations, we remember Jesus and how he did not deserve it and how whatever life choices people have made, no one deserves to suffer like this. Human beings ought to be able to eat and drink, to be clothed, to be visited and cared for and to receive justice. We think of food and water and clothing and medicine as limited resources, but how many of us couldn't afford to feed one more person, or is in danger of running out of clothes with a dozen pairs of shoes and four or five coats in the closet. We aren't running out of anything! There is plenty to go around if we would let Christ be our King and remind us of the plenty we have been given. Because of Christ our King, we will never run out of the things that are most important, the things that grow by giving them away: compassion, relationship, sharing, and love.
1st Reading: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
2nd Reading: Epesians 1:15-23
“I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy.” This reminds me of the Magnificat, the part of the Bible where the Virgin Mary has just learned that she will carry the Son of God and she sings a song that we sing at Holden Evening Prayer, “You have filled the hungry with wondrous things and left the wealthy no part.”
When I was growing up, I would never sing this part because I was in the poorest family in my congregation, and I couldn't sing this about the wealthier people in my congregation. They were so kind to me. They gave me their hand-me-downs, gave me employment babysitting and picking blueberries. They served with me on committees. They were my Sunday School teachers and Confirmation Instructors. They were my fellow Christians and I loved them and they loved me.
Now I have stepped out of poverty. I find myself in a place of privilege. I can pay my bills without worrying where the money will come from. I have disposable income.
So who am I, in this story? I have been both the poor, and the wealthy. I have been hungry and fed. At times in our lives we have been all of these things. Some have said that these readings aren't about us. They are about who Jesus is. And on Christ the King Sunday it is a good idea to stop thinking of ourselves all the time and really celebrate Christ Jesus.
So what does this reading say about Jesus? As king, where is his throne? Where is his Kingdom and what is it like? Who is this King that we celebrate on Christ the King day and who we've even named our church after?
For a long time, God was the only ruler the Israelites knew. God led them out of Egypt and set them up in a new land, gave them laws to guide them, and gave them judges to help resolve disputes. But the people really wanted a king, like all the other nations around them. They begged for one. God told them they would regret it, that a king would never rule with the compassion and justice of God. The king would get wrapped up in getting more riches and impressing people. No matter how good the king, he would get off track and lose sight of the ideals and values of God. But the people still insisted. If you read the books of Kings in the Old Testament, you've got about 6 good kings total in a list of about 40 between the two kingdoms of Israel and Judah. In other words, having a king was a failure. The kingdom was divided into two. Kings kept taking the throne by coup. They didn't take care of their widows and orphans. They kept going back to worshiping Baal. If one king got the nation back in order, the next ruined all his good work. The kings were unreliable, and even those who were pretty faithful usually lost their way and made huge mistakes that hurt people and dishonored God.
Now enter, Christ the King. God is saying, “Human kings didn't work out very well. You want a ruler, a king. I will come in person and be your king.” Put aside everything you've ever thought about a king, because God is going to show us how it is done. This is a king who isn't concerned with amassing power, or conquering other lands, or being big and powerful the way we think of power. This is a king who gives power away and when necessary takes it away from those who are hoarding it, to pass it around.
To Christ the King, power is not something that you can run out of or is scarce. Jesus knows that power is something that can be shared between us and that can grow and increase as people are empowered. The other kings thought of land and money as power. Those things are finite. They are meaningless because they can be taken away. They aren't powerful at all.
Jesus thought of as power in a completely different way. To him it was powerful to share so that everyone had enough and could contribute. Sharing food and drink, sharing clothing, sharing stories, sharing our time. What Jesus thought of as powerful were relationships of care and love in which the poor and hungry and imprisoned were ministered to and valued as part of the whole, where everyone's well-being was considered and tended to. What Jesus thought of as powerful was thinking the best about another person and letting God be the judge, so that there weren't barriers or prejudices that keep us from helping people in need. When we see someone suffering, we want to tell ourselves that couldn't happen to me. We make up some story in our minds about how they deserve their fate of being lost or hurting—whether we blame a bad decision or drug abuse or whether a person got an education or not. And in the same breath, we worship ourselves and our actions and give ourselves credit for many accidents of life that give us wealth and stability.
When we are poor, we also believe in the stories we tell ourselves that someone must have done something to deserve that wealth, that opulent house, all those amazing vacations, all those nice clothes. That's the myth in our society—that anyone can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, that if we're poor we deserve it and if we are rich we deserve it. These stories we tell ourselves keep us from reaching across to our neighbor who is different from us and getting to know them, to find out the real story and from building power between us that grows.
Jesus is turning that myth on its head. The creator of the universe deserved to have all the comforts and luxuries of life. Instead he had a pile of hay to be born in, fled for his life, had no possessions, was misunderstood by his family, didn't even have competent followers, and was executed as a young man in the prime of his life for standing up to this myth and spending time with the most rejected people of his time. Christ the King is a different kind of king, valuing the poor, redistributing resources, and subjecting the rich to judgment.
A congregation can be a beautiful place where people come together of all different socio-economic backgrounds and situations. It was in my home congregation and it is here. Where else do different kinds of people gather and make decisions together and build relationships and work and worship side by side? Christ has brought rich and poor together to destroy these myths we've been living with and replace them with real relationships, the stuff that really matters and builds power between people for good in the world.
I see before me, a lot of people who are wealthy. I also see people who struggle with finances. Some in this congregation are formerly homeless. Some are just squeaking by and some I would describe living in mansions. Some are rich in money, some rich in health, some rich in family relationships, some rich in friendship. Some are poor in health, some poor in possessions, some poor in self-esteem, some have experienced great losses in their lives, most have had their share of struggles, rich or poor. I would say to all, Jesus is with you. Jesus is the kind of King whose throne is in the midst of struggles and difficulties. And I would say, value one another and get to know one another. You are each a gift and you each have pieces of a puzzle can help other people, here and in the wider world, meet a need or find a connection. God has given us one another as a gift, so open this gift, invite one another to form deeper relationships, share your hopes and dreams and struggles and joys and frustrations. This will build power, it will build compassion, it will make this church stronger and richer in the ways that matter most and that will last.
Jesus is the kind of King who would lose it all to show us what power and glory are really about. I am reminded of the way they stripped Jesus of his clothes at his arrest in Jerusalem—how he stood naked. I am reminded of how he was charged with a crime and held as a criminal in prison. I a reminded of Jesus' words on the cross, “I thirst.” I am reminded of how Peter denied him and no one came to his aid. He was hungry, thirsty, imprisoned, a stranger, naked, and sick. He's been there. What a comfort for us when we are there to know that we are not alone. And he is there. Whenever we meet someone in any of these difficult situations, we remember Jesus and how he did not deserve it and how whatever life choices people have made, no one deserves to suffer like this. Human beings ought to be able to eat and drink, to be clothed, to be visited and cared for and to receive justice. We think of food and water and clothing and medicine as limited resources, but how many of us couldn't afford to feed one more person, or is in danger of running out of clothes with a dozen pairs of shoes and four or five coats in the closet. We aren't running out of anything! There is plenty to go around if we would let Christ be our King and remind us of the plenty we have been given. Because of Christ our King, we will never run out of the things that are most important, the things that grow by giving them away: compassion, relationship, sharing, and love.
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