Forty Days- Sermon on Luke 4:1-13 and Deut 26:1-11

Preached Sunday, February 17, 2013, first Sunday of Lent.

“Trust me.” Two short words, filled with meaning and baggage. I think, on the whole, that we want to be trusting people. We want to give others the benefit of the doubt, right? Especially as Christians, we don’t want to judge people unfairly, or interact with them based on their appearances or reputation, treat anyone differently from anyone else. We want to offer them trust.

But we live in a cynical time, in a dangerous world. It seems naïve to trust anyone. Seeds of doubt have been planted. We are wary, insecure. We look at everyone twice, with narrowed gaze, trying to figure out their angle, their ulterior motives. We are afraid, frankly. And we have transferred this distrust to God, as well.

Of course, this is not really a new phenomenon. We might idealize the 1950s as a time of perfection in America, the way life should be, imagining Wally and the Beave and the rest of the Cleavers, but it was also the time of a Cold War, and fear of communists and anyone else who didn’t conform to that standard ideal. Go back further, and there are the Salem witch trials. Further than that, Inquisition. The beginning of the Christian church. Keep going—all the way back to Adam and Eve. When we read that creation story, we stopped before their time in the garden. Genesis 3:

Now the serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal that theLord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden’?” The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’“ But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.

This was the first temptation, and it was accomplished by creating distrust. It wasn’t so much that the tree was so fabulous that Adam and Eve could not resist. The serpent got them to question God. “God’s not telling you the whole story,” says the serpent. The trust starts to crack. Ever had that feeling? You put your trust in someone or something, and then something happens or someone says something and all of a sudden, in your mind, in your gut, in your heart, there is the tiniest catch. Doubt. Hesitation. No one wants to feel like a sucker, made to be a fool. Adam and Eve were no different. They shifted their trust from God to the serpent, and the rest, as they say, is history.

And then there’s Jesus. Just before the passage we read this morning, Luke traces Jesus’ lineage through Joseph back to Adam, makes that connection to him, and to God. Jesus is about to begin his ministry at thirty years old. He has just been baptized by water and the Holy Spirit, and this same Spirit now leads him out into the wilderness for forty days of fasting and temptation. We don’t know how the temptation is framed during that forty days, but at the end of that time, we find the Devil trying to cast that shadow of doubt on Jesus. “If you’re the Son of God,” the devil says, “turn the stones to bread.” The Devil tries to cast doubt not only on the authenticity of Jesus’ identity (which was affirmed during his baptism), but also on Jesus’ trust of God’s plan. “You’re hungry, Jesus. You don’t know when you’ll get bread next. Go ahead, turn this stone here. You haven’t eaten anything for forty days! You need to eat! You deserve it!” Jesus responds with scripture, part of Deuteronomy 8:3, “God humbled you by letting you hunger, then by feeding you with manna, with which neither you nor your ancestors were acquainted, in order to make you understand that one does not lives by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.”

“Ok,” Devil says, “Look around. I’ll give you power over all that you see, if you worship me.” In other words, do you really have Divine power? Can you trust God’s word on that? Jesus again refers to scripture, Deuteronomy 6:13, “The LORD your God you shall fear; God alone you shall serve, and by God’s name alone you shall swear.”

The Devil tries one last time. “Ok, Jesus. If you’re really the Son of God, nothing bad can happen to you, right?” The Devil pulls out some scripture, too, from Psalm 91. Ha ha!, the Devil says. Two can play at this game. “Go ahead, Jesus, jump from the top of the temple, and if you’re really God’s Beloved Child, the angels will catch you and make sure you’re not injured.” Jesus responds a third time with scripture, mindful both of God’s promises and of God’s expectations. Deuteronomy 6:16, “Do not put the LORD your God to the test, as you tested God at Massah.”

First of all, I think it is no accident that all of Jesus’ quotes are from Deuteronomy. He uses scripture from the time before the text we heard this morning, a time when his ancestors were wandering in the wilderness for forty years. Those people certainly had doubts aplenty. I know I would—in their time, forty years was literally a lifetime, so probably very few saw both the beginning of the Exodus and the arrival in the Promise Land. But as we heard in this lovely text, God does provide, always, and does so abundantly.

Jesus knew this. I wonder, honestly, how much he was tempted in those forty days. He certainly doesn’t seem to hesitate in the least during those last three tests. If you have internet access, I encourage you to look up a video called “40” (that’s the number)—search for “Jesus 40 days video” or something along those lines and you should find it easily. Or check out our Facebook page—I put the link up this morning. It’s a video of cartoons by Simon Smith, set to various pieces of music, of Jesus’ time in the wilderness, his reflection on what it might have been like. In the end, the face of the Devil is Jesus’, suggesting that Jesus’ mightiest struggle was with himself.

“Trust me.” God says these words to us every moment of every day of our existence. The world, though, especially for those of us with more logical, science-minded, or even practical brains, tells us differently. We know that one does not live on bread alone, but we also know that about 25,000 people die every day from hunger or hunger-related causes, and 16,000 of those are children. Oh that we could turn stones to bread for them—except we don’t need to. Americans alone throw away about 400 lbs of food a year—that’s EACH PERSON, so multiply that by a population of about 314 million. God has provided, we’re just taking more than our fair share.

“Trust me.” We want to. We really, really want to. We want to let go and let God, as the saying goes. Through our hard times and struggles and uncertainties, we want to trust that God is there, and more than that, helping us. But we don’t. We are tempted by doubt. We want to trust God to lead us by the Holy Spirit, but when we think we’ve discerned where and how and why we’re being led, the trust starts to crack. There is a quote that appears in the film Akeelah and the Bee, incorrectly attributed to Nelson Mandela, that I think really captures this doubt. It’s really by Marianne Williamson, and she says,

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.[1]

We don’t trust that God actually is asking us to act. We don’t trust Jesus quite enough to pick up our cross daily and follow him. We don’t trust the Holy Spirit not to lead us astray. We are tempted by the promises of the world, yes, but much more so by self-doubt, insecurity, feelings of inadequacy, fear of failure, and that’s when those worldly promises take hold, because they promise to fix those things. Buy this, go here, act like this, wear this, and you’ll fit in, you’ll be confident and have lots of friends and be happy. Those people who are hungry? That’s because they don’t work hard enough, because there isn’t enough food to feed everyone, because their government is corrupt, because they are in this country illegally, because they’ve made bad choices, because they feel entitled to be fed by our tax dollars. It has nothing to do with you, trust me. Don’t get involved in trying to change the system, it will never change, trust me. Don’t bother writing or calling your representatives in the government, they won’t listen, trust me. What can you do? You’re just one person. You’re not famous or rich or influential, and even if you are, you should use that to your own benefit. Let other people take care of themselves. Trust me. All that stuff you have, your possessions, your money, your food? YOU earned it. God had nothing to do with it, really. Sure, if there’s a little money left over at the end of the month, I guess you could give it to the church, but don’t put yourself out. Don’t make any sacrifices or anything. Trust me. You deserve that stuff. You need it. Trust me.

Today is the first Sunday of Lent. Reflecting Jesus’ time in the wilderness, it is 40 days (not including Sundays) of prayer, penitence, fasting, and alms-giving. It is a time to practice our faith at a deeper level in preparation for the event at the center of our faith, the resurrection, which we celebrate on Easter. Maybe you’ve already chosen a practice for Lent, and started on Ash Wednesday. Maybe you hadn’t even thought about it, or had no idea what Lent was. Maybe you’re somewhere in the middle. Either way, let me suggest that this Lent, we all practice trusting God. We trust that we are God’s child, and that God wants the best for us. We trust that our voice is as powerful as anyone else’s—and that others’ voices are important as well. We trust that we have a say in how our world is run, and whether people go hungry or are oppressed or exploited or not. We trust that God will provide enough. How will we do that? Here are some possibilities, some suggestions to get the ideas flowing. Pick one—two at most. Do not try to do them all!

Don’t buy anything new during Lent. Only eat food that is already have in your cupboards and refrigerators and freezers. Educate yourselves on the political status of a cause which speaks to you and contact your representatives to give them your opinion. Take one of the scripture texts we’ve been learning or one that Jesus used in this lesson or even the Lord’s Prayer, and say it each time you hear that other, tempting voice. Pray each day to be led by the Holy Spirit in all you say and do—and then actually follow where She leads. Each day or each week write down one area of your life where you’re struggling to trust God—a financial situation, or a relationship, or a gift you may have—and pray about it, and try to let go of your doubt. Make a point to give away more than you ever have, whether by buying extra food for the food pantry, or making a daily small donation to one charity or forty different organizations over the course of Lent, or fasting from some other activity in order to create time to volunteer or read scripture. Lent can sometimes have a bad reputation, but it does not have to be about guilt or making life painful or difficult. It should take a little effort, yes. Most practice does. But that’s how we get better at things, with practice. Trust me. And above all, trust God to lead you through whatever wilderness lies ahead. You are not alone, and you are God’s beloved. Amen.

---

[1] A Return to Love, Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles, Harper Collins, 1992, p. 190-191

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Talk of the Cross--Sermon based on Luke 9:18-36

I preached this sermon on Sunday, February 10, 2013, Transfiguration Sunday.

Let us pray: Gracious God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, our Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

For today and for the next few weeks, I’ll be drawing our scripture texts from the lectionary, but the reading we just heard actually starts well before the lectionary passage. Today is the celebration of the Transfiguration, the last Sunday before Lent, when we hear again the story of Jesus on the mountain with Moses and Elijah, transformed with the glory of God before heading back down to do the work of his ministry. That’s the lectionary story. However, for a reason which escaped me as I tried to write this sermon, I decided to start a little earlier, eight days before the Transfiguration. I think maybe I was struck by the fact that Jesus mentions the cross, although he had only just moments before declared for the first time that he would be killed. Given that the Gospels were written well after Jesus had in fact gone to the cross, perhaps no one thought much of it. Here we are, about to start our Lenten journey in a few short days, and the cross already looms in front of us.

Not only does it loom in front of us, we’re apparently supposed to go ahead and get our own to carry along the way. Here’s where my “why the heck did I pick this passage again?” question really kicks in. I have been wrestling with this passage, and particularly the line I selected as our memory verse, all week. If it wasn’t for that memory verse and the fact that it’s printed in your bulletins, I might have ditched the whole idea and just done a lovely Transfiguration story, something fun and exciting and shiny before we hit the seriousness of Lent next Sunday. But alas, it was not to be, and so here I am, preaching on Jesus telling us to take up our own cross to follow him.

To begin with, let’s get some potential misconceptions out of the way. First, taking up the cross does not simply mean to carry a burden. It is now a common term of phrase to say, “That’s my cross to bear” in reference to something painful or troublesome, whether it be a chronic illness or a difficult family member. That is not what Jesus is talking about. He is talking about something very intentional we choose to pick up and carry. Second, we need to remember what the cross represented in Jesus’ time. It has become for us a symbol of hope and faith, something with which we decorate the church and wear on jewelry. Back then, however, it was an instrument of not only death, but torture and humiliation. It was a means of execution, but more hangman’s noose or guillotine than electric chair because it was so public.

So what does Jesus mean, then, when he tells those who wish to become his disciples to each take up her or his own cross each day and follow him? Well, ask me again after another year or twenty of wrestling with it, but here’s what I’m thinking today: It’s not about you. That’s what Jesus is saying. Get over yourself. It’s not about you.

We live in a culture obsessed with self-improvement and self-esteem and self-help and self-everything. It’s all about the individual. Rugged individualism is what we called it in my anthropology classes in college. The Marlboro Man-type. Then there’s the “Me” generation. We can have just about everything personalized just the way we want it. The American dream is for a single person to overcome the obstacles and pull him- or herself up by the bootstraps to success—success, of course, being defined usually as personal wealth or achievement or status—and those who can’t do it without help are lacking somehow. We are supposed to take every advantage we can, even pushing moral and ethical limits, to come out on top. We’re also supposed to be strong, show no signs of weakness, give no one else dominance over us.

Then there’s Jesus, saying, you want to be my follower? Really? Then realize it’s not all about you. Deny yourself. Forget what the world tells you, because what good will it be to have everything in the world but not what I can give you?

We want so badly not to hear this message. We want so badly to believe those who preach the prosperity gospel, who tell us that Jesus wants us to have whatever we want. We hear the Good News that Jesus loves us and that grace can’t be earned by good works and we start letting ourselves off the hook, telling ourselves we can be self-sufficient and self-serving and still call ourselves Christians. We start looking at Jesus Christ as our personal Lord and Savior and assuming that means we can personalize his message to make it something that works for us each as individuals.

Jesus says no. Jesus says to save our lives we must lose them. We must deny ourselves, and follow where he has led, cross and all. We must be willing to be vulnerable, like he was. Willing to offer our whole selves to God, no matter what anyone else says or does or how inadequate we feel. That’s what the cross is, I think. Vulnerability, accepting that to follow Christ is to open ourselves up to being hurt and misunderstood and ridiculed by others. It is comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable. Speaking truth to power and grace to brokenness. Taking up our cross and following Christ daily means loving as he loved. Forgiving when we have every reason not too. Working our tails off for people and causes which most people ignore or have forgotten or say aren’t important. Offering our time and money in ways that will not benefit us at all. Making time and space for growing our relationship with God when we really want to just do what we feel like: hitting the snooze button, zoning out in front of the TV, shopping. It means doing things that scare us and make us uncomfortable and anxious and are just not “our things” because they are the things that we should do for the least of these among our brothers and sisters just as we’d do them for Christ. Realizing that we are not rugged individuals but parts of a whole Creation and community, in relationship with one another. Acknowledging that our actions do not occur in a vacuum but affect others, and that inaction does the same. Taking up the cross means every day trying to become the person God is calling us to be, exposing more and more of our truth and light in everything we do, and in turn revealing each day a bit more of the realm of God.

Carrying the cross and following Jesus’ Way leads to death, to be sure. Death of worldly expectations, death of self-interest, death of that which holds us back from fully living into God’s desires for each of us and for all of Her creation. But that cross, that cross. An instrument of torture and humiliation and death, transformed. Transfigured by God’s glory, as Jesus was on that mountain. To carry the cross and follow Christ is to die, yes, but also to be resurrected. To be given new life. To see the realm of God.

It is not an easy task. It is a call on our lives with which I know I will continue to wrestle, which I will question and doubt and probably even grumble about. Maybe you will too. But that’s one good thing about church. We can do it together. And when those crosses we pick up each day do feel a little heavy, do begin to feel like burdens, we can help each other carry them. Even Jesus had help carrying his cross. Amen.

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Aint No Party Like A Jesus Party- Sermon based on John 2:1-11

I’m going to go ahead and blame the Puritans for the poor reputation of the church, and even Christianity at large in our country. It’s boring, some say. Too strict, claim others. It’s all about what you can’t, shouldn’t, or mustn’t do. Perhaps we’re a little bit beyond that, but I would guess there are at least a few of you in here today who hesitate to share your faith background and practice with people for fear of the assumptions people will make, that all of a sudden they will look at you and see a dour, straight-laced Puritan who is eyeing everything they do with righteous judgment. Or maybe you hesitate to invite people to church because, well, it is a little…sedate. And serious.

Sometimes that’s a good thing. Our world is busy and noisy and full of drama. Sometimes we need a break from that, a place to come into quiet, to rest and have a few minutes of peace to actually hear the voice of God.

And often we need to deal with serious issues that can’t be left outside the church. We can’t come into worship and pretend that the world is not broken and that God is not calling us to be part of its healing.

However. We do not need to always be serious. We do not need to always be quiet, or still. While we need to be careful not to make the goal of worship entertainment, as I think has happened in some churches, that does not mean it can’t be fun.

Jesus, as we see in this story, knows about fun. There’s a wedding going on. Weddings in those days were not one evening and done as they are now. No, weddings occurred over an entire week, and it was the host’s job to keep everyone fed and happily imbibing. Running out of wine meant scarcity not just for the couple’s family, but symbolically for the marriage itself, and would certainly mean the end of the party after only three days.

At first, Jesus is dismissive. What business is it of his if there’s no wine left? But Mary is confident, and tells the servants to do what he tells them. He has them take large stone jars, which people use to ritually purify themselves in the Jewish custom, and fill them with water. The water then is transformed into wine. And not just any wine. Good wine, the stuff you’re supposed to serve at the beginning of the party, when people actually care what they’re drinking.

Jesus not only approves of the party and celebration, he’s overwhelmingly enabling it to continue! This is not the image of Jesus we usually see. We know righteously angry Jesus, and meek and mild baby Jesus, and patient “ok, Disciples, let me explain this to you one more time so maybe you’ll understand” Jesus. But fun Jesus? Not so much.

And why not? Because we limit ourselves to what we feel is good and proper. Maybe it’s not just the Puritans. Maybe it’s New England. We’re Yankees. Reserved. Don’t get our feathers ruffled too much. Maybe. Although I’m going to bet that will not be the impression made this evening at Gillette Stadium. So why can’t church be fun?

We put limits on what church is “supposed” to be, and we do the same with God’s grace. We act as though we will need to settle for what God gives us, as if sacrifice and discomfort are what make us better Christians. Yes, sacrifice is called for. But sacrifice of what, exactly? Pleasure? Enjoyment?

That’s not the way God works. We turn to God and expect crumbs, and God gives us the entire loaf of bread. We ready ourselves for a bottle of cheap wine, and God pours out six 25-gallon jars of the best there is.

The jars in this story represent the old ways, old practices of purity that Jesus transforms with his new wine. Maybe we should think about what rituals and practices we’re holding onto that limit the abundance of Christ’s grace. Maybe we should reconsider what church and Christianity are supposed to be, and open ourselves up to what they could be.

Now, of course, we are all of many generations and backgrounds and personalities and interests. What is enjoyable to one may be intolerable to another. But that’s part of being the body of Christ, right? We also need to consider those who aren’t yet part of the body.

But we need to be open, to others and to our own desires. Are you feeling moved by a prayer or song and want to raise your hands? That doesn’t happen much in our church, but that’s ok. Do it! Is there an upbeat hymn that makes your hands itch to clap or your hips beg to sway? I was just swaying to that last hymn. Go for it! Do you agree with something I’ve just said in my sermon or with the beauty of a choir anthem and want to affirm it with a vocal “Amen?” Why not? It is, in fact, ok, to laugh and smile and have fun in worship—and not just during the Time for All Ages! God is awesome, so let’s make the worship of God that way too! We are sharing the GOOD news, right? Yes, sometimes the Holy Spirit moves us deeply to tears or to consider action in response to a prophetic word, but hello, it’s the Holy Spirit, and She likes to be mischievous and active, too, so we should let her!

Living as disciples of Christ can be serious business, but we also must be careful not to take ourselves too seriously. For everything there is a season: a time for reverence and a time for irreverence; a time for reflection and a time for action; a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to be still and a time to PAR-ty!! How many of you have seen the movie Sister Act? This group of nuns sing in a choir in a mostly empty Catholic church. They sing with love, sure, but without a whole lot of passion (and, at the beginning, not a whole lot of skill, either). Then Whoopi Goldberg arrives, acting as a nun to hide in the witness protection program. Her previous profession was as lounge singer. She is assigned the task of coaching the choir, and all of a sudden these staid nuns are not only sounding better, but they’re having fun. In one scene, they begin with a traditional arrangement of “Salve Regina,” sung very sweetly. “Hail, holy queen enthroned above, O, Maria…” Maggie Smith, who plays the head nun, looks on approvingly. Then, the piano picks up and they are rocking out and clapping, “Hail holy queen…” Maggie Smith is not amused. The sound brings in people off the street to see what’s going on. The priest waves in these inner-city kids who are peeking in to see what’s going on. In subsequent services, they sing “I Will Follow Him” and “My God (My Guy).” “Nothing you can say can tear me away from my God…”

That’s mostly about music, but it’s also about an attitude, that loving God and serving Christ does not have to be boring. “Ain’t no party like a Jesus party, ‘cause a Jesus party don’t stop!”  Now, we’re not in an inner city, so the chances of people coming in off the streets of Francestown because they can hear us outside are slim to none. But what if people heard of us and decided to take a peek? What if what we were doing—in worship, in mission, in the entire life of the church—were so exciting we couldn’t hold it in and had to share with others? What if it wasn’t just our congregation? What if that started happening all over the Church-with-a-capital-C? It makes me excited and joyful just thinking about it! Forget about church membership numbers or attendance or pledge amounts; just imagine how many more people would hear and know the Good News of Jesus Christ—the power of God’s love and the abundance of God’s grace; the feast God has prepared for us, the river of delights to which we are invited. What might our world look like, if that’s the message people heard about Christianity? It would be amazing! And all because of fun Jesus, who kept the party going.

In that spirit, we’re going to do something a little fun. Who here has played MadLibs? [Explain if necessary]. So we know how this works? Ok, let’s try this out.

On the third day there was a _BIRTHDAY________ (special occasion or event) in __CHURCH______ (place), and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his __COWS________ (plural noun) had also been invited to the (_____BIRTHDAY same special occasion or event). When the _WATER______ (liquid) gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And ___MARK_____ (name of person in the room) said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My __SKI_______ (noun) has not yet come.” His mother said to the ___PEWS______ (plural noun), “Do whatever he tells you.” Now ­­­__SINGING______ (verb ending in –ing) there were __3____ (number) ___BEAUTIFUL____ (adjective) water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding __24_____ (number) or __6______ (number) gallons. Jesus said to them, “___PLAY_______ (verb) the jars with ____BEER______ (liquid).” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. When the __TEACHER_______  (profession) tasted the __CIDER_______ (liquid) that had become __WINE______ (liquid), and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the ___DOCTOR_____ (profession) called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone __WALKS_____ (verb) the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become __LOVELY_______ (adjective). But you have kept the _HAIRY________ (adjective) wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his __PEOPLE________ (plural noun), in ___FRANCESTOWN_______ (place), and revealed his __COW________  (noun); and his disciples believed in him.

Having had this fun, remember it. Remember the abundant joy God wishes for you. And when we sing “Joyful, Joyful” after Communion, let’s do it with gusto! 

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Daniel and the Reformation

Well, here's something a little different: a peek into my thought process before I publish my finished sermon. Being at a new call which has not become accustomed to the lectionary, I decided to take the plunge and go off-lectionary for a while. After my first non-lectionary week, I had three weeks of stewardship, so that was pretty easy. Then I was left with a feeling of, "Ok, now what? How do I choose my sermon focus from the whole Bible?" I'm not sure how it arose, but I decided to start preaching stories. Familiar stories from Sunday school, not-as-familiar stories that are skipped by the lectionary, etc. I began at the beginning, with the two creation stories. The first week, I led a "time of wonder" (based on Godly Play) for my sermon, which allowed those in the congregation to share their reactions, thoughts, and feelings. The second week, I preached a sermon based on how we read both stories, which is posted here. Now, it's almost a free-for-all, though I'm realizing why preachers don't do this much--the stories are LONG! I definitely got used to preaching on small bits of scripture, and then honing in on one line or idea on which to base my sermon. Five paragraphs offer a lot of sermon potential, but at the moment I have this feeling that I should preach on the story as a whole, which I'm not sure will last.

Anyway, this week I've chosen Daniel in the lion's den (Daniel 6) as my story. It happens that this is also Reformation Sunday. Usually I don't even notice, but over the past week I've seen multiple posts on Facebook about how my colleagues are crafting their sermons in relation to this celebration of the birth of Protestantism, and it's caught my interest. So now in addition to figuring out how to focus my preaching on Daniel (in hindsight, perhaps starting a Bible study on the stories, rather than a sermon series, might have been more appropriate), I'm also trying to weave in Reformation.

At the moment, I have a sermon title, "Abraham, Martin...and Daniel" and some sense that I want to talk about faithfulness to God amidst and informing change and reform. How are we reforming now? How can we, like Daniel, hold on to faithful traditions and values even if they put us in danger of ridicule or marginalization (since not many of our lives are in danger for our faith, at least not here in the US)?Not at all sure how that's going to shape up, but I decided at the last minute to finally include in this week's liturgy a prayer of dedication I found in our hymnal weeks ago and have been eager to use. I think the ideas in this prayer will help shape my sermon. (Funny sidenote: I just did a quick search to see if I could find a link to the prayer, and it turns out the author, Herbert Brokering, edited a book of Luther's prayers. Even more perfect!). I can't seem to find it online, so I'm going to share it here, with citation (and begging forgiveness from copyright holders).

Lord, call us into the church.
Call us in often,
    and teach us the old words and old songs
    with their new meanings.
Lord, give us new words
    for the words we wear out.
Give us new songs
    for those that have lost their spirit.
Give us new reasons for coming in
    and for going out,
    into our streets and to our homes.
As the house of the Lord once moved
    like a tent through the wilderness,
    so keep our churches from being rigid.
Make our congregations alive and free.
Give us ideas we never had before,
    so that alleluia and gloria and amen
    are like the experiences we know in daily living.
Alleluia! O Lord, be praised!
In worship and in work, be praised! Amen.

 From Lord, Be With. Copyright 1969 by Concordia Publishing House. As published in Hymns for the Family of God, Paragon Associates, Inc, copyright 1976.

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Another Creation Story?

Sermon preached October 21, 2012, based on Genesis 1:1-2:4a (read in worship the previous week) and Genesis 2:4b-24.

I want to begin this morning with something that seems so far removed from this ancient story as to be almost comical. I want to very quickly try and explain Twitter. Twitter is an online tool for what is called “social networking,” something that used to be done over dinner or drinks, but is now done via computer or smart phone. Most users of Twitter have their profiles open to the public, which means that whether one is signed up for a Twitter account or not, their information and comments (what they call “tweets”) are accessible. One distinction about Twitter is that any post or comment you make has to be 140 characters or less. If you do have an account, you then “follow” other users so that their tweets show up in your feed, and you can interact with other users.

There are a variety of ways people use Twitter. Some use it solely to connect with people they actually know. Some use it to connect with other people who have similar interests. Some use it to promote their business or brand, or in the case of celebrities, themselves. There are those who use Twitter in one direction only; that is, they only send information out and don’t interact. Most, however, end up having “conversations” with other users and engaging with each other.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because I use Twitter. I follow people I’ve actually met and many that I haven’t. I follow people who are in ministry, or have shops on Etsy, or are interested in the environment, or have adopted, or are just interesting or funny. There is one particular user I follow with whom I agree on almost everything. He tends to Tweet a lot of social commentary, focusing on race and gender and sexual orientation. He has an interesting perspective on the world. He often Tweets in spurts, sort of making lists of opinions on certain things, Tweet after Tweet. Usually, I’ll read through his blurbs and find myself nodding my head in agreement. “Yes, that’s so true.” “Oh, what a good point.” Eventually, though, he’ll drift over into the one area where we strongly disagree: religion. See, this user is an atheist, an intellectual who believes religion is ridiculous. One of his frequent comments is about how all religions are just myths. He recently Tweeted in annoyance at how Christians call Greek and Roman god stories myths as though they are any different from our own faith stories.

Does he have a point? I mean, last week we read through the beginning of Genesis, an account of how God created the universe, including the Earth and human beings. This story is immediately followed by the one we heard this morning, another account of how the world was created. Two different stories. In one, the universe was created in six days; in the other, one day was all it took to create the earth and its inhabitants and the rest of the universe wasn’t mentioned. In the first story, male and female human beings were created at the same time, and after all the other animals. In the second, the male human came first, then all the other animals, then the female human. They also just have very different tones to them. Which one is true? Are either of them true? What about what science says about how our world was created? Are these really just myths? Because let’s be honest: if we were told these stories came from some other tradition or culture, and not from the Bible, we’d call them legends, or “creation myths,” and not even really consider believing them, right? Isn’t that what we do? I mean, come on, woman is created from the rib of man? Humans are made out of dust, like a kid playing with Play-doh? God sets a dome over the earth to separate heaven from earth, like we’re a big planetarium?

In my three years teaching Confirmation, reading these two Creation stories was always a big moment for the kids. Many had “come out of the woodwork” for Confirmation, not having been in church since they were baptized, but even those who had gone to Sunday School every week had a revelation. They knew the stories, but they never really thought about the fact that they were two separate stories. I think our society does that too: Creation happened in 6 days and Adam and Eve were the humans created. Right? So when we sit and read the stories, and they realize there are two, separate, different stories, they start asking all those same questions. Perhaps some of you are experiencing this same event this morning. Maybe some of you never realized there were two different stories. Maybe some of you knew, but always had those lingering questions. Maybe some of you felt guilty for questioning Scripture. Maybe others accepted the stories as part of our tradition and the validity of evolution without ever really thinking about it.

They are big questions, though. It is amazing how something as simple as figuring out that our Bible contains two different accounts of Creation can shake a person’s faith. All of a sudden, we wonder about the authority of the Bible. We question all we believe, and why. If those stories aren’t real, what is? How can we believe anything in the Bible? If one is true and the other isn’t, then how can we tell what else the Bible gets right or wrong? Do we hold the Bible as the holy “sufficient rule of faith and practice,” or not? What is the truth?

And here’s what I tell my Confirmation students, something I had to discover myself when all these questions arose for me in seminary, as we dissected every last word of the Bible until it seemed to have lost all meaning and sanctity: there is a difference between TRUTH and FACT.

Factually, perhaps the story we shared this morning may not have happened. Factually, although it does mesh a little better with the scientific explanation of the origins of the universe, the story we heard last week might not be quite right either. However, we can find truth in both of them.

Here are some truths I make out. First and foremost, God is the author of Creation. However it happened, beginning with the Big Bang or before that or through some other theory, God is the Creator. Another truth: human beings have a special role in creation. We have reached the point where we have the ability to destroy everything in a way nothing else on Earth can, and the capacity to see, at least in part, how the consequences of our actions will play out in the future. That endows us with a particular responsibility to care for God’s creation—to be good stewards of the Creation of which we are a part. Related to that, another truth: we are deeply connected to the earth, to dirt, to the very fibers which make up this planet. In Hebrew, we can see the wordplay: adam, human, was formed from adamah, ground or soil. Another truth: Human nature is not a duality of body and soul but a single living being, dust animated by God’s breath. More truth: male and female are both images of the Divine. Also, maybe God doesn’t get everything right the first time. In this morning’s story, God made every animal and bird as failed attempt at a partner for adam. Another truth, and hold onto your hats for this one: sexual intercourse is a divinely blessed act. Both stories make a reference to it: in the first, God tells the humans to “be fruitful and multiply,” and in the second, the man and woman cling to each other and become one flesh. More truth: Creation is very good, and ideal when there is diversity—many different plants and creatures and fish and waters. And yet more truth: like air, God is invisible, but knowable in movement and action. God’s wind swept over the waters at the beginning of creation; God’s breath brought life to human beings.

There are is probably a lot more truth to be found in these stories, and certainly in the rest of the Bible. And perhaps by the dictionary definition, they are myths—stories of heroes or deities or events of nature without a determinable basis of fact. But then, maybe that’s ok. We’re not claiming the facts, necessarily, but the truth that we can learn about God through them, which we see with the help of the Holy Spirit. As we hear more stories from our faith tradition in the weeks to come may that same Spirit of Wisdom and Truth guide us to know our God more fully. Amen.

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Truth Is...

Sermon preached Sunday, August 12 at First Church of Christ in Longmeadow, based on Ephesians 4:25-5:2.

So this morning's sermon is a bit of a brainstorm, or to use a turn of phrase I heard recently, "a mind dump." I just put thoughts down as they came, without organizing them in any particular way, so I apologize if they may seem a little random.

The title of this morning's message comes from a game played on Facebook. Those of you with middle school--or even high school--Facebook friends may have seen this. Somebody posts "message me with a number for truth is." Someone does so, and the original poster then posts a "truth" about the friend, but only using the number so it's sort of anonymous. Truths might be things like "You're a really good cheerleader" or "I had fun with you in band."

Given this morning's text's mention of speaking truth to our neighbors, I thought I'd share some of my own truths with you. These are truths about the passage, church, and some of my beliefs.

• Truth is, sometimes it's hard to speak truth to our neighbors--they might get mad or offended or worst of all respond with another truth we don't really want to hear.
• Truth is, I don't think we should gloss over the face that this letter writer is telling thieves to stop stealing not because it's wrong or so they can make an honest living for themselves, but so they'll have something to share with the needy.
• Truth is, when you argue right before bedtime, it's hard to not go to bed angry.
• Truth is, Christianity is really weird. And awesome. (That one came from a friend)
• Truth is, I worry about the future of the Church.
• Truth is, I'm not sure I believe in the devil, but if the devil exists, I probably leave room for it a lot more than I should.
• Truth is, evil DOES exist.
• Truth is, the prayer of confession at the beginning of worship is not meant to condemn individuals or make us feel guilty but recognize our communal frailty as humans.
• Truth is, forgiving is one of the hardest parts of Christianity, and one of the most important.
• Truth is, it's easy to be neighbors and "members of one another" with people like us. It's a lot more difficult to say, act, and feel that about people and groups we just can't stand, or fear, or who do terrible things.
• Truth is, we should be praying for them at least twice as much as the people we know, love, care about, and like.
• Truth is, sometimes it's tough to talk about stuff like this, or why people are or aren't coming to church, without getting angry and snarky and bitter, which is exactly what Ephesians tells us not to do.
• Truth is, it's really tough to always do what we're supposed to do.
• Truth is, I'm not sure how Jesus would feel about church committees (really! I'm not suggesting an alternative or to get rid of them, just...think about it!)
• Truth is, a lot of what we focus on and put our energy and money into doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, and we neglect the things that do.
• Truth is, the world might really be different if we did indeed let no evil talk or slander or malice come out of our mouths but instead passed everything through a filter, asking ourselves before speaking if what we're about to say is useful for building up, if it will give grace to those who hear.
• Truth is, that idea is in the same paragraph as the one that says speak truth to our neighbors, so truth is they're probably connected.
• Truth is, I still haven't quite figured out the whole heaven/hell/salvation thing (and if you have, please feel free to share with me after church!)
• Truth is, I agree with Charlie Hamlin, who says every day we should do something to strengthen our minds, bodies, and spirits.
• Truth is, some parts of the Bible are really disturbing and almost impossible to consider holy.
• Truth is, I wonder what the apostles and other early Christians think about how we follow Christ and worship God and experience the Holy Spirit.
• Truth is, I wonder what God thinks, too.
• Truth is, if it's easy, it probably isn't truth (simple, maybe, but not easy)
• Truth is, I am not the fount of truth, because truth is, you all have your own truths, too, and I hope in the spirit (if not the intention) of this morning's text, you will share some of them with me and your other neighbors after worship at coffee hour and in the coming days and weeks. 

Let us pray: Holy God, you who are the ultimate Truth, loosen our tongues that we may speak truth to our neighbors, always in love, ever for your glory. Amen.

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What is Your Name? Genesis 32:22-31

Sermon preached Sunday, July 31, 2011.

What is your name?

A being--man or angel or other—asks Jacob this question after wrestling with him all night, and it is not a casual question. Naming is important in the Bible; a person’s name usually reflected some aspect of character, parents’ emotions or incidents surrounding the birth, or significant life experiences. We see this in many stories: Abram and Sarai being re-named Abraham and Sarah; Simon being called Peter (the Rock) by Jesus; in the story of Ruth and Naomi, when Naomi returns to her people she tells them, “Call me no longer Naomi, call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt bitterly with me.” Naomi means “pleasant”—Mara means “bitter.”

Jacob, born moments after his twin Esau, holding onto his older brother’s heel, is named accordingly: Jacob means “He takes by the heel” or “supplant”—meaning to overthrow or displace. And Jacob lives up to his name. He cons Esau out of his birthright, asking him to sell it to Jacob in order to get some stew after a long day working hard in the field. Jacob, with his mother Rebekah’s help, prepares a savory goat dish and wears goat skins and his brother’s clothes to trick his father Isaac into giving him the blessing meant for Esau. He seems to meet his match in his uncle Laban, who tricks Jacob into marrying both of Laban’s daughters, but in the end, with the use of some cunning breeding practices he succeeds in taking most of Laban’s flock with him as he heads back to his home country.

We don’t see that kind of thing much today, at least in our society. A person’s name may reflect something of the parents’ personalities (traditional, radical, likes to follow trends), or family history if named after an ancestor. Sometimes, you might get an idea of the time of their birth—Rain, Summer, and Dandelion or Bertha, Edna, and Mildred—their ethnic background, or their parents’ interests, such as the kids named “ESPN” (spelled E-S-P-N after the cable sports network). But generally the names by which we are called don’t define us as much as they seemed to in the ancient world.

At least, our official names don’t.

But we have other names for ourselves. And society often gives us names as well. At times we refer to them as “labels.” In some instances they were names bestowed upon us by someone else; in others, we named ourselves.

What is your name?

“Lazy,” we respond inside. “The Chubby One.” “Bad Singer.” “Terrible With Numbers.” “Best at Everything.” “Klutz.” “Daydreamer.” “Not Good Enough.” “Not Pretty Enough.”

What is your name?

“Criminal,” “Outsider,” “Deviant,” “Troublemaker,” “Goody-Two-Shoes,” “Successful,” society names us, based on our appearance, history, background, circumstances.

And sometimes—probably more often than we’d want to admit—we live into these names as Jacob lived into his. Called “lazy” once by one teacher, we make choices which enforce that, because, well, that’s who we are, right? Having named ourselves “not good enough,” we don’t take risks that might persuade us otherwise. Labeled “Outsider” by society because of our country of origin, we do everything we can to blend in. While some names we become, others are admissions, confessions of who we are and where we’ve been in life. But either way, we carry these names with us, heavy weights of bad decisions, weaknesses, unrealistic expectations, inadequacies, or even shame. These names follow us into relationships and experiences, continuing to influence who we are, our way of being in the world.

Let’s go back to the story for a moment.

We meet Jacob on the edge of home. He earlier sent messengers ahead to alert Esau to his return; the messengers say that Esau will come out to meet him—with 400 men. Jacob is terrified that his past actions are about to catch up to him at last. He divides everything and everyone with him into two groups, hoping that if Esau captures or destroys one, the other will survive. He sends gifts of herds of goats, cattle, camels, and donkeys, hoping to win back Esau’s favor. And finally, he sends his wives, maids, and children ahead of him as well, perhaps hoping to further soothe Esau’s anger or at least provoke his pity. He is now alone, save for the being with whom he wrestles until just before dawn. The being cannot overtake Jacob, so he dislocates Jacob’s hip and tells Jacob to release him because it is almost day break. But Jacob, still not subdued, demands a blessing before he’ll let go. So the being says, “What is your name?” And in the answer is all the name implies. Jacob: usurper, trickster, thief.

On the one hand, it might have come out as a confession: yes, these are the things I’ve done, this is who I have been. On the other, one could also imagine resignation in his voice. Here he has wrestled all night, on the eve of meeting his brother after fifteen years or so, of finally facing the music, and he had prevailed over this stranger…and he’s reminded of his name. Of his history. Of all the events leading up to that moment. He is his name.

But then. Then the being says, no, that is no longer your name. You are no longer someone who displaces another, but someone who has wrestled with God and with humans and prevailed. You are bigger than that name. Jacob realizes that the Wrestler is God. God responds to Jacob by saying, “No, that is not the end of the story. You are more than that.”

Can we listen closely, and hear God saying that to us too? It is not easy, to be sure, to let go of those names. It may require wrestling and struggle, maybe even some pain. We might end up with scars.

Let us take a few moments, silently or out loud as we feel moved, to confess and acknowledge these names that we call ourselves, the names we’ve been called, the names that haunt and pursue us.

And now listen. Hear God’s response. Hear Him telling you that these names are not the whole story. Names can cause and carry hurt and anguish, but they can also provide healing and mercy. God has names for us, too: Beloved. Child of God. Vessel of Spirit. Worthy. Created in God’s Image. Bearer of Light. Christ’s Own. Beautiful. Welcome at the Table. Seeker of Truth. Cherished. Known and Forgiven. Keeper of Faith. Deserving of Grace. Blessed and a Blessing.

Again, it probably won’t be easy to let go of our old names and claim who God names us to be. Especially if God starts calling us by a name we don’t think we’re ready for. Take it from one who heard God name her “Pastor” and thought God had lost Her sweet divine mind. Talk about a wrestling match. And hey, even Jacob didn’t get it the first time—God appears to Jacob again in chapter 35 to repeat the re-naming process. Just remember, if God’s names for us seem hard to accept or believe, and if those other names still find us and seem more true, remember that God knows us inside and out, knows our strengths and weaknesses, our disappointments and successes, better than we know ourselves. So listen closely to what God has to say when you’re asked, “What is your name?”

Let us pray. God of many names, who is and was and always will be, claim us, name us, and make us yours. Amen.

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Razzle Dazzle: Sermon On Matthew 17:1-9

Here is the sermon I preached yesterday, Transfiguration Sunday 2011. It was well-received by the congregation. If I can figure out how to create a "podcast" of the audio recording, I will post that as well. If I can get the video recording, I'll also post that. But for now, here's the transcript!

Let us pray. Gracious God, in all that we say and do, may the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, oh Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

The mountain. The dazzling white clothes. The appearance of Moses and Elijah. Peter’s misguided offer to build three dwelling places. The voice from the sky. For those of you who have been attending church for at least a few years, this story is probably starting to become pretty familiar. The story of Jesus’ transfiguration on the cusp of his journey to Jerusalem and the events that will ultimately lead to his death appears every year on the Sunday before Lent begins. In our church, the texts for each Sunday are chosen following the Revised Common Lectionary. It’s a three-year cycle through the Scriptures and generally each Sunday there is scheduled a reading from the Old Testament, a Psalm, a reading from the Epistles—which are the letters in the New Testament—and a selection from one of the four Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. John is kind of the oddball Gospel, so each year—labeled A, B, or C—works through a good chunk of one of the other three, which are called the Synoptic Gospels, and they include many of the same stories. This year, year A, which began with Advent, we’re working our way through Matthew. Now, in our worship services, we usually only read two pieces of scripture, so it’s possible that even if you’ve been coming to this church for quite a few years, you haven’t heard this text read every time, if the preacher hasn’t chosen it from the four scheduled texts. But it is scheduled, every year—it’s one of the stories that is included in all three of the Synoptic Gospels, so depending on the lectionary, we read either Mark’s, Matthew’s, or Luke’s version, which all vary slightly from each other, but basically share the same core story.

As a story that comes around every year, well, it can get a little stale. I’m still very early in my career, and I don’t preach every Sunday, so this hasn’t really happened to me yet, but at some point you can look at a text and wonder what else there is to preach. It’s all been said. In some ways, that’s always true. These texts are thousands of years old; odds are whatever spin or insight or interpretation we come up with, it’s been thought of before. But. God is still speaking, right? Of course, even that UCC catch phrase came from something someone else said: John Robinson, sending forth our spiritual forebears from Europe to the New World in 1620. He said, “There is yet more light and truth to break forth from God’s holy word.” God is still speaking.

Most sermons and studies and commentaries on the Transfiguration focus on one of two main areas. They’re either looking at what happened on the mountain—the transfiguration itself, Peter’s construction ideas, the voice from above, the appearance of the two men—or they focus on what happens after the mountain—where the Gospel story goes, or where we go and what we do after a “mountaintop” experience. All of these are perfectly valid, perfectly interesting, perfectly enriching to our spiritual lives and understanding of the Bible and how we read it today.

But. How do we get there? What comes before the razzle dazzle of transfiguration, before our journey down the mountain and back into life? How do we get up the mountain, how do we get to a point where we, too, can experience this overwhelmingly holy ecstatic moment that will leave us changed? The same way we get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice.

We know that we cannot pick up a cello one day and head to Carnegie Hall expecting to be able to play flawlessly. We know that we cannot pick up a French-English dictionary one morning and head to Paris that night speaking fluently. We know that we cannot reach for a basketball, computer, spatula, or car keys out of the blue and be able to hit the half-court shot, make a program do everything it’s supposed to, whip up a delicacy, or drive like Mario Andretti. We know that it takes time and effort and doing things over and over and over again to do it right and do it well. Yet, somehow we often think that the first time we talk to God in prayer or open a Bible, something big is supposed to happen. We want that mountaintop. We want to be transformed by God. And how many of us tried once and gave up? And then maybe a few months or years later, tried again. I’ll admit it. I’m often one of those people. I want to be able to pray to God and be transformed, have my whole outlook changed, be tempted by no sin. Poof! I want to open my Bible and see exactly the words I need to hear in that moment. Clear message from above! I want to walk into a worship space once and be profoundly and irrevocably moved by the Holy Spirit. Razzle dazzle me, God! Show me what you can do!

But. Praying is sometimes tedious, and my mind wanders. But. Reading the Bible is sometimes boring, and my mind wanders. But. Worship sometimes just doesn’t do it for me and I don’t like the hymns and the scripture readings are too complicated to understand and the sermon is ho-hum and why is this service so long, and my mind wanders.

Doesn’t work. No razzle dazzle transfiguration for me. I give up.

Why is it that we know that mastering pretty much anything else in our lives takes time, patience and lots and lots of practice? How many of us took piano lessons or had kids who took piano lessons and hated those boring exercises you start with? I wanted to sit down and play Für Elise! Teach me that! But good teachers know that there are steps to mastery, and that by doing over and over that which is sometimes tedious and boring and not at all what we’re hoping for, something happens.

I recently started reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. This is a classic book based on a workshop that she taught on how to access our innate creativity. She brings a spiritual component to it, emphasizing that our Creator God, created us in God’s image, therefore created us as creators. It’s not just for artists. The book is set-up like a 12-week class with exercises and tasks to complete each week. The foundation of it all is the morning pages. Every morning, you are to get up and write—longhand, no computers—three pages. No matter the topic, three pages. Even if you complain about how you don’t want to write and have nothing to say over and over until you fill up three pages, three pages.

The point is that if you only write when you think you have something to say, you’ll hardly ever write. And if you expect that every time you write you’ll come to some major epiphany, you’ll never write because you’ll always be disappointed. But if you write every day, sometimes, you’ll get epiphanies. If you write every day you prepare a place to welcome any light to break through.

It’s like growing a garden. You don’t throw a seed into the grass and expect prize-winning tomatoes. You have to do the work to prepare the soil and nourish the plant and keep the weeds and bugs away. Most days, it’s boring and tedious and not at all uplifting. But then one day there’s a flower. And after some more weeding and watering and just plain staring at the plant every morning to see if something’s changed, a little green sphere appears, and over time, with mostly just unexciting work, the tomato grows and ripens and then, and only then, do you get that absolutely heavenly experience of biting into a sun-warmed fresh tomato that you’ve grown.

It’s the same with our faith. It takes practice and work. Praying every day, even when it’s tedious and our mind wanders and we have nothing to say. Reading the Bible regularly, even when it’s complicated and boring and makes no sense. Attending worship regularly, even when not every service speaks to you. Those spiritual practices are what build the foundation and prepare us for those holy, mountaintop, transfiguration moments of pure grace. If we haven’t done the preparation, we can’t expect anything to happen. If there’s no fertile ground, the tomatoes won’t grow. If we haven’t practiced our scales, we can’t play Für Elise.

Lent is the perfect opportunity to learn how to begin or improve our practices. It’s a time of preparation—a time to lay down a foundation to be ready for the razzle dazzle of Easter. Six weeks to practice the scales, refine the jump shots, and roto-till the ground of our faith. I encourage you to pick ONE thing to practice during Lent, whether it’s praying every morning, reading a chapter of the Bible, giving thanks before eating, following our “green” Lenten calendar, picking a new hymn to learn every week, giving $2 to a different charity every day…whatever. But ONE thing. Don’t overwhelm yourself trying to play Für Elise on Ash Wednesday, because you’ll never make it to Easter. And whatever that thing is, try to do it every day. If you miss one day, pick right back up where you left off. But the every day practice will allow that light and truth to break through, will create a habit, will step by step bring us up the mountain closer to God, the razzle dazzle of Christ’s resurrection on Easter, and beyond.

Let us pray: Razzle Dazzle God, teach us how to practice our faith, every day, and help us to keep going even when it’s tedious, boring, and we just plain don’t feel like it, so that we may better prepare our hearts to be moved by you. Amen.

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Living the Good Life

Sermon preached on Sunday, September 26, 2010 based on 1 Timothy 6:6-19.

Dear Paul,

Thank you for your most recent note. I will be sure to forward it on to the other members of our community. It may also help to post it on Facebook so that it can reach as many people as possible. However, I have a feeling that there will be some strong reactions to your words, so I just want to clarify a few things. I want to be prepared with some responses when people share their questions and concerns with me.

So of course the biggest argument will be: what’s so bad about money? (This is not my question; I’m just stating what I think others will ask). I mean, as much as we may not like to admit it, it does make the world go around. You said we should be content if we have food and clothing, but it takes money to get those things, right? And let’s be honest, money can be a lot of fun: it can provide us all kinds of entertainment—sports games, theater, movies, books, concerts, television; it take us to different places all over the world; help us relax on vacation; makes life easier with gadgets, appliances or just getting to and from where we need to go in a timely and comfortable manner.

I also think people might not understand what you mean by “storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future,” by doing good and being generous. Isn’t that what 401(k)s, pension plans, and retirement portfolios are for—creating a good foundation for the future? I think some might argue that working hard in order to make a lot of money or investing in endowment funds also sets a good foundation for the future by helping to assure that the next generations of our families and communities are cared for. I don’t think that’s exactly what you mean, but I have a feeling others might be confused about that.

And lastly, I really love the phrase that follows your statement about the future: “so that they may take hold of the life that really is life.” It’s beautiful, but could you explain it in a bit more detail? What IS the life that really is life? How can we recognize it?

Yours in Christ,

Timothy

Dear Timothy,

I knew there was a reason I liked you—you ask great questions! I think you are right that there could be strong reactions to what I wrote before, but I wouldn’t worry about that. Truth and wisdom are often hard for people to accept, and let’s face it, Christ never said that following where he leads would be easy—just the opposite, in fact. Besides that, it’s hard for most people to break away from the status quo. There’s a sense of safety and security in going along with society’s established norms, and a feeling that contentment will come with achieving what our culture labels success.

But see, therein lies the problem. We are placing our hope for security and contentment in the wrong places.

In answer to your first question, there is nothing wrong with money itself. People who say, “money is the root of all evil” are misquoting me. If you read my letter closely, you’ll see that what I said was, “the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.” You are correct when you say that we need money to obtain necessities like food and clothing and shelter—and for some of life’s pleasures, as well. The problem starts when our focus is on being rich, when we make money or worldly goods the central hope or desire of our lives. One needs to look no further than reality television to see what craziness ensues when the potential for a large sum of money is on the line. People risk bodily harm, public embarrassment, the ruin of relationships—sometimes even their lives—to try and get rich. A book called The Day America Told the Truth states that in one survey, 25% of people asked would abandon their entire families in exchange for 10 million dollars. 16% would leave their spouses. 7% would kill a stranger. See, that, Tim, is a problem.

Even for those who wouldn’t go to such an extreme can struggle when the desire for money gets in the way of time spent with loved ones or prevents us from being in the world in the way Christ calls us to be. We believe all the books and the advertisements and the workshops that tell us that money will solve our problems. If we just had more money, we wouldn’t be as stressed, wouldn’t have to worry so much, would be so much happier. And it is somewhere along these lines where many who are already blessed with a bigger bank account falter, by “setting their hopes on the uncertainty of riches,” as I said in my last letter, instead of God. Actually, this is not limited to those who already have money. Many, many people have fallen into the trap of spending money they don’t have yet, putting themselves into debt with the presumption that the money to pay it back will be there in the future.

I hope that if we have learned anything in the last few years, it’s that the security of money can be gone in an instant. Many people found that 401(k)s and pensions are no guarantee when the market crashed right before they planned on retiring. Stable, secure jobs suddenly were uncertain or gone. A huge bank that “could not fail” was allowed to collapse. Houses bought as a secure investment were suddenly worth less than the money owed to the banks holding the mortgage.

All this is to say, Tim, that our focus should not be on making money but on serving God. Jesus tells us to strive first for the kin-dom, and all our needs will be given to us. I’m not saying that retirement portfolios or savings accounts or investments or even higher incomes are bad, per se; what I want to make clear is that we should not work so hard to lay the foundation of our future with them that we neglect generosity, compassion, the pursuit of justice and righteousness, godliness and good works, cultivating relationships, which lay the foundation for the future of God’s kin-dom and our eternal lives with God. Does that make sense?

And as for what I am suggesting with the phrase “the life that really is life,” I think in some ways that is up for each of us to answer, but be sure it has little to do with money. During his ministry, Jesus often took phrases or ideas which were common and turned them on their heads, so let me do likewise with the phrase, “living the good life.” Usually this brings to mind images of big houses, flashy cars, private jets, expensive toys, maybe a swaying hammock on a pristine beach somewhere. Actually, that last one doesn’t sound so bad! But what if living the good life—living the life that really is life—meant receiving an adoring smile from a child who trusts you because you’ve given him time and attention. Or holding an elderly woman’s hand while she dies to make sure she knows she’s not alone. Or using your God-given gifts and talents to make the world more beautiful, more peaceful, or simply ore interesting. Or taking a walk with someone you love on a crisp autumn day and listening to the sound of leaves crunching under your feet. Or pushing your body further than you ever thought possible. Or reciting the words of the 23^rd Psalm in a time of despair and knowing without a doubt that God is with you as your comforter and protector. Or being part of a church where you can be honest, and share, and step outside your comfort zone to take a risk in safety and love. Tim, I’m sure you and the members of your community could add more of your own, based on how each of you find joy and contentment and connection to each other and to God. It is not about being rich in money or possessions, but being rich in love, faith, godliness, endurance, gentleness, and righteousness. This is what it means to live the good life, the life that really is life.

I hope this makes things more clear.

Grace be with you,

Paul

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Demands or Delights?

This sermon was preached on August 29, based on Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16 and Luke 14:1, 7-14.

Trying to be a good Christian can seem exhausting sometimes. There are all the rules to follow: the ten commandments that Moses receives, plus that new commandment about loving one another that Jesus gives before he dies, among all the other lists of rules and laws and instructions. It’s tiring trying to learn them all, nevermind to try and not break any. Then there are all the people in the media who are telling us that most of the things we’re doing or thinking or may think soon are damning us all to hell. So if you believe them, you become exhausted from the fear of God’s—or a commentator’s—wrath and trying to make people change. If you disagree with them, you spend your energy being angry with them and on trying to make people see that they don’t speak for all Christians. Of course all of this gets paired up with exhaustion from guilt—whether its’ from breaking a rule or being sinful or not working hard enough to fight for justice, that guilt can be heavy.

Some of you may remember a sermon I preached not so long ago in which I spoke about the word “should.” I think this passage, if one is not careful, could easily lead us down the path paved with shoulds, the guilt-inducing feeling of “something should be happening, and it’s not” (or, in the case of injustice being done, things that should not be happening, but are). Now, this is not always a path to avoid. Too often we don’t want to feel the guilt so we ignore the problems around us altogether. Remember the bent-over woman from last week? Sometimes we need a little nudge to pay attention. Those guilt-inducing shoulds can often lead us into action

In my web browsing this week, as I visited multiple sites geared toward preachers, many were taking this angle with these two texts. Now, clearly these other preachers are all serving churches very un-like our dear First Church, because they were gearing up to preach about radical hospitality, and forgoing the love of money and being content with what we have, remembering those who are imprisoned, and inviting those on the margins to banquets instead of people with high societal standing—with, of course, the underlying message that those are the things that should be happening, and are not—or not enough. Obviously, that message doesn’t apply to our church, right? Ahem.

Anyway…I started taking notes about my thoughts for this sermon, heading in the same direction as these other preachers. This type of sermon generally gets me fired up. I feel like I am following in a great tradition of prophetic speech, from Isaiah and Jeremiah to Martin Luther King, Jr. and Marian Wright Edelman. I get fired up to do God’s work and light a fire under other people’s…seats to do the same. I get energized, and it’s generally not very positive energy. It’s usually more a righteous anger, a frustration with systems which keep people from being free to fulfill their full potential as God’s creation, a lamentation that even now, many millennia after prophets first began telling people that God’s wish for Her people is justice, and mercy, and righteousness, that we still allow and take part in the oppression of others…a burning desire to make things different. This is where I thought the Spirit was taking me, along with many other preachers around the world.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the pulpit. (Now, there’s a good idea for a musical!) I re-read the texts and my notes and I found myself really, really happy. Gleeful. Giddy. Excited. Because all a sudden, instead of seeing these words as a mandate of what we are supposed to doing or a scolding of how we should be practicing our faith, it became clear that these words are also a blessing. Instead of demands, I saw them as delights.

We get to practice a faith which tells us to continue in mutual love. Dr. King encouraged this when he said, “We are tied together in the single garment of destiny, caught in an inescapable network of mutuality.” This is usually the part of the quote with which people are familiar, but he went on to say, “For some strange reason, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the way God’s universe is made; this is the way it is structured.”[1] Another person also explains this beautifully. She is an Australian Aboriginal woman named Lila Watson, and when meeting with mission workers, she told them, “If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” What an amazing idea, that our liberation is bound up with others’, and vice versa. We depend on each other. Yes, that means we have some responsibility towards others, but that also means others have responsibility towards us. Yes, it means putting energy into loving others, but mutual love means that we receive just as much love back.

We get the privilege of showing hospitality to strangers, and possibly even meeting angels! The writer of this letter is probably referring to Abraham, who welcomes three strange men to his home, feeds them and lets them wash, and they turn out to be messengers from God who bring the news that Sarah will have a baby. We could also stretch this a little, based on Matthew 25, to say “some may have entertained Christ without knowing it.” Even if we don’t meet angels, though, we get to meet someone new. Take a moment to look around the sanctuary at the people gathered here. Every single person in this church was at some point—and maybe still is—a stranger to someone else here. Our friends, our significant others, our brothers and sisters in this family of Christ, were once strangers to us. This is not just a “do this,” but also a “you shall receive.” We don’t need to know you to pray for you. This church has been praying for a 2-year-old girl named Rylie since January, and not one of us has met her. That’s Christian hospitality. Recently some members of the church who don’t come very often were ill and needed help with meals. Not many of those who cooked and delivered the meals knew the couple, but they were happy to do so. Think of all that has been done for total strangers in Louisiana and Mississippi in the five years since Hurricane Katrina hit. How amazing is it to know that these are things we get to do because our faith calls us to it?

Forget feeling guilty. While we certainly need to work on its implementation in this world, let’s celebrate the fact that at Christ’s banquet, all are welcome, and we as followers of Christ get the privilege of telling those who are on the margins, those who most need God’s love, those who feel most excluded, that they’re on the invitation list. In fact, they get VIP status. We get to be like Ed McMahon, except instead of going just to people’s homes, we go everywhere, but especially to homeless shelters and soup kitchens and afterschool programs and detention centers and prisons and hospitals. And instead of a big check, we present grace and a place at the table. How awesome is that?

Is this all easy? No! Of course not! But not much worthwhile is. Think of peace talks, getting people out of gangs, raising a child, accompanying someone at the end of life, sustaining a relationship, finding a cure for a disease, standing up for what’s right. Welcoming the stranger, remembering the prisoner, inviting the marginalized to the table, all that makes us vulnerable, and that’s scary. Ooh, but here’s where that happiness comes in again, because that writer of Hebrews reminds us of God’s promise: “I will never leave you or forsake you.” God will never leave us or forsake us. I think that’s worth repeating one more time: God will never—NEVER--abandon you. You are never left on your own. This promise then gives us the confidence to say, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can anyone do to me?” Sounds an awful lot like Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

So not only do we get to do and say and be all these great things as Christians, but our faith also assures us that God accompanies us through it all. So, maybe trying to meet all the demands of being a good Christian is exhausting sometimes, but other times—many, many other times—it’s exhilarating and uplifting and inspiring—breathing life into us. We get to be a blessing to others, and in turn are richly blessed. Let us lift up our praise for such delights, and let the whole church say, “Amen!”

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[1] Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, as quoted in John Meacham, American Gospel: God, the Founding Fathers, and the Making of a Nation, New York: Random House, Inc, 2007, p. 203.

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Now Is The Time--Luke 13:10-17

Many have asked for it, so here is the sermon I preached Sunday, August 22 based on Luke's story of Jesus healing a bent-over woman on the sabbath.

I want to start this sermon with a practice used by faithful people for generations: confession. I want to confess to all of you…that I am a procrastinator. I have made an art of procrastinating, in fact. I’ve been doing it all my life. I sometimes joke that since I was born 11 days past when I was due to be born, I procrastinated even from the womb. I was that kid in elementary school who would wait until the day before a big project was due to tell my parents I needed to pick a topic, research it at the library and create a diorama to bring to class. In college, being a morning person, I’d often go to bed at a reasonable hour, wake up early the next morning when a paper was due, and write it the day of. Finding ways to avoid or put off doing what needs to be done is easy for me. Seminary paper to write? Perfect time to clean out the closet in the lounge. Sermon to write? You know, I think I’ll start this sewing project I’ve been meaning to get to for a few years. Research to do? Yes, I think I will bake bread! And on and on.

Oh, I know I’m not alone. In fact, I know very few people who are speaking honestly when they say they don’t procrastinate, people who never put things off until a “better” time, until they’re more prepared, until everything is just right. Psychologists will tell you that procrastination is often linked to perfectionism, which is why people who do it need deadlines—otherwise nothing would get done, as everything would be put off until the person is ready, the research is exhausted, the situation is perfect and there is no chance of failing. Not now, we protest, with any number of excuses; maybe tomorrow will be the right time. Let me do something else and try to ignore what I know needs to be done.

Now Jesus was teaching in a synagogue on the Sabbath. Now by this time, Jesus was probably getting pretty well known. He had declared Isaiah’s prophecy about being anointed with God’s Spirit to have been fulfilled in him. He had healed quite a few people, calmed a storm at sea, and told many parables to his disciples and gathered crowds. So we can imagine that if Jesus was teaching in a synagogue, there were probably a lot of people there to hear him. And maybe it wasn’t a service, like we have here, where everyone is gathered in the same place and listening to one person. Maybe they’d had their regular Sabbath service already, and Jesus was simply teaching something extra, so that while many were gathered around to hear him, others were simply going on about their business. And so perhaps that is why this woman just “appears” to Jesus. Certainly as bent over as Luke describes her, she probably wasn’t moving very quickly. But perhaps the crowds just happened to part the right way all of sudden, and there she is, bent over and “quite unable to stand up straight.”

Jesus could have ignored her. He was in the middle of teaching—maybe even right in the middle of a sentence. It was crowded; he could have simply pretended he hadn’t seen her. It would’ve been easy enough to do. As far as we can tell, she wasn’t seeking him out. He so easily could’ve acted like he never even knew she was there. Haven’t we all done that at one time or another? Averted our eyes away from what makes us uncomfortable or what we just don’t want to deal with? Another confession: there were many times on the subway in New York when I’d deliberately put on my earphones and pull out a book to avoid the person coming down the aisle asking for money. If I could pretend I didn’t see the person, I could continue the act and tell myself I hadn’t, actually. I’d been listening to my music, hadn’t heard the story of a lost job, apartment eviction, hungry kids and waiting for benefits. I’d been reading my book, hadn’t seen the outstretched hand. I had an excuse.

Jesus had plenty of excuses, but he didn’t use them. Instead, he stops what he’s doing when he sees the woman. Now Luke puts three actions in one sentence—he sees her, he calls her, he spoke to her—but we know in life things don’t happen quite that fast. He sees her. He calls her over. She, bent over as she was, makes her way slowly through the crowd, trying not to step on anyone, people shuffling to let her pass. Was there silence as they all watched her go to Jesus? Or were there murmurings, wondering what he was going to do? Did Jesus keep his eyes on her, or watch to see how others were reacting? She finally reaches Jesus and he tells her that she is healed. He lays his hands on her, and he immediately stood up straight and began praising God. We can imagine everyone is joyful.

But wait. The leader of the synagogue steps in. My guess is he was worried this would become a regular thing. Jesus heals one person on the Sabbath, now everyone’s going to want healing. “Hold on,” he says. “There are six other days meant for working. Come and get healed on those days; leave the Sabbath alone.” It seems like he was just trying to avoid, to put off, what he knew needed to be done. He was giving an excuse—it’s not the right time. There are rules, he says. He was telling the people to wait a little longer, come back later. Jesus retorts, basically, that it is always the right time for healing, and perhaps the Sabbath is particularly suited for being healed and set free. Immediately after this healing, Luke writes, “He said therefore, ‘What is the reign of God like?’” It is clear that Luke is connecting Jesus’ act of healing the bent-over woman to the God’s reign.

In John’s Gospel, the night before Jesus dies, he gives his disciples a new commandment. “Love one another,” he says. “Just as I have loved you, you should love one another.” If we are to love as Jesus loved, it’s clear that this story from Luke gives us clear example of how we as a church—as the Body of Christ—should act, as well as a model for each one of us. Kate Huey, part of the Local Church Ministries Team of the UCC, writes, “Every single one of us, in our daily lives, has the occasion to encounter the bent-over woman.”[1]

Who is she?

She is the teenager who endures day after day of ridicule and bullying for not keeping in her “place” at school. She is the middle-school student who is taunted relentlessly for being—or just seeming—gay. 15-year-old Phoebe Prince was new to South Hadley and the U.S., a freshman who apparently had dated a senior boy or two. After months of unrelenting torture by some school mates, she committed suicide in January. 11-year-old Carl Walker-Hoover of Springfield was told by his mother that he could do anything, and was on the honor roll, but in April of last year, he decided what he couldn’t do anymore was deal with the teasing at school, and he took his own life. Phoebe and Carl are gone, but there are many more like them. They are the bent-over woman, feeling so alone and so helpless, longing for acceptance in God’s reign.

The bent-over woman is a man who got laid off from his high-pay corporate job, couldn’t pay the bills, and lost his home. He and his family sleep in their car, and try to pretend everything’s ok, while he struggles to find work and figure out how to buy food. He is the bent-over woman, feeling hopeless and longing for mercy in the reign of God.

The bent-over woman is a mother whose 7^th grade son needed to see a dentist for an $80 tooth extraction, but couldn’t find one who would accept Medicaid. She took him to the ER, where he was given medicine for a headache, sinusitis, and a dental abscess and sent home. When he got much sicker, he was rushed into surgery where it was discovered that bacteria from his abscessed tooth had spread to his brain. Two major operations and eight weeks of hospital care later (costing about $250,000), Deamonte Driver died. His mother is the bent-over woman, grief-stricken and longing for justice in God’s reign.

Where else do we encounter the bent over woman? Who is she in your lives, in this community, around the world? Tell me. The bent-over woman is… [suggestions included the people affected by the floods in Pakistan, the Vietnam vet asking for money on the corner, the person sitting next to us in church who never says a word].

These are some of the ways people are bent over and pressed down. But they're not the only ones. There are people who are weighed down and bent over by loneliness, grief, worry, anxiety, doubt, and addiction. There are people whose mental illness or physical ailments or business struggles or family conflicts feel like burdens that bend them over and weigh them down.[2] And we, ministers to the world each one of us, are called to love them as Jesus loved the bent-over woman.

It is tempting to put it off our work of healing until the “right” time. Sundays are bad for me, I’m struggling with my own stuff right now, let me wait until I do some research into helpful programs, etc, etc, etc. It is tempting to turn away and pretend we don’t see the bent-over woman at all, isn’t it.

Kate Huey writes these moving words: “It is God who brings the reign of God in God's own time. Sure, today we proclaim it, we witness to its beginning in Jesus Christ and to its coming fullness. But we're called to do more than to proclaim that word, we are called to enflesh it, to become a word of hope for all those who appear before us, bearing burdens, pressed down. Jesus is calling you this day to engage yourself in the great dream of freeing all of God's children, all of the daughters of Abraham and the sons of Sarah from everything that holds them in bondage. We're invited to see our lives, our world, as they can be, for God has given us, according to the prophet Jeremiah, ‘a future, and a hope.’ As Dr. Martin Luther King once said, ‘Let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter – but beautiful – struggle for a new world. This is the calling of the children of God.’

Let us not delay any longer. The time for proclaiming, embodying, and struggling for God’s healing and freedom is not tomorrow, or the next day. The time is now.

Let us pray: Holy God, Great Healer, inspire, motivate, and strengthen us to do the work of your reign to which you call us, and help us to see, acknowledge and act towards healing the bent-over women in this world. Amen.

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[1] http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/august-22-2010.html

[2] Ibid.

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