text :: Romans 5:1-5

theme verse :: “Since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ…” (Rom 5:1)

The classic rock band, Boston, offers us a line in their 1976 hit song, Peace of Mind: “I understand about indecision. I don’t care if I get behind. People livin’ in competition; All I want is to have my peace of mind.” Of the many treasures we seek, peace of mind eventually becomes priority one. We often spend much of our time trying to manufacture peace for ourselves. If we just climb that ladder. If we just secure that home. If we just solidify that connection. If this, then peace. If that, then peace. That quest can be an endless one that can find us at the end of the road with no more peace than when we started. The Apostle Paul suggests we cannot manufacture peace ourselves. Peace comes in our relationship with God. When we can make peace with God, we discover the peace of God that we might then be a conduit of that peace to the world. In the process, we discover what Paul describes in another letter as the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.

music :: Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

opening :: 'It Is Well' (Bethel Music) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andrea Gross, lead vocal

reader :: David Brock
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

anthem :: 'When the Saints Go Marching In' (arr.J.Rutter) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director; Greta Metzer, soprano sax; Rod Clark, trombone

offertory :: 'How Great!' (arr.D.Ryan) : Dewey, Dillon, and Kelly Ford, vocals; Marilyn Rhodes, piano; Susie Monger-Daugherty, organ

Romans 5:1-5
Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, ² through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. ³ And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, ⁴ and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, ⁵ and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.  

Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers and father-figures in the house today. Statistically, you’re bucking the norm simply by being here. Father’s Day is notoriously a low attendance Sunday in most churches across the United States.  Mother’s Day worship attendance rivals Easter but on Dad’s day – many seem to be opting out of Sunday worship. That’s not a judgment… just a statistical observation. Some churches are gimmicking hard to get dads to church today. In the spirit of Paul who said, “I’ve become all things to all people that I might win some,” I heard about one church who is holding drawings in their worship service today for a .22 caliber rifle, a custom engraved pocket knife and holding a bacon buffet between services.  Maybe that will take.  Maybe a guy who wouldn’t otherwise step foot in a church will be pulled into the presence of Christ via the smell of bacon. Maybe. I’m not sure if this was Paul’s idea theologically speaking but… Who am I to say?  I do think there’s gotta be more, right? We may be drawn to and clap for the spectacle for a while but at some point, the emptiness is too painful if there’s nothing deeper that we’re longing for in the great quest for meaning in our lives.

I’m a dad myself.  I often have those moments of seeing one of my kids doing something… it may even be the most mundane of things… and I marvel that I have been called to play a formative role in their lives. That lump can find its way to my throat wondering what I’m not doing as well as I should, wondering if I’m striking the right balance of boundary-making and trusting them to learn on their own. We get caught up in matters of provision and ladder climbing and all the rest… and sometimes we do so in the name of – “Hey, I’m just taking care of my family.”  But… like everyone else on the planet – in the end, our souls long for something more.

Classic rock fans will remember the chorus from the band Boston’s 1976 hit, “Peace of Mind.”  It says, “I understand about indecision. I don’t care if I get behind. People livin’ in competition; All I want is to have my peace of mind.”  Even if you know that song, you may not know the story behind those lyrics.  The band’s founder and lead guitar player,  Tom Scholz was an MIT grad working as a senior engineer for Polaroid while he was getting the band together.  Plugging away at the day job, Scholz noticed that all around him, people were “climbing to the top of the company ladder” but didn’t realize, in his estimation, that they were propping that ladder against the wrong building.  Scholz was not inspired by the predictability of corporate life.  He wanted “peace of mind,” thus the song urging any who would listen to “take a look ahead” to something better. Peace of mind.  Do you have it?

Robert Mitchum, an actor known for his keen roles as a villain – back-in-the-day as it were – is listed as the 23^rd-greatest male star of classic Hollywood cinema.  When asked about his contribution to cinema, Mitchum famously downplayed his career saying, “Look, I have two kinds of acting. One on a horse and one off a horse.”  On his way to Hollywood stardom, Mitchum had all kinds of experiences in his life.  He grew up in New York’s gritty “Hell’s Kitchen” neighborhood, rode the rails as vagabond, spent time on a Georgia chain gang and even had a stint in the boxing ring.  Through all of that he came to a place of defining for himself what it meant to have peace of mind.  He defined peace of mind as “becoming the person I always wanted to be.”[1] No matter what he did in his life, he knew that peace of mind was the result of an internal orientation – not dependent on all of the external realities of his life. Peace of mind.  Do you have it?  Hmmm.

What about Mitchum’s idea of peace of mind – “becoming the person you always wanted to be.”  Do you buy it?  It’s a fascinating premise. And we try things on in the search for peace – a little more mindfulness; a new meditative practice; journaling thoughts and prayers.  Peace of mind.  Why the struggle?  Especially as a person of faith – we’re supposed to grow through life’s anxieties, uncertainties and fears, right?  But is there enough for us to make our way to peace?  Are we enough?  Paul’s sorting through these same questions himself when he writes this letter to the Roman church. He was a passionate thinker and having sold out to the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus – he was constantly considering the implications for the world.  What is God up to?  What’s behind all of this and where is it going? As Eugene Peterson says,

“Paul takes logic and argument, poetry and imagination, Scripture and prayer, creation and history and experience and weaves them into this letter that has become the premier document of Christian theology.”

Remember Paul’s own journey – it’s sort of like Robert Mitchum’s – he’s been everywhere, man.  As a ladder-climbing, successful, Pharisee, Paul fought for his own peace of mind through achievement.  His encounter with Jesus changed his perspective – he knew peace was not an external quest but an internal depth. And so in this famed passage from Romans 5 – Paul lays out this path to peace that is not something we achieve, but a refining gift that comes in our connection with God. In fact, that’s what he names first.  “Since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ – through whom we’ve found grace.”  Peace with God – the pathway to peace.  Seems easy enough but we know it’s more challenging than that.

H.G. Wells tells a story of a man who was stressed out to the max – his mind was so strained, and he was in serious danger of a total mental collapse and breakdown.  His doctor told him the only thing that could save him was to find the peace that fellowship with God can give.  “What?!?” the man says.  “To think of that, up there, having fellowship with me!?  I would as soon think of cooling my throat with the Milky Way or shaking hands with the stars!”[2]  To him – a connection with God was unfindable. Just impossible.  Making peace with God can be a challenge of course. There’s a piece of our spirit that is so independent.  We’re often raised this way, right?  Our culture says, “You go get yours.  You go earn your way. You control your own destiny.”  And I’m all for effort and giving it your best – that’s what partnership with the gifts God has implanted within you works.  But the hardest thing for many of us to do – and maybe those superhero dads especially – is accept that you are not God.  Having peace with God is the acceptance that we don’t have to be.

Bob Goff is one of the most animated speakers you’ll ever hear and a guy who’s sort of a real-life Forest Gump in the sense that he’s been everywhere and done everything. Bob tried out for the role of Peter Pan when his elementary school put on the production.  He didn’t get the part – turns out he couldn’t sing or dance or fly so…  He did land a role, however.  His official title was Tree #4.  He had no lines.  Didn’t even get a tree name like maple or birch or oak.  His role was just to stand there, hold out his arms and look like a tree.  His name didn’t make the program.  No bouquets or gifts showered on him opening or closing nights. As uneventful as the role may have seemed, Bob loved it.  He said, “I knew what was needed; my role was clear and it wasn’t too complicated. I knew what was mine to do.”

What Bob writes next brings this closer to home:

“Something changes for many of us after we leave elementary school.  We try to make ourselves the hero or the victim of every story.  Something goes wrong and we want to be the victim; something goes right and we want to make ourselves the hero. It doesn’t seem to matter which it is as long as we make it all about us.  But if we make everything about us, it’ll never be about Jesus.  What I’m coming to realize,” he writes, “is we’re not the heroes and we’re not the victims of all the stories happening around us. We’re just Tree #4.”[3]

This is what we mean when we say, “You’re not God and you don’t have to be.”  Peace with God is about discovering what you were made for… what is yours to do… and then doing it.

Making peace with God somehow opens us to know the peace of God. The peace of God is more mysterious than making peace with God.  It is a receiving and trusting that seldom makes obvious sense. Mother Teresa knew that peace.  Someone once asked her to pray that they would have clarity about a particular situation. Her response was humbling if not a tad shocking: “I will not do that,” she said. “Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of. I have never had clarity,” she said. “What I have always had is trust. So I will pray that you trust God.”  Experiencing the peace of God must come through this sense of trust and trust isn’t often our strong suit.

Paul’s pushing this idea of trust of God that brings about the peace of God when he says quite bluntly, “It’s gonna be tough.”  He then has the audacity to push it further, “Boast in the toughness.”  Thanks but no thanks, Paul. I think I’ll pass.  He says, “No. Hear me out.”

“We boast in our sufferings because we know that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character, and character produces hope; and hope does not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.”

Oh. Okay then. We all want the results of making it through hard things. “Builds good character,” we say… and who doesn’t want to be known for their good character.  We want to be seen as resilient.  But the journey; the process… can often seem too much. “We don’t want to,” as my friend and colleague Erin Wathen says, “wait for the teaching moment.” We don’t have patience for the teaching moment to come. Wisdom only comes through such experience as hard as it can be. I’m not one who believes God forces such hardship on us to teach us lessons.  In this way, I’m not a “everything happens for a reason” guy.  I buy that first part – “Everything happens.”  What I believe next is about trust and peace and faith.  Now that this has happened – what can we learn?  What does Love say?  What is God’s promise still?  What can this transform?  Being resurrection people means we imagine redemption is there, around us, within us, ready to be released into the healing needs of the world.

Last Tuesday marked the anniversary of the death of our beloved Jim Rosenlieb. His life was taken brutally and unnecessarily. His last words to me still ring in my soul. I hear those words in my soul in his very voice.  I miss him. This passage from Romans was the lectionary reading assigned for today… of all the passages of scripture, this one was selected in a three-year rotation to be read this day.  It was the same passage that “dinged” Mark’s phone (Jim’s son) as he was in route to Tulsa to be with his mom that day.  I don’t know how it all works… but I know this passage, dinging Mark’s phone, on that day… meant something profound to him. And I trust that too.  I’m not grateful for what happened.  I’m not over what transpired to our brother Jim. But there’s a surpassing peace somewhere, somehow, that finds its way through the cracks of our shattered realities. Paul describes this elsewhere as “the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” (Phil. 4:7).  This is not even a fake-it-‘til-you-make-it sort of deal for me… although I did hear someone call it “Faith it ‘til you make it.” which did give me reason to pause. This peace of God, however, is a gift… not some psychological discipline like marathon runners seem to have. It is a redemptive gift that we can’t create but we can come to know.

You’ve probably somewhat familiar with Reinhold Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer.  It’s a favorite of the Twelve-Step recovery movement.  Typically, the first line is the one that gets quoted:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

It gets put on bumper stickers and crocheted into wall hangings. The rest of Neibuhr’s prayer is seldom-quoted. Do you know it?  Here’s the rest of the prayer:

“Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as the pathway to peace; taking, as [Jesus] did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that he will make all things right if I surrender to his will; that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with him forever in the next.”

Peace with God opens us to the peace of God… but that’s not where peace finally lands.  Any peace we have gleaned comes to us on its way to someone else. When Jesus sent out his disciples, he told them to greet everyone with “Peace to this house.” And I think it was more than just a sales tactic to get their foot in the door to sell them a vacuum sweeper with a side of Gospel.  I think he meant it.  Paul… who was at odds with most everyone he met given his past, his present and his passion for the future… he included “Peace” as one the fruits of the Spirit and said, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Rom 12:18). This shared peace is really where redemption is found.  This is the peace that leads people who have been through hell to say, “I want my suffering and my response to that suffering to bring hope to somebody else.”  And what does Paul say about hope?  Hope does not disappoint.

I know a pastor who resigned from his church on Easter Sunday a number of years ago – not really how they script it in seminary.  But he was done.  His life was falling apart, his spirit was dry.  His marriage was disintegrating and everything that had been his identity – all he perceived to be the things that told him he mattered and he was special and he was important – were crumbling and he couldn’t do it anymore. He could have quoted this passage about all the boasting in the suffering and the endurance and character and hope stuff but he wouldn’t have meant it. But time and prayer and losing and finding and wonder and hope and trust do have a way of coming around.  As he wrote about his heart wrenching passage through these darkest trials of his life, he was also able to encourage others going through their own trials, saying, “As much as you may have felt like you lost yourself, your presence in this world is enough for somebody else to feel found.”

I know you’ve been through some stuff. I know you’re going through some stuff now.  I know the future is uncertain and there are days when it seems like the future is just rude for expecting you to enter into it.  But your presence in this world is enough for somebody else to feel found.  Kanakuk Counselors – your presence this week is enough to make a child know the love of Christ.  Dads – as Mother Teresa also said, “You want to change the world – go home and love your family.” Friends, your presence is hope.  Your presence, in this spirit, is the very peace of God. That’s no bacon buffet, I know. But we’re made for more than bacon. We’re made for the glory of God… with all of our struggles and pain and experiences and rejections and heartaches… we’re called to redeem it. Richard Rohr says it this way, “If we do not transform our pain, we will transmit it.”  The world has plenty of transmitters… let’s be transformers, shall we?  Amen.

[1] Story of Scholz and Mitchum as shared by Bob Kaylor, Senior Writer for Homiletics Online in his work, “Real Peace.” www.homileticsonline.com.
[2] As found in William Barclay’s commentary on “The Letter to the Romans.”  Westminster Press. 1975.
[3] Everybody Always. Bob Goff. Nelson Publishing. 2018.

text :: Revelation 22: 12 - 21

theme verse :: "Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift." (Revelation 22:17b)

A sermon from the book of Revelation. That should be plenty different. Is it a dream? vision? prophecy? something else? We've made ourselves afraid of this text ... when most of us have never even read it. We tend to do the same with our faith, somehow: Make assumptions. Go on rumor. Stay in the comfortable lane. Maybe this text - as poetic and beautiful as it is intriguing and mysterious - has something to say about the purpose and reality of faith. In a waterlogged city, can we still 'take the water of life as a gift'? Do we have ears to hear?

anthem :: 'I've Been In the Storm So Long' (J.L.Ames) :: Avenue a capella ensemble; Barry Epperley, director

reader :: Bill Queen
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

special music :: 'Revelation Song' (K.Jobe) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andi Gross, lead vocal

closing :: 'Marvelous Light' (C.Hall) :: The Rising Band

Revelation 22: 12 – 21
“See, I am coming soon; my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work. ¹³ I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”

¹⁴ Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates. ¹⁵ Outside are the dogs and sorcerers and fornicators and murderers and idolaters, and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.

¹⁶ “It is I, Jesus, who sent my angel to you with this testimony for the churches. I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning star.”

¹⁷ The Spirit and the bride say, “Come.”
And let everyone who hears say, “Come.”
And let everyone who is thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.

¹⁸ I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this book; ¹⁹ if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away that person’s share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book.

²⁰ The one who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.”

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

²¹ The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen.

In the early 1970s, an upstart troupe of British comedians was looking to break into the U.S. market. They had a couple of seasons of sketch comedy under their belt in the U.K., and an entrepreneur and producer convinced them that a feature film would be the way to go. The six men, drawing on the favorite sketches of their two seasons on the BBC, compiled 90 minutes of their quirky, entirely unique, and sometimes off-color humor. (insert disclaimer here: Your pastor is not endorsing, merely describing.) American audiences were at first less than convinced, but a second release of the film a few years later caught on in midnight movie showings on American television, and Monty Python – with their parrots, lumberjacks, and grannies – developed a cult following that’s only grown in the years since.

When you’re just stacking these scenes together, one after the other, there’s sometimes no obvious connection from one thought to the next. (The same could very well be said of many sermons. Maybe this one.) But if some words are good, more words are better, right? Need to move from a pub full of wink wink nudge nudge to a man shouting about an albatross? The Pythons took John Cleese, dressed in a plain suit and sitting at an empty desk … put the desk in a random setting like a cage in a zoo, or floating in the air held up by propellers … and then borrowed the catchphrase of a popular children’s program at the time: And now for something completely different.[1]

Reading the book of Revelation feels a little bit like that: a bunch of scenes stacked together, perhaps connected by a few seemingly random thoughts from odd locations. Is it a dream? Vision? Prophecy? Fever hallucination? Something else entirely? Understandings and opinions vary widely. And most of us have formed an opinion – we’re convinced it’s beyond us – we’ve made ourselves afraid of it – and in most cases? We’ve never even read it. And we don’t intend to.

And if we’re honest, we do that with a lot of our faith and life, don’t we?

Steven Crowder is a Canadian conservative talk show host, sort of a known loud-mouth, whose resume includes lots of ‘former contributor’, ‘former voice’, on the list. His podcast Louder with Crowder is pretty much what it sounds like: controversial opinions and topics, at top volume. A few years ago, he sat a table on the campus of Texas Christian University, and draped it with a banner stating an opinion he knew would get folks going, and said ‘Change my mind.’

Well, as you can imagine, he got some traffic. And some attention. And he became a meme. Because what good is a publicity stunt if it doesn’t actually generate publicity?

So now, through the magic of the internet, you can actually create your own banner. Put whatever you want in there:

• Pineapple belongs on pizza. Change my mind.
• Game of Thrones ended perfectly. Change my mind.
• Ratatouille could take Stuart Little in a fight. Change my mind. [2]

Crowder didn’t want conversation, he wanted attention. We don’t really WANT our mind changed on the things we think we know. We want to be where we are, enjoy what we have, and make it through the day in one piece.

But when was that ever what Jesus promised? What Jesus promised was something … completely different. And in the book of Revelation, that’s what John is trying to say.

Exiled to the island of Patmos, John receives inspiration in word and image, and gathers those to a page for safekeeping and sharing with others. The book of Revelation – and side note, it is singular: THE Revelation to John – is built much like other New Testament letters:

• a greeting and salutation;
• an address to the churches, to the faithful, offering observation, correction, and encouragement;
• and a closing benediction.

He begins:

The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place; he made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testified to the word of God and to the testimony of Jesus Christ, even to all that he saw.

 Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear and who keep what is written in it; for the time is near. (1:1-3)

And then we panic, right there, when we read ‘the time is near’. But let’s not. Think how long ago this was written. And how much has happened since then. So ‘the time’ being ‘near’ is sort of a relative term, right? Let’s go on. He introduces himself to the readers and hearers, and greets them in the name of the Savior.

John to the seven churches that are in Asia:

 Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.

 To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. (1:4-6)

And then he goes on, to say that he’s been given these words, that they took him by surprise too, that they were written to proclaim the one who was and is and is to come.

Yes, it gets strange. Yes, there is a lot of imagery and symbolism. Yes, there is still considerable discussion about what it refers to and what it means. Ironically, the very scripture which, in its name, suggests that things will be uncovered, opened, revealed … is the very scripture which we usually leave covered, closed, and assume we can find no meaning.

But think of this: It is the very scripture that closes the canon, that concludes our Bible. What if it’s meant to proclaim to us the very best ending there is? Not the end of the world, or the end of time, or even the end of us …

What if it isn’t even about US necessarily, but about God’s power to sway the whole world?

In our verses this morning, the very conclusion of the book itself – the benediction and blessing – we see three things:

• a gathering of all peoples, more than can be counted, only named and included
• a tree of life, in reach of all who choose to come
• gates of a city, with some gathered on one side and some on the other, but gates which remain open[3]

If this is what God promises in the end – if this is what John, in his revelation language, proclaims is ‘coming soon’ – if the promises of Christ are true to the Divine’s own word … what could this mean for us? Could this change us? Change our mind? As Princeton Professor Eric Barreto says,

Revelation can help us if we can but draw our eyes from the dazzling visions that dot this book for a moment and see that behind them all is a simple but life-altering hope in a God that calls us all. That hope resonated in the seven churches that received this powerful book. It can still be true for us today. 

As a style of writing, an apocalypse – which sounds like a terrifying word, but really just refers to a type of literature – is a way of talking back to a world that feels abandoned to evil powers. It offers a vision of something else. In the midst of voices that speak death and destruction, it speaks of a different option. In a world of oppression and challenge, it is something designed to change our mind. In a time of fear and hopelessness, it is something completely different.

On this Sunday when we come to worship in this nation, praying through national losses in yet another mass shooting, and in shootings that didn’t make the news … when we come to worship in this city, still waiting to see what the weather is going to do, what is under the water that just kept coming … when we come to worship in our own skin, knowing that in so many instances, who we are has been labeled as too much, or not enough, or unacceptable …

Maybe what we need is to read a text that flat-out says You cannot change what I have written. Maybe what we need is a scripture that begins “Grace to you and peace…” and ends “The grace of the Lord be with you.”

Maybe what we need … what our souls long for … is something completely different.

You’ll notice in this reading that even in these concluding verses, there are some pretty specific cautions. And these verses are actually eliminated from the suggested lectionary reading for today. I included them, though, because I think we need to see the whole thing; we need to work through the words that challenge us if we are to reap the rewards of the words that bless us.

The late Wendell Frerichs, professor at Lutheran Seminary, said of this book of Revelation:

John’s is not an escapist theology. He knew that his people might well face martyrdom. But their suffering and their faithfulness have meaning. They are a witness to the suffering love of the Lamb. It is this proclamation, this witness, which wins the victory. It may be that some of the most fascinating chapters—those which portray a beast rising up out of the sea or bowls of wrath being poured out—have been bypassed. But the good news of Revelation is well represented in the texts chosen.

 We are opposed to using the Apocalypse for scare-tactical purposes. Its basic message is one of comfort and assurance. Then people who have been assured of Christ’s power and love can be called to heroic faith. When they see the true character of the Lamb as contrasted with that of the dragon there is no choice between them. The empty promises of political and economic powers can be seen for what they are. Our seer lets us in on the inner workings of the demonic world as well as of the heavenly world. Without such help we just might get fooled, but no more. John’s scroll is very clear on this point. The Lamb who was slain is alive and victorious. The world’s empires and tyrants are on their way to oblivion.[4]

Seeing how the proclamations challenged the authority of the day, how these words spoke to the people of the time, helps us imagine the challenges we face and their outcomes and corrections.

• How do we deal with an epidemic of gun violence?
• What do we do about a climate that is erupting in storms unseen for centuries?
• How do we choose those who make our local, state, and national decisions?
• What do we have to say about not just economic uncertainty, but full-on injustice?
• Where do we address gender violence, mass incarceration, white supremacy, mental health?

If we are just going to hang a banner and say ‘change my mind,’ but not really be open to the work, the conversation, the listening, the prayer, the transformation that has to come … the new heaven and new earth that is promised in scripture, in THIS scripture … then why are we even here? As New Testament scholar Micah Kiel suggests, “If there is good news at the end of Revelation, it is that God does not seem yet to have closed the door to heaven, even as God knocks on the door of our world.”[5]

There is good news. This text that we’ve learned to fear – when we’ve never even learned to read it – is filled with good news for us. And it doesn’t take John Cleese at a desk on a beach to get us there.Here is the good news, without any imagery or symbolism or scare tactics or confusion:

*The last word in all of scripture is that grace is for everyone.*

Did you catch the part where the tree of life is within our reach, and where the water of life can be taken as a gift? We know a bit about water in northeastern Oklahoma these days, don’t we?

Mayor GT Bynum shared with us yesterday:

Just announced to a gathering of our emergency responders: the Arkansas River has officially moved out of flood stage and the Army Corps has confirmed the heavy water load is off the levees!

Riverside Drive is reopened and so is the Gathering Place.

Thinking back over the last couple weeks: our community experienced an earthquake, then we were hit by a tornado, then we began to flood, then we were hit by more tornados while we were flooding.

But the people in this community kept calm, kept putting one foot in front of the other every day, and kept our focus on what we could do to help our neighbors. It is when a community is tested that you see what it is really made of. In this historic test, our community stood tall – just like this symbol of the city we love.

We have to remain vigilant. The recovery is only beginning – and more rain is on the way. But we will handle that test when it comes, too.[6]

Yes, we need the rain to stop.

Yes, we need to keep watch.

And yes, maybe what we need is scripture that reminds us it can’t be changed. Maybe what we need is scripture that also reminds us that it begins and ends with grace.

Maybe what we need is to remember that it isn’t about us getting what we want.

Or avoiding the hard verses.

Or not having to change our mind.

Maybe what we need … what our souls long for … is something completely different.

Maybe we read the text and remember that it is, after all, about God’s power to sway the whole world. That the last word in all of scripture is that grace is for everyone.

And who are we to change that?

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/And_Now_for_Something_Completely_Different
[2] I knew of this story from general news when it first came about. More info here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steven_Crowder and the 3^rd DIY example came from an online meme generator.
[3] Eric Barreto 5/12/2013 http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1626
[4] http://wordandworld.luthersem.edu/content/pdfs/6-2_Way/6-2_Frerichs.pdf
[5] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2792
[6]https://www.facebook.com/gtbynumfortulsamayor/photos/a.1597023863959669/2246955162299866/

text :: Acts 8:26-40

theme verse :: “Philip commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip baptized him.” (Acts 8:38)

Every time the waters of baptism are stirred, there is a stirring of the Spirit. It never fails. It’s just water and it’s a bit messy as each brave soul steps in one foot at a time until even the tips of their heads are dripping wet. They slog back out and the floor becomes slippery and creates a potential hazard but it’s worth every step. The Spirit moves. There’s just nothing like being in the water. As a number of our own stir those waters this day, may we all, like Philip, be willing to get in the water with them.

offertory :: 'On Eagle's Wings' (M.Joncas) : Kelly Ford & Barry Epperley, vocal; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

reader :: Connie McFarland
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

special music :: 'Christ is Risen' (P.Wickham) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

Acts 8:26-40
²⁶ Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, “Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.” (This is a wilderness road.) ²⁷ So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury. He had come to Jerusalem to worship ²⁸ and was returning home; seated in his chariot, he was reading the prophet Isaiah. ²⁹ Then the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over to this chariot and join it.” ³⁰ So Philip ran up to it and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah. He asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?” ³¹ He replied, “How can I, unless someone guides me?” And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him. ³² Now the passage of the scripture that he was reading was this:

“Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter, and like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he does not open his mouth.
³³ In his humiliation justice was denied him. Who can describe his generation? For his life is taken away from the earth.”

³⁴ The eunuch asked Philip, “About whom, may I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?” ³⁵ Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. ³⁶ As they were going along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, “Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?” ³⁸ He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip baptized him. ³⁹ When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away; the eunuch saw him no more and went on his way rejoicing. ⁴⁰ But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he was passing through the region, he proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.

Have you ever been at the pool or the lake or something and had that feeling of “I don’t really want to get in the water.”  I’m not really talking shark phobias or fear of swimming or anything as much as that feeling of being poolside and simply not wanting to get in. You think the water’s too cold or you didn’t plan on getting wet or being wrapped in a beach towel is just preferred to the exposure of letting go of the towel.  I feel like that sometimes.  My kids generally won’t have any of that sentiment, however. Before long, they’re hollering, “Dad! Get in the water! Get in the water!”  I’ll offer my kind decline and they’ll just fire up all the more: “Just do it!  Jump in! The water’s great!”  And before long, I’ve barreled in the water again… mostly to be the human floating device as they hang all over me, or the human canon launching the boys into the sky before they land again with a big splash.  I know there won’t be many more seasons before they quit asking me so with a little coaxing, I generally get in the water with them again.

Water does have a certain draw to it. It’s Maycember as folks are saying these days – the end-of-school-year season which is as busy, if not more so, than Christmastime in December.  All the school awards assemblies and recitals and concerts and ball games and tournaments and school talent shows and field day and on and on.  We’ve been in and out and around all of these things most every night for a couple of weeks now.  And… as you know, there’s been enough rain that there are mud puddles everywhere.  Our boys can find every single one of them… even in moments when there’s one single puddle way off the beaten path. Somehow, it ends up right in their path to getting into wherever it is we’re going at the time.  There’s just a magnetism I guess.  I do remember. I saw this little clip this week of just such a little boy and his best friend as he couldn’t resist the draw to get in the water. Take a look…

Isn’t that the best?  Today is all about getting in the water.  Our buddy, Clint Briggs, has prepared the waters of baptism with great precision and care. Clint has been our go-to guy for this task in recent years and he has been faithful to do so.  I remember the first year that he filled it for us… and more memorably when he drained it after the baptisms just before our traditional service started. If you’ve ever heard that sucking noise that your bathtub makes when it’s draining, magnify that by the volume of a ZZ Top album of your choice and you can imagine the sucking noise that comes from a tub this size.  Of course, none of us thought anything about it beforehand.  He asked me about draining it and I said, “Sure! Of course!”  And there’s so much water that it takes a long while for much of the it to drain before you even hear any sound at all.  But a good quarter of the way through the traditional service, sure enough: suction city. I thought the whole choir was going to get sucked down the drain.  It’s one of my favorite worship memories.  But Clint is a gentleman as you all know and takes on this task as an honor for there’s something about this water.  It’s different. It’s holy. Eight of our students and one of our more seasoned members will be stirring these waters of faith today.

We re-join the book of Acts this week considering the draw of water for an unusual suspect. Philip has been on the preaching circuit.  Big crowds. Fog machines. John Crist as an opening act to loosen up the crowds.  He was living it and loving it in a big way.  But God puts it on his heart to take off down the road heading to Gaza. Parenthetically, the text says, “This was a wilderness road.”  Philip’s taking the back roads… the scenic route… the long way around.  The description may be less literal and more literary.  The wilderness road, in this case, may refer to the wild sprouting growth of the faith.  It was an out-there time for the movement.  Outsiders were finding their way inside the faith day after day and while this raised cultural and theological challenges for the Jesus movement, they were digging it.  It was beautiful and amazing and inclusive… nobody was out of the reach of grace. So Philip’s taking the back roads to Gaza.

On the way, Philip meets a man who scripture has named only by his home country and sexual differentiation. Wish we had a name but such we are not afforded.  I’m going to call him Earl if that’s alright with you.  I’d rather do that than call him by some label the rest of the sermon. Deal? The important point about this label was that Earl was not on the inside whatsoever. He was from Africa, considered unclean and yet Philip is compelled to engage him.  Now… we know some other things about our new friend, Earl. He’s the Finance Manager for the Ethiopian Queen… not a bad gig if you can get it.  He’s also literate which was a rarity for most at this time, indicating some education and status. Interesting enough, he was also returning home from having been in Jerusalem to worship so he’s already bought into the monotheistic, Judean God, at least he’s curious.

When Philip comes across Earl in his Chariot, he hears him reading a familiar passage from Isaiah. Presumably Earl’s alone in this chariot given the exchange he would soon have with Philip – save the Uber driver at the helm of the chariot.  First question – why is Earl reading out loud?  Seems a tad odd.  I may read something out loud to myself, I suppose, if I’m confused by what I’m reading (always try the slower and louder approach when we don’t understand).  But… generally I don’t read out loud to myself.  Turns out that reading out loud was a very common practice at the time so no big deal. Philip uses his when-outside-running-alongside-chariot voice: “Whatcha readin’?!” Surely a tad startled by the appearance of this strange man running alongside of his ride, Earl quips back, “The Memoir of Isaiah,” as he flips the back of the book in Philip’s direction, so he can see the cover art.  Philip knows it well of course… it was a bestseller. “Do you get it?” Philip calls back?  Still a little weirded out by his presence like a skeptical reader on an airplane confronted by the stranger sitting next to him, Earl is honest.  “Truthfully?  Nope. I don’t get it.” “Permission to board your chariot, sir!”  Earl lets him on and says, “I need a guide. Can you tell me the truth about this stuff?”

Now… this is not of subtle importance. This is a big deal. Two guys… vastly different and essentially prohibited from being in much relationship with each other and Earl says, “I’d like the real deal scoop about this.  What is he talking about?  Who is he talking about?”  We need to engage this sort of discipleship more as people of faith.  Mike Breen says, “If you make disciples, you always get the church.  But if you make a church, you rarely make disciples.”  When the church gets too focused on the institution, the rules of it all, the membership qualifications, the conformity clauses, the image over authenticity, we miss the heart work of becoming a disciple of the Way.  We’re quick with our answers because of the group or the politic or the radio talk show host we subscribe to but the Spirit works differently… and if this interaction doesn’t encourage our own openness to such a possibility, I’m not sure what will.  This takes vulnerability, honesty, and willingness to admit that sometimes we’re Philip and sometimes we’re Earl.

You may remember the story about thirty-three  Chilean miners who were buried underground a collapsed mine for sixty-nine days – trapped in complete darkness.[1]  Hector Tobar wrote a book about the experience entitled, “Deep Down Dark.”  The title alone says a lot. After a few days of being trapped in the dark, uncertain of the future, one of the miners most ardent in faith was asked by some of the others, “Would you pray for us?  Preach a word even?”  And so he did.  “Thank you, God,” he prayed, “for being among us in this dark place. Even though we are afraid, forgive us our sin.  Hector drinks to much,” he prayed. “Jose has been cruel to his family.”  Now… you’d think this would have upset the guys but it didn’t. United in darkness and fear; in confrontation of seeing themselves for who they really are, they received these prayers.  Every day they prayed like this. After a while, the men themselves began praying like this – confessing their sins to God and each other. Hector said to another man, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I’ve been rude and arrogant.”  Back and forth like this for two months until the best day and worst day.  A hole was cut at the top, food and water were dropped down… rescue teams also sent down iPads so the men could see what was going on in the world and share messages back and forth with their loved ones.  That was sweet but there was a shadow side to this as well. They began to see they were famous… and dream about what fame could do for them. The money they would get. Potential opportunities to exploit their experience. All of the sudden, things changed.  The confession, the praying, the intimacy, the closeness they had experienced? It was gone.  What those men discovered in the dark was not the answers to all of their questions but a willingness to face themselves.  But it’s tough to stay in that place. Are we willing to face ourselves or are we too comfortable?  Do we already have all the answers?

With an open ear and open heart, Earl receives what Philip has to share about Jesus. We don’t hear the whole story but he clearly included baptism in his chariot sermon because Earl spots a mud puddle or perhaps a stream or larger body of water and points: “Hey, there’s water right there. What’s to stop you from baptizing me right now?”  He commands the Uber driver to stop and Earl and Philip find their way into the water together.  Philip doesn’t text the other disciples first for clearance.  He doesn’t take the request to the Board Meeting or make Earl read Strength Finders and discover his spiritual gifts.  None of those things are bad of course and can be important when we’re finding our way in faith but there are times when the moment matters.  When there is a need and you can meet it… you do it. A homeless man in a Portland laundry mat was quoted as saying, “When we reduce Christian spirituality to math, we defile the Holy.” The formula was less important than the Spirit. Earl and Philip get in the water together.  This is the beautiful thing of our faith history and our faith future.  We’re all coming along at different times and different speeds but every path in is a beautiful one.  Don’t compare your starting point with someone else’s finish line. 

I met individually with each of our pastor’s class students on the last day of our class to see where they were, what they were thinking, what questions they had and about their desire, or not, to be baptized at this time. Each of them processed the opportunity a little differently but in beautifully sweet and unique ways. One of the students, when I asked why they want to be baptized paused in a way you do when there’s so much passion you want to share but your not sure how to speak to it with any justice.  She finally said with deep sincerity, “I just know it will be all joy.”  And as she continued with this effusive pouring out of gratitude, I’m not gonna lie… I welled up a bit.  We can get bogged down in the minutia of it all and miss the joy, the gift of the moment, the stirring of heart that comes when you’re in the water with such a spirit.  I walked my buddy Jim through the motions this week as we prepared for his baptism today and he just grinned the whole time and said, “I’m really excited.”  I have a minister colleague who says it’s unfair that ministers get this chance to get in the water again and again and I know what she means. It’s not just the water but it’s something to be in that space with someone who’s saying, “I’m in.”  “I’m in for the mystery. I’m in for the struggle.  I’m in for the companionship.  I’m in for the service.  I’m in for the joy.”  It’s why we celebrate these days… not just for another who is making their way in the Way.  We celebrate because we’re in the water too… we’re in this together.  The joy is ours too.

After Philip baptizes Earl in the water they spotted, Philip disappears… he’s off spreading the word elsewhere but Earl wasn’t bothered by his absence.  The text says, “He went on his way rejoicing.”  It was all joy.  And none of this means that all of life’s troubles were gone. Being in the water doesn’t bring perfection or total comfort.  Earl got back in the chariot with soggy shoes and wet underwear… and I imagine that got a little uncomfortable.  But it’s a marked moment that matters.  It’s an invitation to see the world through a different lens.

One writer said, “When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are. And when you stop expecting material possessions to complete you, you’d be surprised at how much pleasure you get in material possessions. And when you stop expecting God to end all your troubles, you’d be surprised how much you like spending time with God.” [2]

Being baptized in the water is not a cure… it’s an invitation to a whole new way of seeing the world.

Maybe you’ve been in the water before and will remember your own baptism in the waters today.  Maybe you will someday; you’re not sure about the whole thing but ‘Never say never.’ Maybe you’re getting in today and, my, my, we will rejoice with you in such a moment.  We blow the rafters off this place in our celebration of you because, doggone it, people deserve to be celebrated and this moment should be all joy.  And in such joy and celebration and elation for another who makes this big “Yes!” in their lives, may you embody such a joyful spirit, smile and cheer and holler as if you are in the water with them. Because in this mystery and joy of faith… you are my friends.  You are.

[1] Hector Tobar. Deep Down Dark. Picador. New York. 2014.
[2] Donald Miller. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. Thomas Nelson Publishing. 2009. Pg. 206.

text :: John 21: 15 - 25

theme verse :: “Lord, what about him?” (John 21:21b)

‘Tis the season for transition. Jesus moved from death to life. The disciples moved from followers to leaders. Our seniors are moving from high school to… whatever comes next. Any transition to a new existence comes as a test to all we know and all we are. Real life shepherd, James Rebanks, writes, “You can always tell how alien someone is to our world [of shepherding] by how terrified of the muck they look.” Any threshold of promise also comes with a struggle. On this Senior Sunday, we consider the many transitions in our lives and what it means to shepherd one another forward in faith. If we’re doing it right, people may say of us, “They smell like sheep.”

anthem :: 'I'll Fly Away' (arr.C.Courtney) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director; Susie Monger Daugherty & Marilyn Rhodes, piano

offertory :: 'Brother James' Air' (J.Bain) :: Benjamin Schwartz, vocal; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

reader :: Cameron Gough
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

closing :: 'Living Hope' (P.Wickham) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andi Gross, lead vocal

John 21:15-25
¹⁵ When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” ¹⁶ A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” ¹⁷ He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. ¹⁸ Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” ¹⁹ (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, “Follow me.”

²⁰ Peter turned and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them; he was the one who had reclined next to Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is it that is going to betray you?” ²¹ When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, “Lord, what about him?” ²² Jesus said to him, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? Follow me!” ²³ So the rumor spread in the community that this disciple would not die. Yet Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?”

²⁴ This is the disciple who is testifying to these things and has written them, and we know that his testimony is true. ²⁵ But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.

Get up and get out! I’ve heard of some parents who say this to their graduates after high school. Like a mother bird nudging her babies out of the nest … and surely before those babies feel like they are ready to fly… there is some parental instinct that says, “It’s time. You’re ready. Fly.”  It’s hard to believe, I can imagine, that the time has come.  Time flies, of course, and that ornery little booger now towers over you and clears your pantry daily of anything that looks and smells of food.

My parents were in town for a bit watching our kids as Carrie and I spent some time away.  Mom sent me a picture of our seven-year-old, Hayes, who had crawled up in a chair at some craft store they were in to find some supplies for a school project Dane was working on. (Nanny’s and Papa’s are the best, you know?)  Mom snapped a picture of Hayes  who was making a goofy face as he is oft to do.  It was only after I got home and mom blew up the picture for me that I noticed the artwork hanging next to him that read, “All of God’s grace in one tiny face.” Oh the grace, my friends; the grace required to love and raise a child well… and for them to allow you the grace of mistakes, missteps, and the gift of growing alongside of them.  I’ve learned from many of you that this grace never ends.

I was listening to Dr. Kara Powell, Executive Director of the Fuller Youth Institute, do an interview for some research she had done and her book, Growing With, that was coming out. She told a story about a friend of hers… a woman in her sixties… who had been concerned for her father, now in his mid-eighties and struggling with some serious medical issues.  There came a season, however, where her dad was strong enough that she wanted to share something with him that wasn’t just about getting his medical care sorted out.  She took her dad to the beach.  After a time of getting settled in some beach chairs and relaxing a bit, this sixty-plus year old woman decides to take a dip in the ocean. While she’s out in the water, frolicking a bit, she peers back to the beach where she notices her dad has gotten up and is frantically waving his arms and staggering toward the water from his chair.  She dives forward and swims with all she’s worth fearing that her father was suffering some kind of medical event… “This was a disastrous idea!” she was thinking as she swam.  “How stupid to do this!”  She was beating herself up; out of breath making her way to him. She finally gets close and she’s hollering, “Dad!  Dad!  Are you okay?”  And as she gets closer to him, her eighty-something dad hollers to his sixty-something daughter, “You were out too far!  Come in. It’s not safe!”  She’s now out of breath. He’s just fine. And all she can think is, “I’m a sixty year old woman and he’s still trying to parent me.”  Transitions are hard… and we don’t always know how best to move through them but none of us can escape the truth that transitions do come no matter how hard we might resist them.

The transition staring us in the face today is graduation. ‘Tis the season! Our high school seniors have reached one of the biggest moments in their lives where they will soon leave behind what they’ve known for something new, something bigger, something different. The great American architect, Louis Kahn, before beginning any design always asked, “What does this building want to be?” It’s not a bad question to ask of ourselves in times of transition. What does this soul long to be?  What is aching to come to life from within me in this time, this new season?  Parents of graduates transition themselves in this same season. We honor and pray for you all today as you navigate this time with all the feels that accompany it.  But transitions are constant and all around us.  Some are still transitioning through seasons of loss and grief. Others are transitioning from one job to the next or to no job at all.  Others are stepping up a relationship status or sorting through the transitions of fractured relationships. Transitions are essentially a piercing of monotony. From this to that… from there to here to somewhere else… the routine is shook. Monotonous days have been pierced. Each of us is in some state of transition and so I pray there is a meaningful word this morning for each of us as we continue in this season of Eastertide and the major transition the disciples find themselves in – leading the movement forward without the physical presence of Jesus who had navigated them this far.

John’s gospel really tells the best story in this regard… it has all the makings of an Oscar Award winning conclusion. Baffled as they were by the death and resurrection – the disciples just needed to do something familiar.  Do you know how that is?  After a loss or a change or even a time away, you have some longing for a familiar meal, or your go-to workout class at the gym or even your favorite couch that has learned the very contours of your body.  Peter makes the announcement:  “I’m going fishing!” and a handful of others follow along, tackle in hand.  What happens next is something we’re sliding through quickly this morning to get to the ending so pretend we are fast forwarding the show that we’ve DVR’d to see how it all ends.  Quickly…fishing is bad. All night like they cast the nets and come up empty.  Nothing like struggling at the very thing you went to do to bring back some familiar comfort.  Morning comes and a voice from the beach cries out, “I’m hungry! What’s for breakfast?”  Unamused, the fishermen respond sternly, “We ain’t caught nothin’!”  “Have you tried the other side of the boat?” the voice calls back.  “Uh, yeah, bro!”  but they cast the nets off the other side almost in mockery.  As the story goes, the nets bust at the seams with fish and John peers back at the shoreline with his binoculars: “It’s the Master!”  Peter bails off ship and swims to shore while the rest responsibly get the boat docked.  So they have a big fish breakfast with Jesus.  But then comes the piece we’re looking at this morning. DVR back into normal play mode.

This passing of the mantle moment between Jesus and Peter is such a beautiful scene.  Fresh on both of their minds was the three-fold betrayal of Peter telling the village folks that he had no clue who Jesus was.  Jesus had been arrested and people were saying to Peter, “Hey – you were with him, right?  You’re one of his guys, right?”  “Not me,” he said, “and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask me again.”  But here they stand on the beach – eye to eye; soul to soul.  No chit chat. No jokes.  Just Jesus asking Peter as he peered into his eyes, “Do you love me?”  Pete looks away, ashamed perhaps, but answers, “Of course I love you.”  “Feed my lambs,” Jesus says.  Peter looks back at his friend’s face and Jesus asks again, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”  Peter has enough courage this time to look Jesus in the eye thinking, “Okay, he’s gonna make me say it again… I deserve that.”  “Jesus, yes. I love you… you know I love you.”  Jesus responds, “Okay. Take care of my sheep.”  And even nodding in agreement, Jesus says again, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”  Now upset, Peter says, “Jesus. I don’t know how else to say it. You know me better than anyone. You know all there is to know about everything.  You know that I love you.”

Before we get to Jesus’ response, consider the drama of this moment.  Besides the strings playing in the background here as the climax of the scene is coming, isn’t it interesting that Jesus calls Peter, “Simon, son of John?”  He’d already renamed him Peter in a big scene earlier in the story.  Why the formality here?  “Simon, son of John.”  Very formal. Some have argued that this was Jesus being cold to Peter, harboring some feelings about the betrayal but that doesn’t seem much like Jesus to me.  Some have said, No… this formality is similar to the seriousness of a swearing-in ceremony; like when taking an oath.  Or maybe a graduation ceremony where your full name is read aloud … you walk up one side of the stage a student, your first, middle, and last name are read, and off the other side you go, a graduate. This is a baton passing moment.  Another says, by calling Peter, “Simon, son of John,” Jesus is speaking of knowing Peter and Peter’s people.  He knows where Peter comes from… who raised him, who nurtured him.  Jesus knows Peter fully in context, fully enough to entrust Peter to feed and shepherd the flock. Maybe, it’s most comforting to us to know, that in spite of knowing Peter and his context fully, he’s still calling him to feed and teach and lead and take care of his people. They’ve been through some stuff together… the ups and downs… and here is a monumental ask – “Take care of this.”

Graduates – anybody going through transition – it’s good to be known like this.  It’s good to have walked through some stuff with people you trust… family, church, teams, friends.  This is what it means to be grounded.  It’s important to be grounded because life on the other side of the transition can be challenging and trying and less smooth than it may be playing in your head right now.  And you may be determined – ready to tackle the world; take the reins of the kingdom, and that determination can carry you for a while.  Always some good people holding motivational signs when you’re running a race.  Saw one that said, “Run like someone just called you a jogger!” Runners will get this insult.  How dare you!  I’m no jogger. I’m a runner! And there’s a little added pep in your step. You’re pumped for the journey. But life on the other side of transition is hard work.

James Rebanks is a real life shepherd  … they do exist!… in the Lake District of England where his father and grandfather tended sheep before him as have generations for thousands of years. You sort of expect, given the advances in technology and modern tools, the sheep herding life has followed suit but it’s basically the same as it’s always been – it comes down to the sheep and the land and a get-up-and-get-out spirit.  Rebanks has written a book about his experience called The Shepherd’s Life.[1] He admits that not everyone is cut out for the work. There were some would-be-shepherds who rented a farm nearby to try their hand at the work and others who had made half-hearted attempts at shepherding.  Rebanks said, “The get-up and get-out voice in their heads isn’t strong enough and they just don’t care enough about the sheep and the land to sustain their initial enthusiasm once the going inevitably gets tough. Things fall apart, and they soon leave.”  The path is tough.  Jesus knew this too.  He was moving Peter and the gang from a fishing metaphor – which was all about catching to a shepherding metaphor which is all about tending.  Fishing is a momentary haul; Shepherding is a lifetime commitment. When Jesus accepts that Peter’s oath is heartfelt, he gives Peter a little more, “It’s going to be tough, man. Much harder than you can imagine. The work will take you places you never imagined going. And some days, you’ll be ready to quit… but that’s when your grit needs to kick in.  That’s when you need to hear my voice again and press forward.”

Sheep are tethered to the voice of their Shepherd. You may know this already. A guy watched three shepherds moving their flocks through a village together and when they found a clearing, one hollered “follow me,” in his language and his part of the flock parted from the rest. The second did the same and his sheep followed suit.  Before the third did the same, the man observing said, “Can I try?”  “Of course,” the shepherd said.  The man said the same words but not a single sheep moved as he was leading.  “Huh,” the man said, “Do they ever follow another voice?” Very poignantly the shepherd says, “Oh yes. Sometimes a sheep will get sick and then it will follow anyone.”  There are plenty of voices out there willing to tell you what you ought to do, what you should do, how you’ll want to navigate this new territory… but stay grounded. Know your Shepherd’s voice.

Graduates and fellow transitioners of all kinds, when you’re not sure how to navigate this new territory you find yourself in, sometimes you’ve got to just throw yourself into effort at hand. My buddy says it this way: “Kick the closest shark.” It’s easy to be overwhelmed and shut down. But pick one thing and dig into it and it’s not always about what feels easy.  Shepherd Rebanks’ first rule of shepherding makes this clear right out of the gate: “It’s not about you. It’s about the sheep and the land.”  For you it’s about the task at hand.  Shepherds have to sacrifice their own agenda at times to get up and work the field no matter the weather or the date. Rebanks says it’s easy to tell the difference between a dedicated shepherd and a poser:  “Everything and everyone is at times covered in [dung] and snot. You learn to accept that you will get spattered in [dung] at times, or slaver, or afterbirth, or snot. That you will smell of your animals. You can always tell how alien someone is to our world by how terrified of the muck they look.”  This is why it is said that shepherds smell like their sheep. They are daily in the mix. Jesus says, “That’s what I need from you all too.”  People will come to faith in a mess. Don’t be terrified of the muck.

And while Peter’s getting ready to step in deep and you’re trying to take that bold next step in school, or at work, or in relationship, or with a child, or in retirement, you also need to know Rebank’s second rule of shepherding: Sometimes you can’t win.  Despite your hard work and every possible effort, set backs will come.  Road blocks will be set so high you’ll wonder if you can ever get over them. I was on the turnpike heading to visit family in Missouri one time when I saw a turtle attempting to claw its way up the concrete barrier in the middle of the turnpike.  It’s miles and miles of concrete hurdle.  I thought about how hard that turtle fought to make it half-way across only to encounter this impossible barrier.  Been worried about that turtle ever since – it’s only been about six years. I’m starting to sleep at night again. This is what Jesus is telling Peter.  “Dude… you don’t even know.  This call will take you places you don’t want to go.”  And your life will put you through some things.  In fact, I wonder if it is the roadblocks in our lives that are the reason we aren’t able to see our future. I’ve sat with so many people who said, “If I’d only known I was going to go through this, I would have quit a long time ago. I’d never choose to go through this.”  And we wouldn’t.  And we don’t.

We have some friends we met on the ball fields a few years back – their son played on our son’s team at the time.  A young, vibrant, healthy family.  The mom was diagnosed with a tricky and difficult-to-treat cancer last year.  It was devastating of course.  She’s video-blogged much of her journey through treatment and it’s had all the set backs you can imagine … bad updates and great illness and surgeries and extra hospitalizations… and some needed moments of levity sprinkled in too.  But she said this week, “If I would have known now what we had to go through, I don’t think I could have done it.”  But of course, she could… and they did… and she was deemed cancer free this week.  She’s a person of strong faith and named a song called Prophesy your Promise that guided her in the toughest times.  The song says, “You [God] set a table in the middle of my war. You knew the outcome of it all. When what I faced looked like it would never end, You said, “Watch the giants fall.” When I only see in part, I will prophesy Your promise. I believe You, God, because You finish what you start. I will trust you in the process. I believe you God.”  Later the song says, “Fear can go to hell…and shame can go there too. I know Whose I am.  I belong to You.”  While our friend is ready to be done with this fight, she said, “I don’t want to go back to what normal was… to who I was… to who we were… before all of this.  We’re stronger now than we’ve ever been.”  Life isn’t the roadblock. True life is how you respond to the roadblocks. Which leads to Rebanks third rule of shepherding: “Be quiet and go do the work.”  Well… that’s a little harsh, perhaps…he says it even more direct than that.  But this is the get up and get out principle.

As Peter is soaking in what Jesus is asking of him, he looks back around the campfire where the team is still frying fish and he focuses on John. Peter looks back to Jesus and motions over at John:  “What’s gonna happen to him?”  And Jesus says, “What’s it to you?  Worry about yourself.”  I personally think that Peter is looking after his friends and teammates but at least in this interpretation, it is more like Jesus is saying, “Don’t compare yourself to what everybody else is doing.  You be you. You’re the only you we’ve got.”  In the era of Social Media, we’re quick to compare our lives to our classmates, peers, and even acquaintances who we tend to downplay our relationships with them by saying, “Well… we’re Facebook friends,” as if to say, “We’re not that close.”  And yet, we’ll compare our grades, our jobs, our families, our homes, our abs, to each and every one of them.  Not knowing yourself – the true, authentic, God-created, unique self – is among life’s greatest tragedies.  Prophesy your promise.  Imagine your goals.  But fall in love with the process. You’ll spend most of your life in-process so it’s good to come to love the day-to-day journey – not just the mountaintop moments.

Winning an Oscar for cinematography, the end of John’s Gospel does it up right. John, named here as the disciple Jesus loved, is our narrator.  You hear the closing lines in his voice as the camera pans away from the scene, Jesus and Peter, locked forehead to forehead in their reconciling pact to forgive, forget, and grow forward as the other guys lick the tarter sauce off of their fingers as they enjoy the feast of their big catch. John’s voice says: “There are so many other things Jesus did.  If they were all written down, each of them, one by one, I can’t imagine a world big enough to hold such a library of books.” And scene.  Isn’t that epic?  I love it. It leaves space for your story and mine and what Christ is, can, and will be doing in your life as you transition forward. So… smell like that which God has entrusted to your care… battle through the struggles believing in the promises yet to be fulfilled, and one and all – get up and get out there… you are made to fly.

[1] Rebanks, James. The Shepherd’s Life: A Tale of the Lake District. Penguin Books, 2015.  Rebanks three rules are found here and introduced to me by Allison Byerley who contributed these pieces via “The Hefted Shepherd” found via the resource, Homiletics.  The exegetical support concerning the Peter and Jesus encounter on the beach also found via Homiletics – Rev. Bob Kaylor, Senior Writer.

text :: Luke 24: 1 - 12

theme verse :: “Peter got up, ran to the tomb; stopping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.” (Luke 24:12)

Rhythm is simply defined as a strong, regular, repeated pattern of movement or sound. Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine’s “Conga” comes to mind. Rhythm denotes a repeatable pattern and, consistently experienced enough, forms a sustainable base upon which any great song can be built. The Christian song is one of resurrection upon which every other layer of music in our life is built. How is your life adding to this great resurrection song? Thomas Merton writes, “Ask me not where I live or what I like to eat... Ask me what I am living for and what I think is keeping me from living fully for that." Let every hindrance fall away. Be amazed. Clear your lungs. Breathe deeply. And SING! Christ is risen!

Rising prayer :: 'Living Hope' (Phil Wickham) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andi Gross, lead vocal

Rising communion :: 'Christ is Risen' (Phil Wickham) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, lead vocal

reader :: Lisa Rhynes
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

Traditional anthem :: 'Behold the Lamb' (D. Phelps) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

Traditional offertory :: 'Empty Now' (J.Martin) :: Chancel Choir; Marla Patterson, soloist

Luke 19:28-40
But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. ² They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, ³ but when they went in, they did not find the body. ⁴ While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. ⁵ The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.⁶ Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, ⁷ that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” ⁸ Then they remembered his words, ⁹ and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. ¹⁰ Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. ¹¹ But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. ¹² But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened. 

The rhythm is gonna get you! Can’t avoid it today. The Easter jam is too exhilarating! Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine made that song, “The Rhythm is Going to Get You,” famous in 1987.  It was written, maybe not surprisingly at all, by the band’s drummer, Enrique Garcia. Who knows more about rhythm than the drummer of Miami’s Sound Machine?  Just last year, the song was selected for preservation in the National Recording Registry by the Library of Congress as being “culturally, historically, and artistically significant.”[1] Touche. Rhythm is contagious for sure and Gloria Estefan’s voice can easily get stuck in your head. Rhythm is simply defined as a strong, regular, repeated pattern of movement or sound. It denotes a repeatable pattern and, consistently experienced enough, forms a sustainable base upon which any great song can be built. The rhythm often makes the song. It’s something we can feel. When we were teens, if there was a song that didn’t have the best message but we still liked listening to it, that was our excuse: “We just like the beat.” “We just like the rhythm.” And my grandma would say, “Don’t let that rhythm getcha Markie!” Grandma… I’ve. Been. Gotten.

We’ve been living in the Sacred Rhythms of the spiritual life the last forty days leading us to this Easter moment. Our song today is one of resurrection… a rhythm of our faith upon which every other layer of our life-song is built. Today, as we celebrate the rise of life over death, I ask a simple question for you to consider: How is your life adding to this great resurrection song?  We get all spiffy’d up to be here today… might as well see if we’ve got any Easter rhythm in us. Is there any punch to Easter still or is it mostly pomp and circumstance?  I resonated with a guy who once said, “I want to do great things for God.”  It was such a noble desire and Easter had him all pumped up. I thought, “I want to do great things for God too.”  Something flipped a switch for him, however, that helped me re-calibrate the rhythm of my life too.  He said, “That idea had too much to do with me.  ‘I’ was what was on stage… as if ‘I’ was doing God some big heroic favor.” He shifted the idea to “I want to simply do things for a great God.” God will take care of the greatness of anything.  I just have to do the next faithful thing. This was about finding true purpose in the little things every day… not some grandiose operation that makes a hero out of me.  Just things that point to a great God… that bring some healing to the world, that validate the worth of someone who’s been de-valued. It was steady and faithful; even doable.  It’s like the old spiritual sage Thomas Merton’s quote: “Ask me not where I live or what I like to eat… Ask me what I am living for and what I think is keeping me from living fully for that.” What are you living for? What’s getting in the way of that?  Where is your rhythm?

Easter is as good a time as any to ask these questions. The story is familiar. After the terrible mess of Friday’s crucifixion, all pretty much sat in ruins.  Someone recently said, “Nothing ruins your Friday like realizing its Wednesday.”  But this particular Friday we’ve come to call Good, sort of ruined a whole lot of things – killed a man who was armed with nothing but a basin, a towel, and grace; killed a movement; broke a mother’s heart. It was a dark deal no doubt about it. Most of us can relate to Good Friday. We’ve had the loss. We’ve had a dream or an idea or a life-direction murdered. Any grueling heartbreak will give you the feels of Good Friday.

Silent Saturday followed… sometimes more numbing the day after than the day of the great demise itself.  Have you sat in such a space?  You haven’t showered. Your teeth have sort of fuzzed over. Your gaze is glossy… maybe staring out the window in the front room… seeing life moving on for others when yours clearly halted abruptly the day before.  People try.  They’ll ask you something. Mumble a trying word about “your loss,” maybe even leave a frozen casserole with a note about pre-heating the oven to 350 degrees and baking for sixty minutes.  It’s all a blur really.

Sunday rolls around… nothing sacred there… unless you’re a group of committed Jewish women who have honored Saturday’s Sabbath and have taken first chance to head to the tomb of their beloved son, leader, friend. It’s the women who need to be thanked for giving us Easter. Jesus did his part, of course, but it was the women who ventured to the tomb in their grief and fear and uncertainty. The four Gospels in the Bible all tell the resurrection account a little differently but every one of them gets the women to the tomb first; a culturally stunning reality given the oppression of women in that time and even now.

I saw this all-too-true cartoon this week that demonstrated this very thing.

It said, “So ladies, thanks for being the first to witness and report the resurrection and… we’ll take it from here.”  It is the women who have long, and still, been the backbone of the movement; whose voices and visions and witness should also lead us forward. As Luke tells us, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary (Jesus’ mother) and ‘the other’ women find the tomb empty which mostly compounds the feelings they’re already sorting through.

Suddenly, a couple of guys in Easter pastels with night-running head lamps on show up and say, “Whatcha lookin’ for?”  They tell the women that Jesus has checked out of the tomb after enjoying the “free hot breakfast.” It’s just like he intended all along. There’s understandable confusion. The angels go on: “Remember that time when you were back in Galilee and Jesus was teaching and he told that funny story about he and his brother James getting locked out of the family station wagon after the Zeppelin concert?” They nod… it was an epic story.  “And do you remember, then, when he said how he was going to be handed over to sinners, killed on a cross, and in three days rise up?  You remember that?”  “Oh yeah,” they said. And while I’m sure this was an insanely crazy moment of profound amazement and wonder and skepticism yet optimism and a thousand questions and with all sorts of noise and spices being kicked over and the like, the text simply reports rather stoically, “Then they remembered Jesus’ words.”  Come on, Luke, we want the deets, man.

The details make a difference, right?  We love the details. That’s where we connect. That’s how we relate. That’s how we truly get to know each other and even know Jesus.  Religion is a thing that can get in the way.  We can see religion and touch it and try to master it… but it’s not the same.  Over a billion dollars has been raised to reconstruct the Cathedral of Notre Dame which is an amazing thing coming out of a very tragic event.  Lots of pictures of the gold cross still hanging amidst the rubble of the cathedral. It’s a powerful image. We’re drawn to it because we can touch it, feel it, smell the smoldering piles of pews beneath it. I’m for its inspiring beauty and symbol of hope and new life. But I also know it’s just a building.

There’s a series of comic strips called “Coffee with Jesus.”[2] Great stuff.  Always makes me smile, think a bit, convict my own motives sometimes. There was this one that shows Jesus having a coffee conversation with a man named Kevin. While it’s floating around again, it was originally from 2011 so the references are a little dated but I think you’ll get the point.

Man says, “It’s that time of year when we all make our top ten lists, Jesus.  So, let’s hear one from you.  Give us your top ten most important events of 2011.”  Jesus says, “Well, number ten would have to be when this little girl in the rural reaches of Jilin Province in China gave her last apple to a very hungry old woman.” Man responds, “Yeah, that’s not really how this works, Jesus.  You pick a world story or maybe a celebrity screw-up.  Like Iran or Charlie Sheen.”  Jesus says, “You’ve got your important events, Kevin, and I’ve got mine.  Number nine:  a single mother of three in Mexico adopted the daughter of her dying neighbor…”. 

Religion has its value… I’m down with it…I’m swimming in it, right? But I also recognize religion isn’t ultimately the thing we’re after.  We’re after the details we uncover in relationship.  It’s why you have that knowing look with your best friend, your spouse, or that person who’s been through it all with you. You know the details… the back story… the ups and downs.  That’s the rhythm – the bass line – that you’re building your life-song on.  While we get a little shorted on the details here, I’m so thankful for the details we do have that guide us into a deeper relationship with this risen Jesus.

Following the reaction, as dramatic or even keeled as it may have been, the women high tail it back to the makeshift ‘Jesus movement’ office where Peter and the other disciples were still in a fog.  Breathless, but in the best kind of way, the women told the other disciples what they had experienced.  Luke says, “they kept telling these things to the apostles” but the apostles didn’t believe a word. Before we dog the guys out too much here, let’s trust that all of us would find the whole thing a bit unfathomable. And… they were grieving and shocked and exhausted too.  Peter, who always acts before he thinks things through, does what many of us may have been inclined to do: lace ‘em up and get to running to the tomb ourselves.  The others stayed behind presumably. They probably huddled around a couple of different televisions – half the group were Fox News guys and the others MSNBC.  Surely there was some local coverage by now.  Pete’s running… man… the endorphins that bounce around your brain when you run are incredible.  His thoughts are flashing back through all of the highlights… when he first met Jesus, skeptical as any.  The time he walked on water to meet Jesus (more thrilling than bungy jumping). The guard’s ear Peter lopped off when he tried to arrest Jesus… and Jesus putting that ear right back in place. The first time Peter told Jesus, “I believe you’re the Messiah.” The time he told Jesus he’d never betray him… and the three times he came up short, betraying his best friend. The spiraling out of control events of Friday and now… this.

If you’ve given Jesus much time in your life, your story may have similar ups and downs. Seasons when you’ve been in-it-to-win-it, so deeply committed, faithful.  Times you served others in need, stood up for the oppressed, served on the tech team at the church.  But there were seasons when you let that relationship drift… you were doing you, building an empire or really got into that one hobby that seemed to sort of take over much of your time and, you know, hobbies aren’t a bad thing but they can cause a drift. Maybe you weren’t feeling churchy or your questions felt ignored or that one thing happened and it soured you to the religious stuff. Whatever the case, we may call Peter ‘Saint’ today but he was just a guy trying to figure it out… wanting to do something meaningful with his life… believing he had discovered something real and genuine in Jesus.  Someone once said, “The superheroes you have in your mind are nearly all walking flaws who’ve maximized one or two strengths.”

Peter gets there… the guys in the dazzling prom tuxedoes were now gone.  It’s just Peter and the tomb.  Never bashful, he barrels his way into the tomb… pulls out his smart phone and finally gets his thumb swiped just right to get his flashlight app to stay on so he can see. Nothing there.  Just some grave clothes. “Boss?” Pete whispers. “Jesus. You here?”  Nothing but the crickets out front and the fragrance of lilies… maybe a little muffled Lauren Daigle, “You’re Still Rolling Stones” in the earbuds that were dangling down the front of his shirt. “And Peter walks away puzzled, shaking his head in amazement.” It’s such an epic deal here, my friends. I don’t pretend to grasp it all myself.  But I, too, am stunned in amazement. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel says,

“Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement… get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.”

That’s the Easter jam. That’s the sacred rhythm… built on resurrection amazement. But what’s the lasting impact? Someone said very bluntly one time and I’ve adjusted some language because people can get worked up about that sort of thing but he said, “If you see your glass as half-empty, pour it into a smaller glass and quit complaining.” This Easter thing… this invitation to new life in Christ… the grace that turns all that seems like loss and death to wins and life… sets the tone for the rest of our lives.  It’s beyond comprehensible description; an overflowing cup no matter the size of container we try to hold it in.

Last Sunday, David Brock, one of our elders stood at the Table to invite us to share our offerings for the day. He stood right there, looked over at me and said to all of you, “I wonder what would happen if Mark stood up in the pulpit and simply said, “I got nothin’!” We all laughed but I was thinking… “You don’t know how many times we’ve been that close, buddy.”  Sometimes I really just want to say, “Friends, if cauliflower can somehow become pizza crust, anything is possible.” Truth is, today is sort of a “I got nothin’” sort of Sunday.  I’m tempted to give you some theological discourse on the preposterous yet undisputable proof of the great Easter mystery. I’d love to think that something I would say today would push somebody over the edge of disbelief to faith; get that email that says, “You know, pastor, before Easter Sunday, I was not having any of it… but that thing you said, that proof you gave, that amazing illustration about the drummer of the Miami Sound Machine knowing so much about rhythm just set it off for me. I wasn’t in before but I’m in now.”  Rhythm is gonna get you!  Every minister’s dream, you know?  But the honest truth?  I got nothin’.

Renegade pastor and public theologian, Nadia Bolz-Weber tweeted out this week what she does every year saying,

“Clergy and church workers – here’s your yearly reminder: Jesus will rise from the dead even if you forgot to print out the right hymns, even if the lilies arrive already wilted, even if the whole choir gets food poisoning… [even if you get into the pulpit and you got nothin! we might add,] Nothing will keep the stone from rolling away.”

Thank God for that.  And the reality is, it’s up to you what you do with Easter from here.  Peter, peering into the tomb to see for himself what the women had already witnessed and proclaimed, simply “went home,” the text says, “amazed at what had happened.”  We may do some of that today. After the ham and the deviled eggs and jello molds and a nap and the Thunder playoff game, we may say, “How ‘bout that music?  Amazing.” Or “Did you see so and so there?  Nice to see the kids were home.”  Or… “Resurrection, huh.  That’s interesting.”  Going home amazed is part of the Easter story.  But what really matters is what happens the next day. Rhythm is a strong, regular, repeated pattern of movement.  The sacred rhythm of Easter is strong… and when repeated in our daily lives… it changes the world.  That’s what’s truly amazing. So even when I’ve got nothin’… we’ve got all that ever really matters.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhythm_Is_Gonna_Get_You
[2] http://www.coffeewithjesus.com/

text :: John 13:1-20

theme verse :: “For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” (John 13:15)

Any musician will tell you that honoring the ‘rests' are just as important as playing the ‘notes.’ Even so, we are culturally all about the notes and much less interested in the rests. The disciples, ready to party for the Passover and equally ready to act on Jesus’ next move to kingship were taken aback when Jesus essentially says, “Let’s start with the rest.” Amidst betrayal and greed and ignorance, Jesus chooses to serve and suggests we do the same.

reader :: Rev Courtney Richards

special music :: 'Song for Someone' (Bono/U2) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

reprise :: 'Song for Someone'

communion anthem :: 'Remember Me' (Taize) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

John 13:1-20
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ² The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper ³ Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴ got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵ Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ⁶ He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” ⁷ Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” ⁸ Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” ⁹ Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” ¹⁰ Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” ¹¹ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

¹² After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? ¹³ You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. ¹⁴ So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵ For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. ¹⁶ Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. ¹⁷ If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. ¹⁸ I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But it is to fulfill the scripture, ‘The one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.’ ¹⁹ I tell you this now, before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe that I am he. ²⁰ Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me.”

And there is a light… don’t let it go out.  What an ending, eh?  That Bono knows how to leave you hanging.  This “Song for Someone” was released to the world in 2015.[1]  Bono’s little band called U2 gave us this gift.  He mentioned it was initially a song for his wife – childhood sweetheart named Ali whom he later married and has been married to ever since. What a world that opened before them?  Bono told Rolling Stone, “Before I even knew what commitment was, I ended up as a young man in the arms of this young woman, in a world somewhat hostile to the concept of the childhood sweetheart and a first love.”[2]  He went on to say, “This Song for Someone is about first journeys.” It became a song for anyone trying to find their way. For a lyric describing a childhood existence, there’s certainly some depth there.  Some pain… that perhaps he could only imagine from the distance of decades.  Did you hear it?  “You got a face not spoiled by beauty… I have some scars from where I’ve been. I don’t know how these cuts heal… but in you I found a rhyme.”  First journeys, it turns out, tend to happen over and over again in our lives.  Pain, especially, is something… even when we think we’re numb to it from bearing so much of it… comes back with a fury … almost like it’s new every time.

Listen… for a moment… to this excerpt from Rob Bell’s Drops Like Stars.  It’s a bit of a trip but see if you can’t hold the ups and downs of first journeys that are more repeatable than we might think.

“In 1941, in a village in Nazi-controlled Poland, a young man came home to discover that his father             had died while he was at work.  What made his father’s death exceedingly more unbearable was that several years earlier, both this young man’s sister and mother had died. As he held his father’s dead body in his arms, he lamented, “I’m all alone. At twenty, I’ve already lost all the people I’ve loved.” One writer described it like this: “Ripped out of the soil of his background, his life could no longer be what it used to be.  He now began a journey to deeper communion with God. But it didn’t come without tears, and it didn’t come without what seems to have been a certain existential horror.” Suffering can do that to us. We’re jolted, kicked, prodded, and shoved into new realities we never would have brought about on our own. We’re forced to imagine a new future because the one we were planning on is gone. The key word here is, of course, “imagine.” That young Polish man sitting on the floor with his dead father in his arms was having all of his boxes smashed to pieces. “His life could no longer be what it used to be.”

Rob then makes a seemingly random transition.  Play along…

Now for a multiple-choice question: If we went to a performing arts center on a Saturday night and as we walked in we noticed that everybody was dressed up and backstage there were various performers pacing back and forth in tights and slippers and they had Russian last names, we would know we were at:

1. The rodeo
2. An insurance convention
3. The grand opening of a new hair salon
4. The ballet

The location and time and clothes of this event are what art theorists call “insulators.” Insulators frame an event, providing context and helping determine the meaning of an experience for us. If we went to the ballet and everybody in the audience was wearing snorkels or the musicians were all red-haired banjo players with no teeth or instead of being handed a program we were handed a squirrel, we would immediately begin asking, “What is this?” But our real question would be, “Where is this? Where do we put this? How do we place it?” Because our standard reference points—the usual insulators – wouldn’t be there to guide us.  That’s often what happens when we suffer. We had things well planned out. We knew what meant what.  We had all of our boxes properly organized and labeled. But all of that was disrupted when we began to suffer. So there’s “out of the box,” which is often merely a variation of the same thing. And then there are those who think and feel and live and create from a different place. They’ve had their boxes smashed and their insulators dismantled until they had no other option but to imagine a totally new tomorrow.

We could call this the art of disruption. [a life defining shifter]

…  that young Polish man? His name was Karol Jozef Wojtyla, but later in life he was known as Pope John Paul II.

Things change. Insulators implode. Life shifts. Then Rob quotes Catherine of Aragon who said, “None get to God but through trouble.”[3]

Huh.  All the pain… the scrappy nature of the human journey.  The firsts, the middles, the repeat offenders, the endings.  This is a Song for Someone.  Maybe it’s a song for you tonight.  This Table stuff?  Maybe not your first time… but maybe worth coming as if for the first time again.  It is probably the first time today… maybe in a while.  Maybe since that new pain hit.  That new loss.  That new sense of darkness.  Something’s always happening to disrupt the rhythm. 

This was no doubt the case that first/last Passover gift of what we’ve come to know as sacred and standard.  John’s Gospel account gives us the disruption more than the meal. The gathering… the Passover… the meal and celebration… and yet the lingering knowing of Jesus that things were going to be different and more quickly than any of them had clue. He was about to hand his disciples a squirrel. The meal was presumably going as planned. The people were there. The food hit all the menu requirements. The respite from the road a welcomed pause. The energy of Jesus’ recent entry to Jerusalem still ripe with the flow of adrenaline. In it all, however, something wasn’t sitting right in Jesus’ own spirit. Luke’s gospel notes there’s a little dispute at this meal about “Who is the greatest among the disciples.”  Seven-year old’s ask this question sometimes: “Who do you think is the best player on our baseball team, dad?” John doesn’t mention this piece but perhaps it was hanging as a bit of a cloud over the gathering as far as Jesus was concerned.  And… the fact that Jesus gets up during dinner to wash the feet of his disciples suggests that the team may have all been too proud to set up the water basin and towel so that all could wash their feet when they entered the room.

Standard practice before dinner was the washing of the feet. The Palestinian roads were unsurfaced and uncleaned. In dry weather it was inches deep in dust and in wet weather it was liquid mud.[4] Feet are more purposeful than beautiful anyway so washing the dirty feet of your peers was kind of a chore.  Wealthy parties had servants for that job but this crew with Jesus likely couldn’t afford such a service. It probably fell among them as a task of taking turns. My kids like cuddling with our dog but they scatter quickly when it’s time to take her out to use the restroom. Given the rise of attention on Palm Sunday and these questions about greatness, the job of washing the feet before dinner may have seemed beneath them.

So, sitting at dinner with dirty feet, arguing about who is the greatest, and who knows what else, Jesus knows this is a moment that can’t be ignored. What transpires is perhaps the most profound leadership teaching that Jesus ever offers. What do you do when you realize you’re the most powerful person in the room? You serve. Jesus pushes back from the table while the rest are carrying on. He grabs a bucket, fills it with warm water and pulls the “Happy Passover” dish towel that was hanging on the stove handle. He rolls up his sleeves, gets down on his knees and starts washing feet without saying a word. The table gets quiet. There are confused faces. It gets a bit awkward to be honest. Jesus silently washes the muck off the feet of a couple of his disciples, dries between their toes and rubs their feet dry with the towel, squeezes them gently maybe offering a short blessing and moves on to the next.

Peter, as vocal and stubborn as any of the team, is about third in line. He ain’t comfortable with this at all. Jesus gets to him and Pete breaks the silence by asking Rob Bell’s question: “Whoa. Hold up there, Teach. What is this?”  Peter’s grabbed that “Happy Passover” towel out of Jesus’ hands to get Jesus to look at him. “This is silly, Jesus.  I’m sorry that we flaked out on the feet washing job tonight. That’s our bad. Andrew?  It was your turn, Bro.  Whatever the case, I’m sorry we didn’t get it done but you’re just being ridiculous now.” But Jesus, as if to say, “You miss this lesson and you miss the whole thing,” says, “Peter… you either let me do this or there’s no place for you in the future movement.” If you can’t learn to serve humbly like this, you’ll never fully grasp the thrust of the message.  Peter relents but he’s not happy about it.  And the pain of the silence as Jesus goes one by one… no sound in the room except the splash of the water and the pat of the towel.

This is it. The disruption of service. And when Jesus is done, sweat on his brow from the hard work, fingers wrinkled from soaking in too much dirty water, he stands and says, “Do you get it now? Do you see what I’ve done? This is a song for someone in this room who will never forget this moment.  This is a song for someone who’s too proud to serve like that. This is a song for someone who’s worried about being the greatest. Greatness is found only in this way. Get it wrong and everything else will start going to your head.  I’ve set the example. Go and do likewise.”

That’s one way to put a damper on an otherwise fun dinner party.  But such is the case of first journeys.  Every moment with Jesus was new… a renewal of an old practice… a shift of some tradition to turn it on its head.  The question moves from “What is this?” to “Where is this? Where do we put this? How do we place it?” It makes no sense.  And… we’re always trying to figure this out.  Paul was the one who gave us that vulnerable and all too honest line, “Why do I always do the very thing I don’t want to do.  I do the thing I hate and I can’t seem to do the very thing I want to do.”  And here we sit in such a similar state… repeat offenders wondering if we can journey again as if for the first time.

I have a high school classmate who I haven’t spoken to since high school, but we became Facebook friends a number of years ago. We hung out a few times in Middle School but not really after that.  Even so, went to a small school in a small town so you know everybody and I generally counted everyone a friend.  I’ll call him Rico… not his real name… but if you’re gonna make up a name, might as well be a cool name like Rico. Rico’s little brother died when we were in Middle School.  He went missing for a while and was later found in an abandoned well on their farm.  It was so sad.  Rico was a bit of a bully on into high school… maybe had a bit of a chip on his shoulder as I could understand. He was a little guy but talked big. He became a father as a teen himself and via his posts, I’ve learned he became a grandfather by his mid-30’s.  Rico posted recently a “Rest in Peace” message, naming his sister who apparently passed a few years ago – she was several years younger than us. Rico has had some trouble with the law and has maybe been a bit of an over-poster on social media but he puts it right out there:  issues he’s got with other people; job’s he’s started, lost, started again.  He’s ranted and asked for forgiveness.  He’s declared fresh starts and repeat attempts at giving up nicotine.  He’s been up and down with posts about faith… starting over… hoping anew … declaring trust in Jesus as Savior… “This time for real!” he’ll say.

He’s posted many scripture verses this week… longing for the truth of this week to settle in the world.  And I just long for his heart.  He’s been through a lot… many fits and restarts and mistakes… some beautiful; others with wounds that still gape wide open. I believe, in the depths of his soul, he’s good. He’s got a desire for God. And he’s been burned and rejected time and time again. This night is a song for Rico. It’s a song for someone here too. Bono says it this way: “I’m a long way from your hill of Calvary… and I’m a long way from where I was and where I need to be…”.  If that’s you tonight?  This is a song for you.  If you could journey again… as if this was your first communion experience… how would you approach it?  How would it feel?  How would it taste?  Would you pray?  What would you say to Jesus? If you felt him kneel, slide off your shoes and holy socks and washed your feet, how would it change your heart? …

Where have you been since you’ve last been at this Table?  What miles have you run? What struggle have you endured. What loss has you reeling? What sin has your gut churning?

We watched alongside the world, the Cathedral of Notre Dame go up in flames on Monday… that spire, with cross that pierced the sky, tumbled down on top of itself.  Rico posted about it… “a sign of the times,” he said.  What are we do to with this?  Where do we place this?  Another colleague posted this: “All who are saddened by Notre Dame should make a pilgrimage to their own house of worship… Please thank those who have cared for it, adorned it, left legacy in it.”  Then he quoted Fred Craddock, the humble preacher, who said, “A plain, cinder block two-room country church, with a concrete floor and hardwood benches, is a heavenly palace where angels reside when you bring and receive the love of Jesus every week.”

What are you bringing into this moment?  What are you willing to take out of this moment? There is suffering, yes.  There is sadness and grief, yes. There is trial and error and trial again, yes. And there is betrayal. But… the invitation Bono offers to his beloved in this song for someone may be one we offer Christ tonight: “You let me into a conversation; a conversation only we could make. You break and enter my imagination… whatever’s in there it’s yours to take. I was told I’d feel nothing the first time… but this could be the night.”

I want to tell you a secret. You’re in on something tonight that most are missing. They maybe don’t mean to miss out. Maybe they don’t care. Maybe they just don’t know. When you told them you were going to a Maundy Thursday service tonight, they responded, “Is that like Taco Tuesday?” Or maybe you didn’t tell anybody at all.  But since you came, I hope you know this song for someone?  It’s for you.  This could be the night. May you receive the grace of Christ as if for the very first time.

[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFjcd_d2PhY.  Song for Someone. U2.
[2] https://www.songfacts.com/facts/u2/song-for-someone
[3] Drops Like Stars. Rob Bell. Harper One Publishing. 2009. Pg 27-33.
[4] Exegetical background as shared in William Barclay’s commentary on the Gospel of John. Westminster Press. 1975.

text :: Psalm 139:1-18; 23-24

theme verse :: “See if there is any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.” (Psalm 139:24)

Some of us have been so shaped by shame-based family or church systems that we resist entering into deeper levels of self-awareness for fear of being debilitated even further. We counter that resistance with, “But God loves us unconditionally,” and indeed God does. However, we are still inclined to dodge ourselves to avoid the possible pain of shame or rejection. The famed Psalm 139 includes the paradox that we invite God to search and know us even as we acknowledge in the same breath that God already does. As Ruth Barton notes, “This may point to the fact that the real issue in self-examination is not that I am inviting God to know me (since God already does) but that I am inviting God to help me know me.” Becoming more aware of who we’ve been and who we are may be the very best indicator of who we can become yet.

offertory :: 'Precious Lord, Take My Hand' (M.Hayes) :: Marilyn Rhodes, piano

reader :: Dan Pease
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

special music :: 'Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)' (HillsongUnited) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andi Gross, lead vocal

Psalm 139:1-18; 23-24
¹ O Lord, you have searched me and known me. ² You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. ³ You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. ⁴ Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely.  ⁵ You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. ⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it. ⁷ Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? ⁸ If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. ⁹ If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, ¹⁰ even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast. ¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,” ¹² even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you. ¹³ For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. ¹⁴ I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. ¹⁵  My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. ¹⁶ Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed. ¹⁷ How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! ¹⁸ I try to count them—they are more than the sand; I come to the end—I am still with you. ²³ Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. ²⁴ See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

September 22, 2007.  Less than two years before my family would move to Tulsa from Indianapolis to join you in ministry.  I was watching highlights from the college football happenings of the day and a fiery head coach of the Oklahoma State Cowboys lit up a press conference following a victory of all things over Texas Tech. Coach Mike Gundy didn’t comment on the game but went right after a published article about his benching of the starting quarterback.  He didn’t like the media picking on his young players. The line that lingers for all of history and follows this coach most everywhere he goes was of course, It has inspired many-a 40^th birthday cake ever since.  The press conference went viral… one of the very first viral videos in college football to do so as Social Media was a new medium. Mike Gundy’s offensive coordinator at the time, Larry Fedora, missed the blow up of his boss but knew something had gone down at the press conference.  That night, Fedora walked across the cul-de-sac where he lived to Gundy’s house, knocked on the door and said, “What the heck happened in your press conference?” Gundy invited him in and said, “I’ll show you.  It’s already on YouTube.”  Fedora said, “OK, but what the heck is a YouTube?”

I sent my wife a meme this weekend of Gundy’s famous quote as I hit the big 4-0 myself.  She’s been waiting all this time for me to grow up and finally, I’ve apparently crossed some threshold.  “I’m a man. I’m 40!”  The truth is, what became a satirical gaffe for most of the country was hard on many of the people involved. Reflecting ten years later, Gundy said, “That whole thing was harder than people remember, and honestly, it was harder for a lot of people than I realized at the time.”  While some saw his tirade positively, seeing a coach who would stand up for his players, others saw his tirade as bullying the media and less than helpful for some of the players, the quarterback, Bobby Reid, chief among them.  Reid transferred away from OSU to Texas Southern and said of the tirade: “It basically ended my life.” It’s been years of processing that three minute episode. After four years, Coach Gundy and the former quarterback made peace with the incident and each other. Two years after making peace, Reid joined the OSU staff working in quality control for a couple of years. Gundy also made peace with the journalist who wrote the article and continues to reflect on the evolution of his life.

Gundy said, “I see that guy on that video and I see a guy who was going to work every single day with his fists clenched, feeling like he’s gotta scrap for every single inch every single day.” He can’t recall the last time he watched the clip voluntarily, but he doesn’t have to. That stalking, shouting, pointing man is permanently embedded on the memory card of his mind. “Don’t misunderstand, we’re still fighting for everything we get around here. But if you could go back in time, I would want to put my arm around that guy and say, ‘Hey dude, it’s going to be OK.’  It’s all part of what Gundy described on the decade anniversary of the incident as “Ten years of realizing you aren’t right about everything all of the time.”[1]

Is there any among us who couldn’t benefit from some self-reflection of the stories of our lives?  We’ve all got these moments… maybe when we fell or stumbled or overreacted or chose poorly or caused harm or said that thing or whatever it may be that we’ve either allowed to remain an open wound or have done some spiritual work to let it scar … not forgotten… but healed over, learned from, stronger, more compassionate for facing it and growing through it.  This isn’t fully an age thing… though age brings some wisdom that only the passage of time allows.  This is an intentional thing, a vulnerable thing, a come-to-Jesus meeting with yourself – if not your circles of accountability.

We’re in deep today friends.  Not going to hide that.  We’re not playing in the shallow end of the pool today.  “We’re far from the shallow now…” to bring Gaga into the whole thing. It’s the poignant truth of the moment. Next Sunday, we’ll wave Palm Branches and recall the first gathering for communion on Maundy Thursday and look up at the cross on Good Friday where Jesus will stare back into our eyes.  That’s next week. Are you ready for that?  What clutter do you need to clear in your soul, in your conscience, in your heart, in your relationships?  This ain’t no joke. We’re in the deep end of this Sacred Rhythms series and we’ve got to look deep inside ourselves.  Ruth Haley Barton has been our companion in this series.  She calls this moment the practice of self-examination.  She quotes Andreas Ebert who said,

“Many avoid the path of self-knowledge because they are afraid of being swallowed up in their own abysses.  But Christians have confidence that Christ has lived through all the abysses of human life and that he goes with us when we dare to engage in sincere confrontation with ourselves.  Because God loves us unconditionally – along with our dark sides – we don’t need to dodge ourselves.  In the light of this love, the pain of self-knowledge can be at the same time the beginning of our healing.”

This so reminds me of the regular question Jesus asked of those approaching him with a want, a need, a desire: “Do you want to be made well?” Such a piercing question.  Well?  What about you?  What about me?  When it comes to addiction and trials and the damaging patterns we create in our lives, we know it is often said, “Until we want it… until we are willing to suffer the pain of acknowledging our out-of-control-realities and that the consequences of not healing are worse than the requirements of change (and even the loss of change), we can’t really heal.”  Do you want to be made well?

There comes a time in our spiritual walk where one of the main things God is up to is lovingly holding up a mirror before our souls that we might see ourselves more clearly.  It’s a sobering moment. It may be what Paul meant when he wrote to the Romans (12:3), “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather ‘think of yourself with sober judgment,’ in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you.” It’s time to take a closer look. Few of us may be excited about this exercise.  And our culture is quick to hold up a different mirror before God can get the true mirror to reflect who we are.  Some of us have been so shaped by shame-based family systems or religious experiences that we don’t want to examine the soul any deeper than we have to. We fear that we will forever tread water in a pool of shame or remorse.  Sometimes, our quest for perfection is so pronounced that we couldn’t bear facing the truth of our own shadow sides without becoming completely unraveled. “Just trying to hold life together by a thread, here,” we say. “Don’t clip the thread or it will all come undone.”  We all want to know that someone knows all there is to know about us and loves us anyway. We generally want this, however, without doing the hard spiritual, self-reflective work of being totally honest with ourselves.

King David – a significant Psalmist – gives us Psalm 139 which would be worth a daily read if you’re up for it.  It is a Psalm that is often read in poignant moments of life and death.  It’s the one about God knowing every bone in our body – even as we were being formed in our mother’s womb, God knows the number of our days.  It is often titled, “The Inescapable God.”  “Whether I walk in the thick of trouble or am flying high,” says David, “you are there.”  At times, I wonder if David is glad that he can’t escape God’s presence or if he’s really annoyed about the whole situation. “Can I not get a moment of privacy, God?”  It’s like a parent trying to use the restroom in peace with little toddlers running around the house. They. are. always. there. And while on a first reading, it seems David is asking God to investigate his life… see if there is any wickedness within him and, to quote another of his Psalms, “Create a clean and right spirit” within him. But, as Barton notes, this may point us beyond to a deeper soul level than simply, “God, look at me. What do you see?”  She says, “This may point to the fact that the real issue in self-examination is not that I am inviting God to know me (since God already does) but that I am inviting God to help me know me.”

Instead of inviting God to help me know me, we tend to invite social media platforms to tell us who we are.  We are dimly aware that everybody else can’t possibly be as successful, rich, attractive, relaxed, intellectual and joyous as they appear to be on Facebook. Yet we can’t help comparing our inner lives with the curated lives of our friends. Facebook works with an outside company to gather data (surprised?) on the cars people actually own.  They also have data on the cars people associate with by posting about them or liking them on Facebook.  Owners of luxury cars like BMWs and Mercedes are about two and a half times as likely to announce their affiliation on Facebook as are owners of ordinary makes and models. How ‘bout that?  What about musical tastes?  Spotify reports that twenty-nine of the forty musicians women listen to most frequently are also the artists most frequently listened to by men. Facebook tells another story. Men have underplayed their interest in artists like Katy Perry on Facebook but she was the tenth most listened to artist among men, beating out Bob Marley, Kendrick Lamar and Wiz Khalifa – all of whom have far more male “likes” on Facebook. We aren’t making honest reflections of ourselves. A frequent quote of Alcoholics Anonymous members is helpful here:
Seth Stephens-Davidowitz reported these findings after spending five years peeking into people’s insides.[2]  He studied aggregate Google search data noting how people tend to tell Google things they don’t reveal on Social Media. He found when wives spoke of their husbands on social media, the top five descriptors for, “My husband is… are “the best,” “my best friend,” “amazing,” “the greatest” and “so cute.”  On Google the only one of those five utilized to complete that phrase was “amazing.”  The other top responses?  “My husband is… “a jerk,” “annoying,” and “mean.”  Davidowitz’s research data of five years was surprisingly comforting to him.  He felt less alone in his insecurities, anxieties and struggles.  He trusts Google’s autocomplete far more than people’s Social Media posts. “Type in “I always…” he writes, “and see the Google suggestions that arise based on other people’s searches.  “I always feel tired” or “I always feel bloated…” are top searches which is a stark contrast to social media where everybody “always” seems to be on a Caribbean vacation.  Don’t let Social Media be the primary investigator of your life. Invite God to help you know you better.

If God truly knows us better than any human ever possibly can, then let’s open our lives fully in God’s presence.  Use Psalm 139 as a daily review. This self-examination is an ancient tradition known as the examen of consciousness.  This may take only a few minutes at the close of every day, asking ourselves, “How was God present with me today?” “What promptings did I notice?” “How did I respond or not respond?” This may be harder at first, but with a little consistency, the examen will begin to shift the way we encounter the world during the day. We’ll start looking at the world with new eyes and with more reflective vision.  The Psalm also helps us consider the goodness of our lives… celebrating it in all of our fearfully-and-wonderfully-made-ness. “How is my very being a blessing today?  My body? My soul? My relationships?” This self-examen then leads to our own awakening to the darkness within.  This is harder of course, and more vulnerable.  It’s hard to acknowledge that we have a shadow side. But David, confident that God has created him as deeply good, is also able to let the parts that are confusing even to himself come into the light of God’s presence so that God can show him how to confront his shadow side. “Search me, God, know me, check me on the wicked stuff, cleanse me and move me into the everlasting way.”  In part, this is David acknowledging as he does in this Psalm: “Even the darkness is not dark to you.”  God can deal… and God invites us to face it too… then, and only then, can we begin to imagine healing. Confession is the only impetus to forgiveness.  Can we get there?  Are we willing to go to those depths with God?  with ourselves?

Ram Das says,

This is what Richard Rohr calls essential to the classic “spiritual schedule” of our lives: “Some event, person, death, idea, or relationship will enter your life with which you simply cannot cope using your present skill set, acquired knowledge, or willpower.”[3]  He says this will lead us to the edge of our own private resources.  We must “lose” at something.  It’s the only way that the mysterious grace of God can get to us to change.  It is only there that we let go of our egocentric preoccupations and are willing to go deeper.  We’ve got to be out of the driver’s seat for a while or we never learn to relinquish control. The Gospels show us better than anything else that life is tragic but graciously shows us that we can not only survive but, more importantly, grow from the tragedy. Joseph Campbell says, “Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.”  Julian of Norwich says it even better: “First there is the fall, and then we recover from the fall – and both are the mercy of God.”  This is the journey we’re on.  “God, search me.  God, help me see me as you see me. Help me to know myself honestly so that I can become my best self for you, and my family and my community and the world.” This is what it means to bring our whole selves before God.  No matter your age or stage… 14, 40, 60, 80, 100… that number doesn’t make you who you are.  It doesn’t define your manhood or womanhood or personhood.  What matters is the willingness to examine what is real and true… about us… about God… and pray our lives forward into greater health, understanding, and wholeness.

I want to close this morning with what is called “The Prayer of Abandonment” by Brother Charles de Foucauld who wrestled with what it meant to bring the entirety of himself before God some 150 years ago. May you, with a spirit of openness, allow his prayer to be ours today…

God, I abandon myself into your hands; do with me what you will.
Whatever you may do, I thank you: I am ready for all, I accept all.
Let only your will be done in me and in all your creatures — I wish no more than this, O Lord.
Into your hands I commend my soul: I offer it to you with all the love of my heart, for I love you, Lord, and so need to give myself, to surrender myself into your hands without reserve, and with boundless confidence, for you are my God. Amen.[4]

[1] http://www.espn.com/college-football/story/_/id/20285966/oklahoma-state-cowboys-mike-gundy-reflects-rant-10-years-later
[2] https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/06/opinion/sunday/dont-let-facebook-make-you-miserable.html
[3] From Rohr’s Center for Action and Contemplation:  Meditations@cac.org.  March 31, 2019.
[4] Charles de Foucauld: Writings, ed. Robert Ellsberg (Orbis Books: 1999), 104.

text :: Romans 8:26-27

theme verse :: “The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought...” (Romans 8:26)

Many of us have learned a “go-to” prayer over time –often a bedtime prayer as a child or The Lord’s Prayer as we prayed it each week in worship. But ask anyone without notice to say a prayer aloud or share about their prayer life and most get wide-eyed and tight lipped pretty quick. It seems, however, that as our spirit’s mature, we recognize that the gift of prayer shifts as well –often from a sense of communication to God to an experience of communion with God. How might we move from “What do I pray?” to “How is my life a prayer?”

special music :: 'Come As You Are' (Crowder) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

reader :: Hollie Hawkins
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

anthem :: 'Lord, I Want To Be A Christian' (arr.Lantz) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director; Christina Maxwell, soloist

Romans 8:26-28
Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. ²⁷ And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. ²⁸ We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.

I could be wrong.  No need to wait for the but, here. It’s not coming.  I could be wrong. Period.  I’ve got to say, I’m sort of relieved.  Sure, we want to be right.  We believe what we believe, we do what we do, we fight for the things we fight for because we believe we’re right.  But some of us never seem to get to that point of saying, “I could be wrong.”  It really is sort of refreshing.  Do you want to try?  Just say it: “I could be wrong.” Doesn’t it feel good?  Nah. We much prefer to be right.  So I won’t speak for you.  I’ll just speak for myself.  I could be wrong, you know.  I mean, I’m thinking specifically about prayer in this moment.  I’m sure there was a time when I once thought prayer was about getting what I want.  I’d heard all the quips: “God wants me to have the desires of my heart.”  Terrific. I want to date her, drive that, live there, go to that school and do that job. Done. Even Jesus said something that turned into a great worship tune I sang in college: “Ask, and it will be given to you.  Seek and you will find.  Knock and the door will be open to you… the door will be open to you.”  Boom. Prayer.  This stuff is easy.  Well… not everything turned out as I prayed so I was confronted with what that was all about. You’ve had this struggle too.

Think Bedlam. Oklahoma Sooners versus O-State Cowboys – always the biggest game of the year around these parts and half the crowd is praying for a Sooner victory and the other half for the Cowboys but we all know God prefers the _________, right? So you could be wrong.  Ah… so then what about those prayers?  And it gets more serious than football. I got a text last week from a friend whose mother was in the hospital… things weren’t looking good.  My friend texts me that his sister is praying for a miracle to heal their mom and my friend was praying for the suffering to end so their mom wouldn’t be in this terrible state any longer.  That’s a little deeper isn’t it?  What about those prayers?  Another friend comes to me with a great heartache in her spirit about something she’s been facing for decades and is weary and scared and uncertain and she simply says, “I don’t know what I want from you… I guess I just want your prayers.”  Of course. Another friend yet texts about a job interview – this would be a great career step for my friend and good for his family and he said, “Please pray me in…”. Absolutely.  But do I pray he gets the job, and my other friend’s heartache gets removed and for a miracle for my other friend’s mom or his request that her suffering ends and she joins the great saints of the resurrection?

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan Priest, wrote a great book called “Falling Upward,” addressing the two halves of our lives – which I highly recommend.  And I’m soon to be officially “Over the Hill” myself which I can’t believe.  I remember as a kid going to a family friend’s 40^th birthday surprise party and we hid a bunch of “Over the Hill” gags around the house and I thought that Don must have known Jesus personally he was so old. Well, now that’s almost me so… pray for me?  Anyway, Rohr quotes Paul in Romans 9 where Paul writes,

But Rohr says we only realize this is true in the second half of life. Rohr’s life halves are less numerical and more spiritually based. “We had to do the wanting and the trying and the achieving and the self-promoting and the accomplishing. The first half of life is all about some kind of performance principle. And it seems that it must be this way. We have to do it wrong before we know what right might be. In the second half of life, we start to understand that life is not only about doing; it’s about being.”  He then tells a story about going home to Kansas after his father had just retired at the age of sixty-five.

For thirty-six years, his dad had painted trains for the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad.  He had grown up poor during the Depression and the dust storms of western Kansas. Generationally, jobs were something you valued deeply and once you got one, you weren’t going to lose it.  Never missed a single day of work in all those years. The company said, “He turned on the lights every morning.” Isn’t that something? And so here he is on Day One of retirement literally falling into his son’s arms in tears saying, “I don’t know who I am now. I don’t know who I am. … pray with me, pray with me.” Here is Richard Rohr, a grown man, a priest, supposed to be strong for his dad and he said, “I didn’t know how to do it.  I guess I said the appropriate priestly words, but I didn’t know how to guide him into the second half of life and he was begging for a guide.”[1]

Our prayer lives may reflect this same struggle of claiming our identity.  A church friend sent me an article[2] this week about the importance of community and it engaged this very idea.  The author said, “I spent my days focused on optimizing myself: Endlessly working and improving, on a permanent quest to do as much as possible in the unforgiving confines of twenty-four hours.  It was the only way I knew how to be. Compete. Excel. Win.  She then said, “I never considered there might be a cost to a life of high-octane, high-reward competition.”  Bill Gates reflected on aging and perspective, particularly regarding his work of the past year.  He said that as a young man in his twenties, he was consumed with making Microsoft a personal-computing giant. Today, his focus is on other people. “Did I devote enough time to my family?” he asks himself now. “Did I learn enough new things? Did I develop new friendships and deepen old ones?” These would have been laughable to me when I was 25, but as I get older, they are much more meaningful.”  Given this current season in your life, what is pulling your greatest reflective attention? And how do your prayers, if at all, reflect such a season?

The Apostle Paul brings a word for us today from his letter to the church at Rome. Rome!  Now there was a place that was hustling and bustling with amazing world-class art, exquisite poetry, finely crafted moral philosophy and imperial decrees.  People of great influence in this city.  And Paul writes this little letter to a church there that would have mostly gone unnoticed in such a place.  Its thirty years after the Jesus event – death, burial, resurrection – which had taken place in a remote corner of the Roman Empire.  Few of the elite in Rome were giving it much worry; nobody tweeted about the resurrection, you know?  Peter didn’t post a selfie of himself on Instagram with the abandoned linens in the empty tomb. The movement took some time to catch on.  But this letter of Paul’s – somehow, some way, in the midst of such deep and culturally important work – would soon leave all of those other writings in the dust; a world-altering word from a man whose life had been altered by an encounter with Jesus.

In the brief piece we look at this morning, Paul’s writing about the birth pangs of the world.  Change, difficulties, tension, conflict – externally, yes, but Paul says, “That same turmoil is going on inside of you.”  We’re yearning for deliverance from meaninglessness and we’re waiting and wondering and yes, even praying, for whatever that may look like for us. And when it all seems unanswered and growing in its complexities and our relationships get rocky and the job is uncertain and the desire isn’t coming to pass as easily as the praise song said it would, we get tired in the waiting. Paul says, “that’s exactly when God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along, making prayer out of our incoherent thoughts… even our deepest sighs that are beyond any words we could muster.  The Spirit is right there.”  The Spirit is right there?  And then it hit me… made a lot of sense to me… and I could be wrong, remember?  But this sounded a lot like keeping good company. Is that the true gift of prayer?  The Spirit gets us…at the very essence of our being… and holds company with us. “That’s prayer,” I thought, “Keeping company with God.”  There’s less a spirit of “fix-it” in this company and more a withness.  There’s a change in your prayer life if you consider such a possibility.

How often I’ve just prayed, “God, fix it!” and not, “God keep company with me through this.”  It doesn’t mean that we should never pray and plea for the desires of our hearts, for our needs, for great things that are needed in the world.  The Hebrew writer said, “Come boldly before the throne of God with our prayers,” so there’s space for that and I trust in the power of those prayers, yes. But think of any maturing relationship you’ve had in your lives. Like when you’re first in that dating phase with someone and it’s all about the words.  “We talked on the phone for like three hours last night.”  And then you do that every night for a month; maybe two or six or twelve. The words!  That’s how you connect at first but as the relationship matures, it’s not that you don’t still have things to say to each other – you should always ask new, inquisitive questions of the loves in your life – but there becomes a comfort in simply keeping company with that person. A knowing glance says what three hours of conversation once said. A reach for their hand speaks volumes without even uttering a word. Could our prayers grow in this withness with God too?

Think of some of the biggest moments in scripture.  23^rd Psalm – the most known of all the Psalms – what does it say as a prayer?  “I will fear no evil for you are with me.”  That’s not fixing, that’s keeping company.  The incarnation of Christ as we read in John’s gospel: “In the beginning was the word and the word was with God.  The word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood.”  Withness.  Or Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane – as human a moment of any as the text says that Jesus is sweating blood as he’s praying over what is about to happen – his pending arrest and subsequent crucifixion.  Jesus prays, “God if you can fix this, that would be my preference but if not, your will be done.” “God… if this doesn’t go the way I want it to go, then give me some new perspective on the matter at hand… help me see your take on this.” The interesting part here is my wondering if Jesus is projecting next onto the disciples what he wanted of his heavenly Father.  He just wanted his Abba, Daddy, to be with him and he wasn’t feeling much withness in the stress of the moment.  What does Jesus say to the disciples who had fallen asleep as he was praying blood out of his pores?  “Can’t you stay awake with me for even an hour?”  “Can’t you keep company with me?  I’m kind of dealing with some big stuff here.”  If you’ve ever wondered where God was in your time of need… maybe you know that feeling.

Life is tumultuous isn’t it?  It’s often harder than we thought it would be.  It’s more complex and things we assumed would be easy and a natural part of our lives – falling in love, having a child, raising a child, getting that job, retiring well, etc, etc, hasn’t panned out like we imagined.  Life feels more like wave crashing down on another wave and we’re just trying to stay afloat without losing our minds or blowing up the good things that are holding us steady while the waves are raging in other areas of our existence.  We may want a fix-it God in these moments, but we may only get some divine company who simply commits to guide us through it.  I was amazed this week to learn about life as a Columbia River Bar Pilot.[3] Do you know about these pilots?  Imagine a stretch of water so dangerous that even huge ships can’t cross it safely. It’s a place sailors call the “graveyard,” where hundreds of ships have sunk and thousands have lost their lives. But the global economy relies on navigating this place with shipping vessels every day to avoid economic collapse.  The Columbia River Bar in the Pacific Northwest, located at the intersection of the Columbia River and the Pacific Ocean is such a place.   It is considered one of the most dangerous stretches of water in the world.

Not just any ship captain can navigate these ships so there are expert Captains that are trained to do this – their only job is to get on these ships out in the ocean and navigate those ships through the passage; a real Jesus take the wheel sort of vocation. In the 1960’s, these special captains would get to the ships by rowboat – sometimes enduring 25 foot swells – just to get to the ships.  They’d scurry up those ships on a dropped rope ladder and then guide those ships through the rough waters.  Today, it’s much more MacGyver than that.  These expert captains get helicoptered onto these ships simply to guide them through the passage – some ten times a day – which ultimately moves $24 billion dollars in goods each year through this passage. Can you imagine a passage so treacherous that an expert withness is flown in to help you get through it?  I wonder if that is the kind of company God keeps with us when we’re in those most difficult or uncertain places. And I imagine not a lot is said … just focused company… just a hand held in the waiting room at the hospital… just a tear wiped when the pain was clear but no words could repair.  So many will say in times of tragedy or deepest challenge, “I just don’t know what to say.”  “Just be there,” I’ll offer back.  Just be good company. Silent presence is as powerful a prayer as you’ll ever pray. The Spirit already knows and recognizes the sigh.

Do you have these company keepers in your life?  There are some people in my life whose spirits are deep… they don’t need to offer words anymore to prove that… they just are a well of spiritually-deep-second-half-of-life wisdom — and when I’m in prayer with them… and they look at me or send me a three word text, “I’m with you…” or they simply exhale; sigh … I believe them… I believe their spirit. I believe their withness. I feel their prayers washing over me. And I feel the Spirit’s agreement in our two-or-three-are-gathered moment. That’s keeping good company.

Jesus, post-resurrection, was having one last moment with his assembled team, tasked (big gulp) with transforming the world with all he had shared with them, before he ascends to heaven. Do you remember what he says to them?  At the end of Matthew’s gospel he says to them, “Go into all the world, make disciples (people willing to learn the Way), and I will be with you.”  I will be your withness.  I will keep company with you all along the way…even to the end of the age.  That seems to be the promise.  I could be wrong.  I wonder, however, if that is truly the greatest gift of prayer… and worth our daily practice… simply to keep holy company with God and one another… and trust that such is enough. Surely that’s the pray without ceasing idea… keeping constant company. The Spirit already recognizes our sighs… knows the need; holds it with us. And there is enough power in the holding to transform the world.

A colleague of mine… just this fireball of a woman who is retired professionally but engaged in the work of world-wide compassion sharing as much as any I know.  She just spent time in Guatemala serving with partner communities and learned of a Mayan belief that suggests there is a fixed amount of suffering in the world. The idea is simply this: if you share your suffering with others, your burden is lightened. And if that person shares that suffering as well, the suffering diminishes yet again.  The Mayans could be wrong.  So could my friend.  But she wonders about it. And so do I… at least in the power of holding each others joys and pains… keeping company with God and one another.

So when you text me or email me or call me or pull me aside or sit with me over coffee or in my office or however we communicate – there’s something about the gift of prayer that turns that communication into communion.  There’s something in our withness that changes outcomes and strengthens weakness and brings hope to despair.  When we say, “I’m holding that with you,” we’re trusting the Spirit to be with us too; to transform us, heal us. I could be wrong.  Period.  God already knows. So I’ll trust God with that without really needing to say any words at all.

[1]  Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation From the Center for Action and Contemplation.  Week 12. Growing in Christ.  Tuesday, March 19, 2019.
[2]https://qz.com/1570179/how-to-make-friends-build-a-community-and-create-the-life-you-want/
[3] https://www.opb.org/artsandlife/article/columbia-river-bar-pilots-oregon-field-guide/

text : Mark 6:7-13 and 30-32

theme verse : “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” (Mk 6:31)

When is the last time you were quiet enough to hear your own heart beat? To feel it? Sense itsrhythm as if your very soul was trying to show itself to you in a marvelous and tangible way? Parker Palmer suggests “the soul is like a wild animal—tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy. But it is also shy.... if we will walk quietly into the woods, sit patiently by the base of the tree, and fade into our surroundings, the wild animal we seek might put in an appearance."To find a sacred way forward, we must first create a foundation, or baseline, for God to buildupon. Our starting point? Solitude.

opening : 'Beautiful Things' (Gungor) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

reading : Roy Peters
preaching : Rev Mark Briley

offertory : 'Revelation Song' (J.Riddle) :: Ashley Pease & Jenn Epperley, vocal; Susie Monger Daughterty, piano

Mark 6:7-13; 30-32
He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. ⁸ He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; ⁹ but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. ¹⁰ He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. ¹¹ If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” ¹² So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. ¹³ They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them. ³⁰ The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. ³¹ He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. ³² And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves.

Last Wednesday night, this sanctuary was full of young and old, babies with that new car smell (but human, you know?) and saintly journeyers who have seen and been through some stuff.  There were youth and middle aged, parents and singles and seekers and doubters.  There were some grieving and others wondering why their body has betrayed them while another bounces up the aisle taking each step for granted.  Many of you were there and so was I.  It was a beautiful night to mark the beginning of a beautiful and deeply spiritual season we call Lent – which is something far greater than the glob of fabric you might pull out of your pocket. After those who chose to receive the mark of the cross in ash on their foreheads, we sat together in this space, mindful of our mortality, wondering about our deepest longings to be loved and connected to the One who fashioned us from the dust of the earth.  Courtney invited us to put our hands over our hearts… to feel our hearts beat.  To breathe in deep enough to feel our lungs press against the cage designed to hold them in place.  It was a powerful moment to individually and collectively breathe deeply… asking the Spirit of God to fill us.  When is the last time you were quiet enough to hear your own heart beat?  To really feel it?  Sense its rhythm as if your very soul was trying to show itself to you in a marvelous and tangible way?  When have you slowed enough to focus on your very breath… one after another… each inhale and exhale holds almost an audible whispered word: “Gift. Gift. Gift.”

I once watched a doctor hold my newborn baby in the air by the ankles and give him a shake. I was alarmed.  “What are you doing to my kid?  Can you do that?”  As a new parent, you have this sense that babies are so fragile, and you’ve got to handle them like grandma’s fine china.  I remember driving home from the hospital with our first born going about five miles an hour with my hazards on the whole way.  Traffic is stacking up behind us and I’ve got my arm out the window waving for them to “Go around!”  I had precious cargo on board.  But doc picked up my newborn son like he was rubber.  But doc was doing all of this to help my son take his first breath.  And this was more than a first breath… it was the gift of life itself.  “Before anything else can be said about you, you have received a gift … God has given you life.  Are you breathing?  Gift. Gift. Gift.[1]  Isn’t that extraordinary?  We quickly forget this gift when we get on about our lives.  We bump up against failure and pain, heartache and abuse and loss.  While we grieve and feel and try to express all that is brewing within us, “a truth courses through the veins of all our bumps and bruises, and [that truth] is this: We have received.”  You are here.  You are breathing.  And this sacred season of Lent invites us to go back that far, that deep, to the very heart beat of God. It is the question of this first Sunday of Lent.  Do you remember the gift of your life? Your very breath?  How do you remind yourself that its there?  If you went on a hunt for your very soul, would you even know what you are hunting for?

Parker Palmer, an author and educator, says

“The soul is like a wild animal – tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy, self-sufficient.  It knows how to survive in hard places.  But it is also shy.  Just like a wild animal, it seeks safety in the dense underbrush.  If we want to see a wild animal, we know that the last thing we should do is go crashing through the woods yelling for it to come out.  But if we will walk quietly into the woods, sit patiently by the base of the tree, and fade into our surroundings, the wild animal we seek might put in an appearance.”

We’re on a quest this Lenten season to regain the sacred rhythm that launched us in this world and today, we start with the gift and discipline of solitude as an entry point to re-connect with God in our extra-noisy, cluttered lives. Call it a soul hunt perhaps.

Jesus says to the disciples who have been out and about sharing the Good News they have come to know, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Do you make any space in your life for such a practice? We don’t tend to be creatures with great practices of solitude.  We like the noise. We prefer the energy of the crowd.  We don’t want to have to be alone with our own spirit… with God. However, we also have our limits with that noise, don’t we?  “She’s too much,” we say.  “I can’t deal with him today.”  It happens to all of us.

An elementary school teacher gave her students the assignment of writing what life will be like when they’re 100 years old.  One little girl named Emma offered up a very honest response.  See if you can relate. How many of you are ready to sign up for that life now?  Emma may be on to something. The truth is, we live in a society that values productivity, success, achievement, and all-star status. Imagining time of solitude… silent space to listen to your own heart beat and feel your soul and your very breath again… in and out… gift, gift, gift.  Forget about it.  But this is extremely critical to building a spiritual foundation that can hold the rest of your life. Even daily doses of solitude will save you from the crash and burn that often takes down too many of us when we just can’t keep up anymore.  

When we consider the three years of Jesus’ ministry (Three years!  That’s it.  Talk about getting a lot of work done in a short amount of time) … the primary work of his three years was to get ordinary people like you and me to remember their very life; their very breath… remember that life is a gift and they have what it takes to bring the kingdom of God to earth.  To be effective in an ongoing way, however, these disciples would have to learn to make space to be with God alone; not confusing activity, even Godly activity, with simply being with God… recharged, renewed.  When we are in “go” mode all the time, we start to think it is we who are creating the world again and again in seven days.  Now… Jesus had the disciples active, yes.  They had to get out there and start being the church if there was ever going to be something we could call church for the long haul.  And in our text from Mark’s gospel today (not a third person reference here), we see that very thing.

Jesus sends them out in pairs to teach and heal.  They were told to pack light and weren’t given any daily stipend.  No steak dinners. No luxury hotels. No lights and fog or cool skinny jeans like trendy worship leaders were starting to wear. “You are the equipment,” Jesus said.  Big gulp. They weren’t ready for this, right?  We never are.  Or we always are and we just don’t think we are.  But they’re out there, preaching and teaching and listening to stories and sharing stories and anointing bodies and eating meals with people and healing those they could and it. was. awesome!  But as so often is the case… when life is flying high and the spirit is soaring in powerful ways, something sweeps the leg. In this case, it’s the death of their spiritual partner John the Baptist.  He’s beheaded on the silliest of whims and it had been the disciple’s job to retrieve the body of their friend and bury him. So they’ve had this marvelous success and now this grief and, as the text says, “The disciples gathered around Jesus and told him all the things they had experienced on their journey.”

They surely had some one-up stories. “Man, this one spirit we exorcised was epic.”  “Yeah, well, Pete preached this one sermon that was the number one downloaded message of the week across the land and the whole community came to faith.” Another chimes in, “This one lady we met and sang for tried to pay us in meatballs.  She was all, “Hold out your hands!” just like that lady in the Wedding Singer.” The bigger issue, Jesus knows, is how these guys will sustain their spiritual life without being all consumed by outward successes. If they lose touch with the Spirit, they’ve got nothing. It is why Jesus insists on them doing what Jesus regularly demonstrated himself, “Go on to that deserted place and feel your heart beat again.”

Solitude is the longing for God… to experience God in an unmediated way.  We so often try to mediate this connection with our words or theological constructs or religious activity. Solitude, however, is really this deep longing to find ourselves… to be in touch with what is most real within us. But as Ruth Haley Barton writes in her book, “Sacred Rhythms[2],” this inspiration of this Lenten series,

“It’s tricky to get the soul to come out.  We are not very safe for ourselves because our internal experience involves continual critique and judgment and our tender soul does not want to risk it. And so, we settle for a noisy spirituality which oftentimes is just an organized group of people crashing through the woods together, making so much noise that there’s not a soul in sight.”

When we go and go and go exhaustion sets in … especially when we are accessible all the time. When our phones never get left on the dresser in the bedroom so we can be present to the humans we do life with, everyone loses.  Most of us are more tired than we know at the soul level.  “We are teetering on the brink of dangerous exhaustion, and we really cannot do anything else until we have gotten some rest.”  I had a colleague who was sharing with me about this struggle… Sabbath… a holy word we throw around but tend not to pay attention to… Sabbath being a holy day when we rest, break free from schedules and commitments and being the supposed boss of our lives to remember that we are not God and are not expected to be.  Sabbath.  My friend was saying how we think of rest or Sabbath as what happens when we’re exhausted… we collapse at the end of our break-neck-speed lives and call that collapse Sabbath.  But Sabbath is actually to come first.  We are to work from our rest not rest from our work.  Do you sense the difference?  The intentionality is different and, I’ll argue, that our productivity will be much better as well.

And I know what you’re thinking… “I don’t have time do nothing.  I don’t have time for solitude.  I am the god of my life and I ain’t got time to listen for some other God.”  We may be resistant in this way… or we may be a little softer while still hesitant.  “I see the value… I crave the solitude but is there really any hope for me?  I’m overcommitted and too far gone.”  My guess is your spirit is telling you it needs this. We’re an exhausted people. Several friends posted this meme this week:

I feel like I’m already tired tomorrow.

Does that resonate with you?  You’ve got private pain and disillusionment that you’ve been trying to shore up with inspirational pep talks that sound like somebody else’s rhetoric more than God’s word to you.  You’ve got heavy decisions looming and you’re exhausted to the point of not trusting your own judgment. Your ability to love and trust is wearing thin and you’re just simply on the brink of not being able to handle your life. What I want to say to you… if that’s what you’re feeling is this… “Don’t be torn down by such discouragement.  See your restlessness as an invitation to do something different.”  You need space to be with what is truly real in your life – to celebrate your joys, grieve the losses, shed the tears, sit with questions and feel your feelings.  This “being with what is” is not the same as problem solving or fixing… it is being in that place and waiting for God to meet you there. We get so busy trying to make stuff happen rather than simply waiting on God to heal us from the inside out. It’s why Moses encourages the Israelites who have been backed into a corner by the Egyptians to hang in there.  He says, “The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.” (Exodus 14:13-14). Could you start there?

Choose a place that feels comfortable and safe… a favorite chair, a favorite tree.  Settle into a comfortable position in your body.  Feel your heart beat.  Breathe deeply.  Sit patiently until you begin to notice what is most true about you these days.  Don’t rush.  Don’t try to make anything happen.  Let your soul venture out to say something to you that perhaps you have had a hard time acknowledging.  Sit with what comes to you and become conscious of God’s presence with you in that awareness.  Don’t try to do anything with what you are knowing except be with it.  In other words, as Ruth Barton says, “Don’t scare it away.” Feel the difference between trying to fix it and just being with it. Barton says, “Feel the difference between doing something with it and resting with it.  Feel the difference between trying to fight it and letting God fight for you.  What does it mean for you to be still and let God fight or work for you in this particular area?”  Solitude.  It may feel strange at first but stick with it… regularly… the biggest changes in our lives come from the smallest adjustments, compounded over time.

I was on retreat with the leadership team of the Bethany Fellows in Arizona early last month.  It was such a powerful week in the desert.  I admit that my soul was parched. The noise was consuming. I was holding a lot with you and for you… along with my own spiritual and life noise.  I have been on this particular retreat five years running now… to the desert… a place I never imagined appreciating so much.  But it took my fifth return to feel God’s presence in a way that I have never before.  You’ve got to stick with this stuff, you know. This time, stepping out onto that desert soil, I almost verbalized out loud what I felt in my spirit: “This place knows my heart.  This desert has held my prayers before.” One of our disciplines is to spend the best part of two days in solitude… we practice silence… cut out the distractions… get your spirit knotted tighter with God’s.  On that second day, I climbed a familiar mountain and sat on this rock for a couple of hours. This was my view.  I thought of you… named you in my spirit… held your pains that I knew of and celebrated your joys. I sat with myself in a way I hadn’t for a long time. It’s sort of a big reflective year in my household.  My wife and I both turn forty.  We’ll also celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary.  This will be our tenth year of living and serving among you. The church turns sixty in just a few short weeks.  And I just sat with my soul… and allowed it to feel what I hadn’t made time to feel.  It was hard and it was sweet.  There were tears and there was healing. There was uncertainty and there was hope. Now I stayed on that mountain for a good while… honestly part of it was I realized it was going to be a lot harder to get down than it was climbing up. There was no path… it was reaching, stretching and climbing rocks.  But I also felt so close to God. I came down the better for having made the climb.

Look… I get invited into a lot of stories… greatest privilege as a pastor is your trust to say, “This is my life… it’s hard… will you hold it with me.”  Of course I will.  I know your pains and your uncertainties and rejections and questions and breakdowns and breakthroughs.  I know you’re wondering if “just sitting in the presence of God” can really make any difference in your life.  And I know it may be the hardest discipline of all.  But if we want to have any foundation upon which we can build our faith, we’ve got to come away to a deserted place, a park bench, a hallway in your home, and rest in the presence of God.  Let that practice become the baseline to the song God is playing through your life.  It will put you in the flow of the sacred rhythm and ground you in a way that nothing else can.  Lent is an invitation to look at your life in a whole new way.

It was awesome last Thursday to have part of the Chebny crew come by the church to receive their ashes as they were out of town for our Ash Wednesday service.  That’s extra mile discipleship. “Ash Thursday” they lovingly called it. Pastor Courtney received them and made the mark of the cross on their foreheads… even Canaan in full Spiderman garb.  As they left, Giselle asked Canaan, “Can you tell me what the ashes mean?”  “I have dirt all over me,” he said.  His mom then asks, “and what does that have to do with Jesus?” Canaan says, “He washes the dirt off of me.” 

‘Tis the season for deepening our practice, friends. You’ve got to want it… give the extra time. Hold your heart. Feel your lungs breathe. I can’t wait to see what new life will find its way in our lives as gift… gift… gift…

[1] From Rob Bell’s “How to be Here.”  Harper Collins. 2016.  The quotes of these two paragraphs come from this work.
[2] Sacred Rhythms. Ruth Haley Barton.  IVP Books. 2006.  Her influence is evident in this message as well as in the formation of the entire series.

text :: Matthew 23:1-12

theme verse :: “For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Matthew 23:12)

In the Middle Ages, a common food eaten by those with little economic means included deer innards. It was made into a pie, of sorts, and became known as umble pie. If an uppity nobleman was every publicly humiliated, it was said that he had to eat umble pie. While thevernacular shifted some through the years, the phrase, “Eat your humble pie,” hung around and still gets used often today. Jesus explains that the humble will be exalted and the exalted will be eating humble pie. Humility is indeed a Christian virtue. However, as C.S. Lewis notes in his book, The Screwtape Letters, any of the virtues we possess become something of a spiritual problem once we become aware of them. It is possible to become proud of our humility. Can we possibly practice humility while keeping a level spirit?

anthem :: 'My Shepherd Will Supply My Need' (arr.Wilberg) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

reader :: David Brock
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

closing :: 'Mercy Mercy' (HillsongUnited) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

Matthew 23: 1 – 12
Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, ² “The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; ³ therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach. ⁴ They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear,^[a] and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. ⁵ They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long. ⁶ They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, ⁷ and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi. ⁸ But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students.^[b] 9 And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven. ¹⁰ Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah.^[c] 11 The greatest among you will be your servant. ¹² All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.

Who’s up for a slice of humble pie?[1]  We’ve all heard about this pie and maybe have sampled from it now and again.  The idea is really a slam on another person who couldn’t live up to the hype or their promise or was insistent on being right when, as all was soon revealed, they were wrong.  The etymology of this phrase is grounded in the word, “umble” which is the word humble minus the “h”.  Umble Pie was a real food in medieval times, particularly consumed by the poor. It was a pie filled with the least desirable animal parts like liver, heart, and innards.  In fact, it’s derivative in French literally means “deer innards.”  It was considered inferior food and often the only meat dish available to people of lower economic status. For someone of noble rank in the Middle Ages to be publicly humiliated would be akin to them having to sit down with a commoner and have a bowl of umble pie.  This is troubling on a number of fronts but it is the origin of this phrase we’ve heard for years. It also makes this link of humility to humiliation which I think is a poor pairing.  Humiliation whether self-induced or at the hands of another is not one that jives well with what God has to say about us. God says we are loved, crafted uniquely in a way that bears God’s very image.  There should be nothing humiliating about that.

C. S. Lewis said,

Do you sense the difference?  Pride draws a tight circle around myself – it points to me and what I’ve done. Humility draws a wider circle to include others acknowledging that none of us are self-made. Winston Churchill was once asked, “Doesn’t it thrill you that every time you speak, the hall is packed to overflowing?”  Churchill replied, “It is quite flattering, but whenever I feel this way, I always remember that, if, instead of making a speech, I were being hanged, the crowd would be twice as big.”  Humility helps keep things in perspective. 

We’re wrapping this series, (y)our WHOLE life, this morning with the consideration of humility.  I hope you have found this series to be meaningful.  This Wednesday is the launch of the season of Lent which we will mark with a special Ash Wednesday service at seven o’clock.  It is always one of the most meaningful services of the year.  I hope you’ll come.  I’ll launch our new Lenten sermon series, “Sacred Rhythms” that very night. I’m stoked for the season and trust that it will grow our spirits. That’s Wednesday. But today? Humility.

Creating a humble approach to our living will make us more faithful to Christ, more influential in the lives of those around us, and simply a more pleasant person to be around. Our word from Jesus this morning in Matthew’s account of the Good News follows this religious sparring match between some trained church folk and Jesus.  Jesus had just won the debate against the Sadducees as they proposed some question about a Seven-Brides-for-Seven-Brothers-situation except there would be only one bride. They were testing Jesus on the Mosaic law that says if a married man dies having not given his wife a child, the man’s brother was obligated to marry her and bear a child together. Their test to Jesus was passing through all seven brothers – none having a child with the woman.  The question at the end of this long mathematics word problem was this: “Who would her husband be in the resurrection since no one gave her a child?” Jesus gives them the look and says, “You guys are way off!”  He’s like, “You are drawing too small a circle around something that doesn’t matter.”  That’s a pride thing, remember. “Resurrection is beyond marriage,” he says.  “We’ll all be together and worshipping God and it will be extraordinary.”  Not what the Sadducees were looking for.  The Pharisees try to box him next.  “600+ laws and commands in the faith, Jesus.  Which one is most important?”  Jesus famously replies, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength.  That’s the most important.”  And then he adds, “A second is like it:  Love others as you love yourself.”  Jesus then says, “Everything else – all of those other laws and the words of the prophets hinge on those two things.”  The Pharisees floored by his response, regroup and go after him again.  They were such literalists that they couldn’t handle what they perceived to be Jesus discounting what they had held so legalistically for their whole lives.

The church has done this forever.  We like to think we’ve claimed Jesus and are not in the rigid religious camp but then someone tries to draw a bigger circle to include someone new or someone tries to change something that we’ve always done before and we discover we’re not as Jesus-y as we thought we were.  All church fights, schisms and persecutions seem to center around two things:  1. Who is in and who is out and, 2. Who decides who is in and who is out.  Our Methodist brothers and sisters wrestled with that this week in a very public way though they’ve been wrestling for years.  And the rest of our churches wrestle too and we get our pride involved and our righteousness caught up in a  bunch and suggest that it’s about being right legalistically when Jesus seemed to be more concerned with being right relationally.  The Sadducees said, “Who will she be married to in heaven?” and Jesus said, “You’re going to be in heaven dude!”  The Pharisees, having passed the bar exam of religious fervor said, “Every law must be held!” and Jesus said, “You draw a wider circle of love for God and your neighbor and then we can talk about the rest.”

Even the early church, Acts 15, was dealing with another divisive church issue.  A circle had been drawn wide enough to include Paul, a Jesus hater, into the Jesus movement, and so Paul was working to draw a wide enough circle to include the Gentiles without asking them to conform to all of the laws of Judaism – in this instance, the practice of circumcision.  That’s sort of a downer at the Membership Inquiry Class, right?  “To join the church, we’re just going to ask you to make this profession of faith… oh… and be circumcised.” I imagine Paul taking his thought to Peter… who’s been drawing a wider circle himself for Gentiles who didn’t follow all the dietary laws and says, “Peter… help me out here.  These people believe in Jesus.  They want to follow him.  And I can see the Spirit at work in their lives already.”  Pete says, “I’ve seen it too, Paul.”  So they’re in.  Paul takes it to the General Conference in Jerusalem where James, the brother of Jesus presides as Bishop (so to speak).  To an angry crowd of church insider types who want everyone to conform to the same rules they play by, James says, “Nope.  No circumcision required.” (Huge sigh of relief from one side of the crowd).  And they compromise.  They widen the circle. And more people find relationship with Jesus and the church.  These people… all people… are the handiwork of God and when we begin to see one another this way… there is a growing humility and appreciation for the tapestry born of the creative hand of God.

Pastor and writer, Eugene Peterson, part of the resurrection now, learned this as a kid spending time at the Butcher shop run by his father.  He said, “Not so much by words but by example, I internalized a respect for the material at hand. The material can be a pork loin, or a mahogany plank, or a lump of clay, or the will of God, or a soul, but when the work is done well, there is a kind of submission of will to the conditions at hand, a cultivation of what I would later learn to call humility. It is a noticeable feature in all skilled workers — woodworkers, potters, poets, pray-ers and pastors. I learned [humility] in the butcher shop.”[2]  Where did you learn to appreciate life like that?  This is a spirit or attitude that says, “I can learn from this person who is not like me but is loved by God as much as me.”  It’s an appreciation for art or song or creation or talent or practical tool.  Humility invites a sense of awe that pride never allows.  I don’t know how, but the screensaver on my computer has some new setting in which every twenty-four hours it changes its image to some new, glorious, magnificent place in the world that has me saying   “Wow!” every time. Absolutely breathtaking. I look forward to it everyday.  It makes me so grateful.  Humility does this … it widens our sense of awe and gratitude and acceptance that God is so good that we should do everything in our power not to take that gift away from someone else.

So Jesus has just had it out with the faith leader types and turns to his disciples and the crowds surrounding them to give this gem of a word that we’ve heard today.  He says, “You’ve heard these religious scholars – they know their Bible for sure.  Talk the talk they’ve got down.  But walk the walk?  Not so much.  Lot of smoke and mirrors.”  And this is so convicting, right?  It is for me.  We know what Jesus says and we know what Jesus does but oh how I’ve come up short in following him.  I own that.  And I own that with no false humility… this is not about shrinking in the face of our shortcomings.  Author John Pavlovitz offers a helpful insight to humility noting we’ve often distorted the image of a humble person as some “mousy, apologetic nebbish” who possesses neither confidence nor courage nor backbone.

He says this is incorrect.  “Humility” he says, “is about balance: it means we neither dismiss nor exaggerate our value.  This place of equilibrium allows us to refrain from carrying unwarranted criticism and undeserved praise, to not be beholden to public opinion on either side. It is in that elusive sweet spot between self-righteousness and self-loathing that humility resides.  When we’re in this place, free from feeling like we have to prove our worth or jockey for position, and unencumbered by a pride that needs feeding or an ego that seeks validation, we can simply be present.”[3]  That’s all I’m after here as your pastor… to be present with you on this journey of faith we’re seeking together.  To interpret, as we all do, the ways of Jesus so that we may help earth resemble more closely the gift and nature of heaven.  Before we can pray, “Lord, Thy Kingdom come,” we must be willing to pray, “My Kingdom go.”  (Alan Redpath).

Jesus’ critique continues, “Instead [these religious leaders] bundle these rules into heavy packages and load you down like pack animals.”  The Message version reads this passage forward like this… it’s too crisp to pass up.  Listen… “These religious leaders seem to take pleasure in watching you stagger under these loads, and wouldn’t think of lifting a finger to help.  Their lives are perpetual fashion shows, embroidered prayer shawls one day and flowery prayers the next. They love to sit at the head table at church dinners, basking in the most prominent positions, preening in the radiance of public flattery, receiving honorary degrees and getting called “Doctor’ and ‘Reverend.’  Ugh that hurts.

But Jesus digs deeper. He says, “Don’t let people do that to you, put you on a pedestal like that.  You all have a single Teacher, and you are all classmates.  Don’t set people up as experts over your life, letting them tell you what to do.  Save that authority for God; let him tell you what to do. … there’s only one Life-Leader for you and them – that’s Christ.”  And then the crux of it all.  “Do you want to stand out?  Then step down.  Be a servant. If you puff yourself up, you’ll get the wind knocked out of you.  But if you’re content to simply be yourself, your life will count for plenty.”  The humble will be exalted.  Be yourself.  Draw a wider circle.  Never stop learning.  That’s humility.  I would suggest that the proud miss out on some wonderful things because that circle of self is so small.

The Washington Post offered research that suggests that “true humility is when people have an accurate assessment of both their strengths and weaknesses, and they see all this in the context of the larger whole. They’re a part of something far greater than themselves. They know they aren’t the center of the universe. And they’re both grounded and liberated by this knowledge. Recognizing their abilities, they ask how they can contribute. Recognizing their flaws, they ask how they can grow.”[4]  Isn’t that powerful?  Stepping outside of our own circle of pride puts Jesus at the center and allows us to view everything, and everyone, through that central focus.  Your whole perspective changes.  Author Kurt Vonnegut said 

 I would say that the people on the edge are the first to see the Kingdom of God. Draw a wider circle.  Get to the edge of it and look back at the center where Jesus is.  See Jesus.  And what did Jesus say?  “You’ve seen me. You’ve seen the Father.”  “You see the least of these.  You’re looking at me.”  “You love your neighbor. You love me.”  You can’t help seeing other people as beloved when you are looking at the world this way. Everybody is going through something extraordinary… some giving every fiber of their being just to get through the day. Our pride may think, “Well just suck it up, buddy!” Humility opens a door to them instead and says, “How can I see Christ in them?”

Pavlovitz, who I named earlier, offers this reminder to “Go easy,” as “there are grieving people all around you.”  He said, “The day my father died, I was at the grocery store buying bananas. I remember thinking to myself, “This is insane. Your dad just died. Why the hell are you buying bananas?” But we needed bananas. We’d be waking up for breakfast tomorrow morning, and there wouldn’t be any bananas—so there I was.”  He goes on about all the motions he simply was going through always mere seconds away from losing it.  “I wanted to wear a sign that said, I JUST LOST MY DAD. PLEASE GO EASY.”  He goes on to name all the things we know are breaking hearts in the bodies that are stumbling around us every day … even sitting among us right this very second.  Parents whose children are terminally ill.  Couples in the middle of divorce.  People grieving loss of loved ones and relationships. Kids being bullied at school. Teenagers who want to end their lives.  People marking the anniversary of a death. Parents worried about their depressed teenager. Spouses whose partners are deployed in combat. Families with no idea how to keep the lights on. Single parents with little help and little sleep.[5]  We know these realities are true. They are our realities. We can’t fix it all. But we can start with drawing a wider circle. We can start with making room for one more. We can make a difference for one.  We can exalt one knowing that such brings glory to God.  When you begin to see the world from this humble edge, you begin to do things like Jesus would do.  And I still believe it is the way to the world’s transformation.

Something seemingly small and profound is happening along the banks of the Charles River in Newton, Massachusetts.  Glenda and Raphael Savitz moved into a quiet neighborhood in Newton to start their lives together after college.  The neighbors brought cookies when they moved in bearing promises of friendship.  It’s the kind of place where elderly neighbor’s driveways are shoveled without prompting and if you’re sick, expect a casserole. I’ve always thought casserole theology was some of the most sound theology of all. But life presses forward as it does for us all.

A few months after moving in, the Savitz’s welcomed their first child, Samantha, into the world. The neighborhood was excited to welcome a new baby to the street. It had been a while. Within a week of Sam’s birth, however, newborn screening tests showed that she was deaf.  Her mom said, “She was the first deaf person my husband and I had known.”  It was a surprise and unexpected but love does what love does and her parents knew of course that they would want to learn sign language so they could engage and enjoy their daughter.  They worked at it fervently the first couple years of Sam’s life. As Sam found her feet and began to bounce around the neighborhood, the neighbors were sad that they couldn’t engage Sam as they’d like. But… you can’t expect all of the neighbors to learn sign language can you?  Certainly, you cannot.  But, you sure can appreciate it when they do. Thus began the story of twenty neighbors who sit in silence to learn a new language so their littlest neighbor will know what their own kids raised in that neighborhood had always known:  community; friendship; and inclusion.

They didn’t ask the parents.  They just hired a teacher and they all committed to learn…  this is how love widens the circle.  Terry Nowak, one of the neighbors said, “We will all be participants in helping her as she grows. We do that with each other’s children. The community is already in place. This is just a new way to express it.’’ Sam parents were speechless and humbled in their gratitude. They’ve noted how much it has changed Sam’s demeanor already… and honestly… the demeanor of the ever-widening neighborhood as well.  That’s how American Sign Language has become the second tongue now spoken on one end of Islington Road. Why? Because that’s Samantha Savitz’s language. And there was no way her neighbors were going to let her practice it alone. That neighborly warm embrace is now there every time a neighbor leans down and signs with Sam.  Every chance encounter of inclusion in the local grocery store. Every time Sam points to the living room chairs where her neighbors meet to learn her language, she makes the sign for “friend.’’[6]

Who does this? Neighbors ready to humble themselves to learn something new if it means exalting another in need.  How might we draw a wider circle?  Whom might you seek to exalt this week because you’ve stepped to the edge instead of staying in the center?  There is room to learn.  There is room to grow.  Jesus said, “The greatest among you is the one who serves.” And the gift of humility will create a deeper sense of wholeness for your life and everyone around you.  We might call this the practice of humble piety.

[1] “Humble pie.” Wikipedia, wikipedia.org.  Rev. Bob Kaylor, senior editor for Homiletics inspired the humble pie/humble piety reference.
[2] Eugene Peterson, The Pastor: A Memoir (HarperCollins, 2011), Kindle Loc. 632-35.
[3] “Hope and Other Superpowers.” John Pavlovitz.  Simon & Schuster Publishing. 2018.
[4] Merryman, Ashley. “Leaders are more powerful when they’re humble, new research shows.” The Washington Post, December 8, 2016, washingtonpost.com.
[5] https://johnpavlovitz.com/2019/02/21/everyone-around-you-is-grieving-go-easy/
[6]https://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/2019/02/07/farragher/TEREscjAx7jPNA7RP1IQoI/story.html

text : Psalm 127:1-2; Romans 8:35-39

theme verse : “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, willbe able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom 8:38-39)

What is your brightest hope for the future? Rebecca Solnit wrote a book called "Hope in the Dark" in which she offers one of the strongest definitions of hope one can hear: “We don’t know what is going to happen, or how, or when and that very uncertainty is the space of hope.” Our special guest, Rev. Kim Gage Ryan, Executive Director of the Bethany Fellows (www.bethanyfellows.org), offers a word about the hope she’s found in congregations, the Fellows, and a promise from the book of Romans.

opening :: 'Scandal of Grace' (HillsongUnited) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

reader (and intro of preacher) :: Rev Mark Briley
preaching :: Rev Kim Gage Ryan

closing :: 'I Want Jesus To Walk With Me' (spiritual) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

text : John 16:29-33

theme verse : “In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!” (John 16:33b)

Do you know courage when you see it? Some people possess the abilities to approach physical challenges with a sense of fearlessness. And yet the ability to override fear is not courage. It may be bold to speak one’s viewpoint openly, but speaking up, alone, is not necessarily courageous. Jesus says to his followers, “take courage,” and so it seems that some faithful reflection on matter is in order. Especially, because thatis precisely what willbe required if there is to be any measure of wholeness in (y)our life.

anthem : 'My Prayer' (D.Foster) :: Bet Wallace & Kelly Ford, vocals; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

reader : Deborah Gist
preaching : Rev Kevin Howe

special music : 'You Make Me Brave' (Bethel Music) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

John 16: 29 – 33 (NRSV)
²⁹ His disciples said, “Yes, now you are speaking plainly, not in any figure of speech! ³⁰ Now we know that you know all things, and do not need to have anyone question you; by this we believe that you came from God.” ³¹ Jesus answered them, “Do you now believe? ³² The hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each one to his home, and you will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone because the Father is with me. ³³ I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!”
***

The inescapable truth to which the entire biblical story testifies is that our God deeply desires wholeness for creation. Which is really good news, because it seems that you and I are seldom far removed from brokenness. We find ourselves wrestling with the realities of aging bodies, strained relationships, worn out by the conflicting desires of our internal world. “Surely,” we say, “there is something more perfect, more beautiful, more…whole.”

This morning we enter into a new series where we will explore aspects of the wholeness to which God is calling us, examining a few of the spiritual tools that are important in seeking out—and living into—the sort of wholeness that we find in Christ. Today, we begin with the notion of courage. Who doesn’t love a good tale of courage? The shepherd-boy David stepping toe-to-toe Goliath. Cinderella’s resolve to show up to that ball. Harry Potter and his classmates making their stand against the dark wizardry of Voldemort. Stories of courage are lifted up throughout time and across cultures.

The kind of courage that is most widely celebrated is that of physical bravery, for which we offer our praise in the form of awards and honors. But courage takes many forms. It takes courage to express ideas that are not the majority opinion. You have to pluck up your courage to witness vulnerably to your personal experiences. One must have courage to face the hostilities or ridicule that accompany departing from social norms. And it most certainly requires courage to move into the wholeness to which God calls us.

You know, our society has handed us more than its fair share of lies about what wholeness looks like and how we are to achieve it. In our commodified culture, we’re sold a vision of wholeness that is associated with feelings of happiness and contentment, and we’re told that that it can be achieved through buying all the right stuff and consuming all of the right things. The theological equivalent of this notion of wholeness can be found in an article written in 1977, where author, Timothy Luk,e presented the concept of the “commodified God.”¹ He used this term to define the increasingly popular theology of the televangelism movement in marketing God as we might a car, or clothing, or a prescription medicine.

This commodified God is sold alongside the other things that promise us feelings of happiness. And like the best of all prescription drugs that we are pitched, the commodified God will remedy our ailments without any fundamental shifts or lifestyle changes on the part of the user. And given the inordinate number of prescription drug ads I’ve been exposed to this football season, I can almost generate the commercial spot in my mind: It opens with that grayscale shot of a middle-aged woman with a deeply troubled look on her face and the following voiceover: “Do you suffer from pain and discomfort?” Then we’re shown the image a dejected businessman. “Are you ready to escape adversity and conflict? Well, look no further! Introducing: God! That’s right, belief in God will have you feeling warm and fuzzy in no time. Say ‘goodbye’ to pain, dis-ease, discomfort, and say ‘hello’ to all those good feelings life affords.” It’ll sell, right!?

But try pitching the faith as one that exempts us from facing our fears of pain and discomfort, and as the late, great preacher, Fred Craddock, said, “Sooner or later…somebody is going to say to you, ‘Then what happened to Jesus?’ Then you have to tell the truth: he was sentenced to die and was executed. He was about thirty-five years old when he died. He was executed by the Roman government in order to maintain the peace of Rome.”² Now, tell me, where does that fit into a theology where God provides wholeness without movement through pain and discomfort?

In our scripture this morning from the Gospel of John, we heard the final remarks of Jesus to his disciples, before he is turned over to the Roman authorities to be crucified. And for all of the figures of speech he has used to teach his followers something about God’s impending reign, he has chosen to be very direct with them in these final hours. “At last!” they exclaim, “You’re talking straight with us, Jesus! And now that you’ve laid it out for us this way, we’re convinced you’ve come from God. We’re all in!” But little do the disciples know that things are about to get a lot worse before they get joyful. Little do they know how counter their actions will be to this profession when fear takes hold; about the fragility of their resolve when danger will present itself. And Jesus says to them, “You say you believe now, but before you know it, you’re going to be making a run for it. You’ll be cowering for your lives—terrified about how this whole gospel thing will play out.”

Fear, I’m sure you know, is a powerful adversary. And it comes in all shapes and sizes. Some fears, for example, are tied to our desires for control. This is why loss can be so traumatic, because we feel at the mercy of factors beyond our choosing, that loss of control can be panic producing. Other fears are associated with the risk of discomfort and suffering. You know these, as they are the ones that have you checking worse-case scenarios on WebMD in the middle of the night for that pain in your pinky toe. And as I eluded to earlier, our society—with its desire to avoid pain at all costs—has not done us any favors for building a resiliency to fears of dis-ease and discomfort. Then there is one that is so powerful I dare speak its name: fear of failure, which is predicated on the lie that we are somehow insufficient.

But all these fears—whether they are spawn from our external environment or our internal thinking—work in the same operative way: they all threaten to render us powerless. You’ve heard the saying that “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Well, I would like to propose that—in the case of our fears—the inverse is true: powerlessness tends to corrupt and absolute powerlessness corrupts absolutely. That is what our fears seek to do to us; to make us believe that we have no power to stand against their oppressive ways. Author, John Pavlovitz writes “Fear wants us to believe that we’re outnumbered, alone, defenseless—that our demise is secured.”³ And so it is, that when our fears have us convinced that we have are powerless to stand against them, we retreat to the safety and security of old habits and thought patterns, even when those things are far from safe and secure. As one friend put it to me this week, “Sometimes we would rather be stuck in our harmful ways than to go through the process towards wholeness.” Because of fear, we take on a position of stuckness, spinning our wheels in a way of living that is far less than the fullness and wholeness of life to which God calls us. You see, the decision to do nothing can often be more dangerous than choosing to face our fears.

Enter courage. C.S. Lewis wrote that “Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point…A chastity or honesty, or mercy, which yields to danger will be chaste or honest or merciful only on conditions.”⁴ In other words, courage is that which pushes our ability to love beyond a conditional love for our neighbors and ourselves (no less our enemies). Courage is that by which our hope can move beyond the pain of grief and immediate loss. Without courage, a world of fears will try to threaten you into believing that there is no wholeness to be found. The bottom line is this: If we want to live out our faith in an unconditional way, if we want to claim wholeness in our lives, then where do we find the courage to do so?

We are privileged as a people of faith that we have volumes of Scripture which tell story-upon-story about people who have acted courageously for their faith. But I will share one such story with you now: it takes place just a few chapters later in the Gospel of John, when the disciples are found together, reeling from the dreadful events of Jesus’ torture and subsequent death. They have sealed the doors of their meeting space in fear of what might become of them. Talk about fear and stuckness! But would you believe who managed to find his way into their self-made prison of fears? If it wasn’t the resurrected Christ. And that was a game-changer for the disciples. You see, they had feared the finality of death. But in the presence of their resurrected Lord, that was obviously not the case. They had been afraid that God’s reign of peace and justice had been snuffed out. But in the presence of the resurrection, they discovered that God’s work and mission in the world was not to be deterred by its violence. They had thought that their journey as disciples had come to its conclusion, but then the resurrected Jesus says to them “As the Father has sent me, so I send you,” and they realize that their discipleship has just begun.

The resurrection was a game-changer. There was power in his resurrection unlike any power they had known, including that of their fears. And emboldened by this Good News, those disciples unlocked the deadbolts, marched right back out into the midst of a cruel world, full of persecution, to love and serve in the name, and for the sake, of the Risen One. And the way that they carried themselves seemed to say it all: “Take courage! For He has conquered the world!”

And so, it goes that we are the heirs of a tradition that anchors its courage in the resurrected Christ. We lay claim to the power of his resurrection not just as the cognitive assent to an event that took place, but to the whole truth of what resurrection embodies: death has no power over life. I see and hear that message in all kinds of folks who do all kinds of courageous, death-defying, fear-dispersing, justice-building activities in their lives and even to the ends of the earth. That isn’t to say that these faithful followers have not suffered. Those systems and powers that benefit from our brokenness will continue to give fierce and powerful resistance. You’ll likely encounter many stories of these folks who have made sacrifices and took risks. Risked their name, their reputation, their fortune, their livelihood, their life. But in every case that one chooses courage for the sake of the gospel, Christ is present there, recalling the promise that He gave to those who followed first: “Take courage! For I have conquered the world.”

The inescapable truth to which the entire biblical story testifies is that our God deeply desires wholeness for creation. Question is: will we find the courage to play our role?

Prayer:

God, it is a tall order you have set before us—

to be courageous for the sake of the gospel.

But we follow your lead,

trusting that you are with us, in all that we endeavor,

To bring your vision of wholeness

into our lives, our community, and your world.

May we take courage in your name and for your sake.

Amen.

¹Tim Luke. “From Fundamentalism to Televangelism.” Telos, 58 (Winter 1983-1984), 204-210.
²Fred Craddock. “Why the Cross?” The Collected Sermons of Fred Craddock. Westminster/ John Knox Press, 2010 .p. 236.
³John Pavlovitz. Hope and Other Superpowers: A Life-Affirming, Love-Defending, Butt-Kicking, World-Saving Manifesto. Simon & Schuster. P. 87.
⁴ C.S. Lewis. The Screwtape Letters. HarperCollins, New York. P 161.

text : 1 Samuel 18:1-5

theme verse : “Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul.” (1 Samuel 18:3)

An ancient philosopher said, “There are only two people who can tell you the truth about yourself—an enemy who has lost his temper and a friend who loves you dearly.”What does it mean to be a true friend? Not best, but true? A true friend is someone with whom you can strip your soul, and when the skeleton of the soul s is stripped bare, your friendwill not laugh or gasp at how ugly things may be. Jonathan was just such a friend to David. You need a Jonathan.

anthem : 'Joy Down in My Heart' (M.McDonald) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

special music : 'Here' (K.Jobe) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

reader : Doc Shannon
preaching : Rev Mark Briley

offertory : 'That's What Friends Are For' (B.Bacharach) :: Pastors (Mark Briley, Kevin Howe, Courtney Richards, Darlene Martinez) and Music Staff (Kelly Ford, Isaac Herbert, Susie Monger Daugherty)

closing : medley- 'Blest Be The Tie That Binds'/'Bridge Over Troubled Water' (arr. Daugherty) :: Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

Your friends determine the quality and direction of your life.  Your friends determine the quality and direction of your life.  Your friends determine the quality and direction of your life.  This mantra is one leadership guru and pastor Andy Stanley shared with his kids more times than they’d like to count.  If even to the point of annoyance, Stanley felt it was worth restating over and over again so that it was front of mind.  Your friends determine the quality and direction of your life. To whom, in this life, are you soul bound?  We are naturally designed to be soul bound to others.  If there is a part of God in each of us, if we are in fact made somehow in God’s very image, it makes natural sense that there would be a magnetism of our souls that is constantly yearning to be connected. It is why feeling disconnected is very hard and why loneliness hurts as it does. It’s why break ups and relationship fights and family drama have accompanying wounds… they can heal over, yes, they can scab and scar and, sometimes, become stronger in the broken places but what is undeniable is this deep longing we all have to be connected. Even more simply stated, this desired connection is why we do the wave at sporting events or have a moment of excited curiosity when we go to the curb to see what’s in the mailbox and why you check your phone every ninety seconds hoping to find more “likes” on your latest social media post.

I had this connective desire in a strong way last week. It was so strong that I couldn’t even explain it at the time but have processed it more thoroughly since.  I got three text messages almost all at once from my brother, my sister, and my folks saying, “The baby is coming!”  My brother and his wife, Ashley, were in route to the hospital to deliver their little girl.  Everyone in the family was scrambling to play their pre-determined roles when the moment came except for me… I was just on the other end of three text messages coming from Kansas City.  I could and did pray, of course.  That was something I could do but I had this family FOMO feeling that I was missing out on the big moment.  I was disconnected.  I immediately looked at our calendar – and Friday evening into Saturday was the only free twenty hours we would have for months.  That settled it.  When the kids got out of school that Friday, we were going to head to Kansas City to meet that baby.

Yes, the weather forecast called for dump loads of snow and the oft-feared wintry mix and yes, the baby and her parents would just be getting home from the hospital that day and my parents house, where we would be staying, was having some work done so it was “in a state” if you will.  Regardless, my desire to be connected to the sacred moment prevailed.  And well into the drive as darkness was winning and snow was heavy and multiple cars were ditched, I had my regrets.  “What are we doing?  What peril have I put our family in?”  But we inched along and finally pulled into my parents’ driveway later than anticipated of course.  I put the car in park and just sat there white knuckled for a bit. When I stepped outside, I was stunned still. There was no wind.  There was not a great chill.  Just snow falling in silence and among the most beautiful scenes I can recall in some time.  My son, Dane, who has been begging for snow for several years running now had already busted out the car door as fast as he could and made his way out into the middle of the silent cul-de-sac with his arms spread wide, his head tilted back, his smile wider than the boundaries his face naturally allows.  And watching his joy allowed the tension to slowly evaporate from my body. My friend sent me this quote that says My soul felt bound to his joy.

And then, we made our way through the neighborhood to my brothers’ home to hold baby Brookelynn for forty-five minutes or so before returning to my parents to sleep.  It snowed all night and I tossed and turned wondering how we’d get back home.  But we rose, packed up, and headed home to Tulsa.  Our waking connection to my family was only a few minutes while the time in the car was significant.  Why do we do things like this?

I asked that same question at our Staff Team Meeting this week and the team went on and on about friends who drove through the night to be there in a time of need or the recognition of an important time when friends were needed to hold the space for them in a difficult moment. There was talk of different kinds of friends – the ones who’ve walked with you since childhood, “who knew you when…”  There are friends who press the threshold of your nerves and friends who hold the line when you can’t seem to hold it yourself.  Your friends determine the quality and direction of your life.  To whom are you soul bound?

We’re three weeks into 2019 and three weeks into our Guiding Light series.  Week one was our quest to find guiding light in a word… I hope your Star Words are working on you already. Last week, we considered how even death can be a guiding light… how something must die in order to be resurrected.  We have to give up something, make some sacrifice, to grow spiritually.  So we’ve claimed a word, we’ve committed ourselves to spiritual discipline and today we’re looking for a guiding light in a friend.  This is the, “who are you doing life with” question.  Who are you going to take with you?  To whom are you soul bound?  An ancient philosopher said, “There are only two people who can tell you the truth about yourself—an enemy who has lost his temper and a friend who loves you dearly.” What does it mean to be a true friend?  Not best, but true?

A true friend is someone with whom you can strip your soul, and when the skeleton of the soul is stripped bare, your friend will not laugh or gasp at how ugly things may be. When we scan the biblical account for such soul-bound friendship, Jonathan and David always rise to the top.  If you’re not familiar with this friendship, you’re probably at least somewhat aware of David – who becomes King David of course.  Even if you’ve never stepped foot in a church, you likely have some cultural awareness of David because of the famed David and Goliath story. Little guy overcomes the big guy (or big obstacle) and inspirationally triumphs.  It was the story of Rudy Ruettiger before he ever made the Notre Dame football team.  It’s the story of Frodo in Lord of the Rings. We know that story. And of course, Rudy had his best friend, Pete, and Frodo had Samwise (who was coincidentally Rudy if anyone’s keeping track) … best friends who believed in them when no one else would. Jimmy Fallon has Justin Timberlake, Oprah has Gayle… and David had Jonathan.

David and Jonathan meet after David uses his Dollar General slingshot to slay the giant Philistine, Goliath.  Jonathan was the son of King Saul who had made a great GM move by drafting David from the farmland to take on the big Philistine.  This could have totally backfired on Saul but David was confident and he got the job done after countless others, proven Titans even, failed.  Jonathan, a bit in awe of David’s victory perhaps, is there for the big meeting between David and King Saul after Goliath goes down.  What does Jonathan do?  He starts gathering his stuff: his sword and armor; his bow and royal num-chuks and stretches them to David: “Here.”  And we wonder initially, is Jonathan offering these in a resigned sort of way like, “Dad will never be proud of me now… here… you might as well have this stuff, David.”  Was he relieved thinking, “With a guy like David around, I’ll never have to fight again.”  Or was he honoring David and saying, “You are a great warrior and I share what is royally mine with you” as a sign of solidarity.  Whatever the case, the two find themselves “soul-bound” as the text says almost instantly.

David’s victory over the giant made Saul look good at first but of course David was soon the name on everyone’s lips which would later become a threat to Saul’s sense of authority.  Jonathan would later find himself in a tough spot as his dad’s loyalty to David and vice versa waned.  How did their friendship prevail?  When time permits, you should dig into the 1^st Samuel account of their story as it weaves through the larger narrative.  What I think is fair to say is this: everyone needs a Jonathan.  A Jonathan believes in you when no one else does.  A Jonathan is loyal even when you make it hard to be loyal.   A Jonathan has seen you at your worst and loves you anyway.  A Jonathan gives and wants nothing in return.  A Jonathan keeps you in check when you want what you can’t have.  A Jonathan defends your life’s meaning, when your life seemingly has no meaning. A Jonathan lifts you even when you fail.

You may have seen the three-second clip going viral this week as the UCLA’s men’s basketball team showed the world what it means to be your brother’s keeper.[1]  There were two minutes left in the game and Bruins center, Moses Brown, made a bad pass that resulted in the loss of the ball. His team was down by two points and as the ball bounced out of bounds, Brown’s spirit dropped… visibly so.  Moving toward the defensive end of the court, his head and shoulders dropped in unison. Without missing a beat, Brown’s UCLA teammate, Jaylen Hands walked over to Brown,

@JHANDS08, this is undoubtedly my favorite moment of tonight’s overtime win! #keepyourheadup #thatshowweroll pic.twitter.com/u0NrXydJoG

— Dr. Ashanti Hands (@ahandsintheair) January 11, 2019

placed his hand under his chin and tilted his head back up where it belonged. It was simple, seamless, natural and just what the team needed.  The Bruins would rally to overcome a 9-point deficit to win the game.  We all should strive to be the kind of friend who will lift the chin of another!  We know it when we see it.  We feel it when we experience it.  Your friends determine the quality and direction of your life.

Why then, with this deep desire to be connected and soul-bound and a chin-lifter for others, do we struggle so deeply with this.  Columnist Laura Marcus claims the typical male idea of a best friend is “someone they haven’t seen for ten years.”  Interesting. Why do more Americans claim loneliness than any time in our history?  The New York Times[2] declared loneliness an “American Epidemic” just this past December.  They noted an article from 2009, ten years ago, called “The Lonely American,” where they shared the troubling news that American’s had fewer confidants than in the past, and almost 25 percent reported that they had not talked about matters of importance with anyone in the last six months.  Go back another ten years… in the year 2000… when Robert Putnam’s work, “Bowling Alone” was released.  It was a groundbreaking book based on vast data showing how we had become increasingly disconnected from family, friends, neighbors, and our democratic structures. Putnam said this growing isolation was impoverishing our lives and communities.  His evidence included nearly 500,000 interviews over the previous quarter century showing that we signed fewer petitions, belonged to fewer organizations that meet in person, knew our neighbors less, met with friends less frequently, and even socialized with our families less often.  The symbol he noted to encapsulate it all was this:  We were also bowling alone. More Americans were bowling than ever before, but they were not bowling in leagues. We were bowling alone. This was all prior to social media, of course, which many have said has cut into our face-to-face, deeper, stretching, authentic relationships with others.  The reality seems to be that we’re foregoing vulnerability and intimacy in exchange for surface relationships – and we might stretch that to include surface commitments.

Jonathans may be rare – and we may struggle to be a Jonathan to someone else – but the longing is there and we know, when life comes to an end, it’s not our money or trophies or cars that we want at our bedside. We want those who are soul-bound to us to see us through to the other side.  One leader said one of his goals was to “Know my eight.”  The number may be a bit arbitrary but for him, that number was to represent his pall bearers.  He was in the second half of his life and could only name a few.  He knew he needed to put himself out there and invest in more relationships.

Author Leonard Sweet actually writes about our need of a Jonathan in our life.[3]  He says the barriers to such a relationship are really tied up in three syndromes – ‘sin’dromes he even ventures to call them.  The first he calls the “What’s in it for Me?” syndrome.  He describes it as our egosystem – the system in which we are built to survive and get ahead – making it natural to want to associate with those who will help us get ahead.  We tend to call it networking – a drive for power and prestige found through who we know.  If these, “friends” can’t make the net “work” then we decide its time for a new set of friends.  This is not to say we shouldn’t help one another and certainly we often connect with circles of those who are often navigating similar challenges or dreams but if this is as deep as we go, we’ll not find, or become, a Jonathan.

In part, this is what Sweet says leads to the second sin-drome which he calls, No Down Elevator;” only looking to get ahead or go-up… no willingness to go deeper.  Clinical psychologist Dan Montgomery uses the image of taking the elevator down to explore what it means to get to the deep soul-bound connections of relationships.  Montgomery says the elevator starts at the façade level – a level of public appearances. This is where we relate through social custom:  small talk, weather, Kyler Murray’s draft status. It’s a necessary stage of getting acquainted which happens to be the next floor down – acquaintance level.  At this level, we reveal some of our opinions; maybe drop a line about the border wall and see how it is received; maybe you wait to order a drink until the other person does because you’re not sure what’s socially acceptable in the relationship just yet.  There’s some risk at this level but most don’t take exchanges at this level personally.  To reach the third floor down, the friendship level, we have to willingly experience emotional vulnerability.  We share a lot of feelings at this level but hold back on the deeper ones.  We look for compatibility, empathy, and mutual trust.  If there is solid mutual response at this level, we may choose to take the elevator down another floor – the intimacy level. We come clean with the dark side – the memories, wounds, and reflections that make us who we are but often feel too shameful to disclose.  We also share the heart’s desires.  To get past the going up syndrome, we have to be willing to take the elevator down.

The final sin-drome Sweet calls “What? Me, Sacrifice?”  This often includes the highest cost of true friendship – sharing our most precious commodity:  time. Sigmund Freud famously asked, “What does a woman want?”  Emotional Intelligence guru, Daniel Goleman later answered, “Simple. She wants a partner who cares what she wants.”  What are you willing to give of yourself to become soul-bound to another?  Jonathan and David had this connection.  And as we imagine “wholeness” as our congregational star word for the year – a quest of which we will journey this year – it seems that true friends may a go a long way in making this quest fruitful.  Why? Because… your friends determine the direction and quality of your life.

Nothing about this quest is easy.  I don’t pretend that to be true. People, even friends, let us down, and we can grow bitter.  Dr. Martin Luther King Jr who’s ongoing quest for racial justice we celebrate this weekend said, “I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.” To find our way to the deepest and greatest sense of spiritual depth and meaning, we have to give up resentments and hatred and take on forgiveness and heal. Jonathan and David find their snags along the way and their connection costs them in some critical ways at different points.  But I can’t shake this sense that at soul-level – we know this need is true and God has created us with such design for the joy and enrichment, and perhaps even soul-survival, of our lives. Bottom line?  Join a bowling league. Just kidding. Sort of.  Putnam’s research states that “joining and participating in one group cuts in half your odds of dying next year.” Make a commitment to take some engagement in your life to the next level. Check out a small group or Sunday school class.  Get engaged with our youth or children’s program or join an outreach effort.  While it’s great that we gather here in rows on Sunday morning to praise God, it is the circles in your life that will take you down the elevator to deeper levels of intimacy.  It is in those places that you’ll find friends who will hold your chin up when you can’t do it yourself.  They’ll be there for you when your health has you sidelined.  They’ll be a guiding light for you when you’re blinded by the stars.  Everyone needs a Jonathan.  Sometimes, we can’t find one until we become a Jonathan ourselves.

[1] https://www.becauseofthemwecan.com/blogs/the-feels/ucla-teammate-lifted-the-chin-of-another
[2] These two articles helped shape the sharing of the included research. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/23/opinion/loneliness-political-polarization.html?module=inline.  https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/08/opinion/letters/loneliness-epidemic.html
[3] From Leonard Sweet’s book, “11 indispensable relationships you can’t be without.”  David C. Cook publishing. Colorado Springs. 2008.

text : Isaiah 60:1-6

theme verse : “Arise, shine; for your light has come...” (Isaiah 60:1)

“Glory is God’s style.” Christian writer Frederick Buechner offers this gem. When the Bible tells us that “the heavens are telling the glory of God” (Psalm 19:1), it is saying that the heavens are revealing God’s style: sunsets, starry nights, dust storms, rainforests, garter snakes, the human face —all, says Buechner, are “unmistakably the work of a single hand.” God’s style. On the Day of Epiphany, God’s style was revealed to the world when the Magi show up to meet Jesus in a make-shift delivery room. God’s glory made flesh; a savior come so that the world might come to know, in a word, “wholeness.”

NOTE: As a part of worship, each person will be invited to draw a word, at random, to be a focal word for the year. No single card will be duplicated. May each word, through Christ, be aguiding light.

anthem : 'Star of the East' (A.Kennedy) :: Barry Epperley, vocal; Marilyn Rhodes, piano

reader : Giselle Chebny
preaching : Rev Mark Briley

special music : 'Guiding Light' (Mumford&Sons) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

offertory : 'Shine On Us' (M.W.Smith) :: Marla Patterson, Bet Wallace, Kelly Ford, vocal; Marilyn Rhodes, piano

Happy New Year! 2019!  It is a staggering number to me.  I remember a time when the Y2K approach was all anyone could fathom, and Prince had everyone elated to party like it was 1999.  2019?  Seemed like a lifetime away back then.  But… here we are, 2019, and Prince isn’t around to write a song about what it’s like to party this year.  And ‘party’ has a certain connotation with it but it really is just getting after what it means to be fully and truly alive.  So we’ve got some gearing up to do this morning.

I hope you had a good time over the holidays with friends or family or Netflix or whatever it was your spirit needed to find some peace and healing from a long and interesting year.  We made the usual rounds in Missouri visiting our families and it was just a lovely trip this year… dog in tow and all.  There was nothing overly spectacular about the whole thing.  In fact, it mostly reminded me of the Walt Whitman sentiment: 

I pray your time was grounding and that you’re psyched and ready now to tackle a new year.

It is really good to be with you.  There’s a new aura of hope that permeates the sanctuary on the first Sunday of the year.  Never fails. It’s Epiphany Sunday – the reminder of the magi following the great guiding light of the star over Bethlehem that led those wise astronomers to the feet of Jesus.  It is also “Star Word” Sunday – and all the sudden Star Wars fans have looked up from their phones thinking I’m finally going to say something of relevance. I’m sorry to disappoint. It is not Star Wars Sunday but rather, Star Words Sunday… a day when you all will be invited to draw your own unique word at random at the end of the service as a focal word to guide you into the New Year. It’s not a magic word.  It’s just a tool. It won’t do any work for you… it will demand of you some study, focused reflection, and experimentation.

But aren’t we ready for that?  Aren’t we ready to do something more?  To track our spirits toward a deeper level of understanding?  Aren’t we looking for something more than just okay?  You’ve probably seen the AT&T ads this season – Great ads! – many during all of the Bowl Games, that offer the line, “Ok is NOT ok.” One shows a mechanic assuring a customer who is looking for a brake job that their shop is just okay at fixing brakes. He adds, “If the brakes don’t stop the car, something will.”  Ok is not ok.  There’s another of a physician who walks into the room of an anxious patient awaiting surgery saying, “Guess who just got reinstated? … well, not officially.” The patient admits to being nervous.  The doc says, “Me too. We’ll figure it out.  See you in there!”  There’s a baby sitter who is “pretty okay with children,” and a tattoo artist who is just okay at inking tattoos.  Trust me, when you’re getting that picture of Jesus riding a unicorn inked on your back, “Ok is not Ok.”   A minister friend of mine posted a gag gift one of his parishioners got him for Christmas. At least, I assumed it was a gag gift.  It was a coffee mug that says in bold letters on the side 

I know it’s a gag.  He’s doing excellent ministry in Kentucky.

I know all of us get plenty of pressure from countless angles of our lives expecting us to perform and achieve and perfect our lives and I’m not here to add that kind of pressure to our spiritual lives.  But… I am here to challenge us to not be okay with okay this year. This mostly revolves around our intentionality. In a season where we tend to add more and more to our plate with a self-imposed pressure to perform, maybe it would be wise of us to resolve, not to do more things, but to do less things with greater intentionality.  This does require spiritual discipline and, as one of Carrie’s running friends often states is 

When it comes to your spiritual life, what do you want most?  Do you want truth?  Do you want relationship? Do you want accountability?  Do you want a community to ride with through life?  What do you want most?  And what are you going to give of yourself to find your way in such a quest?  Well, today, in this first sermon series of the new year, we’re calling this the search of a Guiding Light. Today’s guiding light is found in a word.

Isaiah, one of the great prophets, brings us the word today.  For Isaiah, words are watercolors and melodies and chisels to make truth and beauty and goodness… and sometimes hammers and swords and scalpels to unmake sin.  He doesn’t simply convey information, Isaiah creates visions and inspires belief.  He’s a poet – a maker, making God present and that presence urgent.  The most impressive art of Isaiah, according to the late Eugene Peterson,[1] involves taking the stuff of our ordinary and often disappointing human experience and showing us how it is the very stuff that God uses to create and save and give hope.  As this vast panorama opens up before us, it turns out that nothing is unusable by God.  God uses everything and everybody as material for his work, which is the remaking of the mess we have made of our lives into a beautiful, grace-laced symphony.  In a word, God’s hoping you’re up for the quest of finding what you want most in your life… and trusting that such a quest will lead you to him.

Isaiah 60 opens with some of the most familiar words of the prophet. 

Arise. Shine. Light. Glory. Since we are looking for that guiding light in a word today, consider with me four key words found in that line alone.

ARISE.  If there is ever a word that speaks for itself, it’s this one.  It’s the greatest hope of every morning.  At least one of you will say to me today when asked how you are, “I got out of bed this morning so I must be doing pretty well.”  One version of this verse says it as plainly as that: “Get out of bed, Jerusalem! Wake up and put your face in the sunlight!” Arise!  Never a better word to start a new year.

SHINE. This is taking ‘arise’ to the next level.  You’re up and that is the necessary start to whatever happens next.  But a commitment to shine will require something more of you.  It’s about getting your attitude straight before you leave the house.  It’s about being read up and prayed up and on the look out to be a good witness of the faith to whomever you may encounter in the day.  You’re attitude toward another may be the thing that draws them to Spirit or pushes them away from Spirit. We certainly want to shine the good stuff to the world in need, yes?  I saw someone post a while back the statement, “Do babies named Karen even exist or do they just appear one day with three kids and wanna speak to the manager?” Not sure why that person was picking on Karen’s.  I know some lovely Karen’s – including my little niece who couldn’t possibly shine a brighter light.  But plug your own name into that statement.  As a Christian, are you shining a different kind of light or can anyone really tell any difference?   Arise. Shine.

LIGHT. We all want light in our lives – never more evident than during these dark winter days.  January 1 gave us just 9 hours and 20 minutes of daylight. But the days are elongating and by the end of January we’ll have ten hours of light each day. Isaiah paints this picture of darkness that is essentially the reality of the world.  “The earth is wrapped in darkness” … but… he says, “A pinprick of light will rise on you.” This is the connection to the great guiding star that led the Magi to Jesus that we make from Isaiah’s word to our Christian overlay in the Gospels. The light exposes things in a way that helps us see more clearly.  Find your way by the light of the star and begin the discovery of who you truly are.  This is a little different than finding yourself – which is a popular idea we throw around a lot.  “You better find yourself.”  We all get the sentiment.  But I was intrigued by a word written by Emily McDowell which cast a slight alteration to this quest to know who we are.

“Finding yourself,” she says, “is not really how it works.  You aren’t a ten-dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket.  You are also not lost.  Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are. ‘Finding yourself’ is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you.”[2]

This is what light offers to us.  Simply the opportunity to see.  It’s hard at first.  When you’ve been in the dark and you flip on the lights, you have that adjustment period that can be paralyzing until you’ve existed in the light for a bit.  This can be why we become impatient with the spirit life sometimes.  We come to church once or pray once or read a chapter in the book of Leviticus and feel like, “Nope. Doesn’t do anything for me.”  We need time to adjust to the

LIGHT.  The Apostle Paul was struck blind for a time before his vision returned because the life change he would undergo would require a 180 of his life.  He’d need time to adjust to the light but when he did… his direction in life became abundantly clear.  Arise. Shine. Light.

GLORY. We all have an image of glory.  It’s a moment of uncontained elation. And, if we’re honest, we’ve all probably longed to bask in some glory of our own. It’s the classic former athlete who stands on the field of an empty stadium decades after having played a game there wondering, remembering, hoping to feel something of the glory days one more time.  Or it’s the Uncle Rico syndrome of the glory missed and working tirelessly to make up for the failure that can truly never be re-played. My brother and I rigged up a little ping pong net on my parent’s kitchen table on New Year’s Day and sweat for hours paddling that little ball back and forth, navigating toddlers coming through like obstacles and the table’s imperfections not always giving a true bounce… but nonetheless, one of us comes away with the glory of victory until we rig it all up again next Christmas.  But the prophet reminds us the glory is not intended to be ours in the first place.  The glory is Gods.  Getting that confused may cause more problems in our world than anything else. “God’s glory rises on you,” he says, “God’s glory breaks over you.”  And we are to bask in it.

What is God’s glory?  We’ve just been hillside with the shepherds when the angel appears to them saying, “The Glory of the Lord shone around them.”  The Psalmist (19:1) says, “the heavens are telling the glory of God.” Christian writer Frederick Buechner says 

Buechner notes that we see God’s style in “sunsets, starry nights, dust storms, rainforests, garter snakes, and the human face – unmistakably the work of a single hand.”  But God’s glory, God’s style, rises and shines on a whole new level when God’s glory was made flesh – a savior come so that the world might come to know, in a word, wholeness. While we will all draw individual words at the end of service today as guiding lights for 2019, the Star Word for our congregation this year is going to be wholeness.  Last Fall, when Courtney and Kevin I collected your prayer requests, great and small, and took them on retreat to pray over them – the word “wholeness” came up over and over again.  As you struggle with issues of identity, family struggle, purpose, health, care-giving, child-raising and so on, it seemed that collectively, as a community of faith, we are seeking wholeness. We’ll be approaching this idea from multiple angles in 2019. It is a lofty resolution.  Wholeness is like God’s glory being cracked over your head like an egg that just oozes all over you.  Maybe that’s not the best image. But wholeness is tough – can it ever be attained? Experienced? Gifted as grace?

In the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:48), Jesus offers the famed word, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”  How’s that for a New Year’s Resolution – living perfect lives?  Impossible, right?  It turns out that the Greek word there, according to Disciples biblical scholar, Mike Graves, is teleios, which is not best translated as “perfect.”  Perhaps “complete” or “whole” would be better.  Another scholar, suggests Graves, is that word, or the idea of wholeness, means being the same on the inside as the outside. While still a high bar, it seems to suggest that wholeness may be the result of our greatest authenticity connecting with God’s style or God’s glory.  Maybe it sounds too simple now.  Be who you are, connect with God’s Glory, find wholeness.  The Guiding Light of the star led the way for the Magi but what do we do when we can’t see such a star?

Mumford & Sons[3] front man  Marcus Mumford, offers a line of faith in the title track of their latest album release entitled, “Guiding Light.”  In his signature raspy grit, he sings, “Even when there is no star in sight, you’ll always be my only guiding light.”  This is the draw of relationship with Christ and our eyes adjusting to the light as we move out of the dark corners of our realities into a humble willingness to follow the ways of Christ even when we struggle to see the glory.  And on this first Sunday of the year, I’m betting that we’re all here ready for something more; hungry for it even.  In that same song, Mumford’s lyric, says, “If we come back and we’re broken; unworthy and ashamed; give us something to believe in and you know we’ll go your way.”  What do you need to make that commitment to God today?  What do you want most that you’re willing to stick with the necessary discipline to forego what you want now?  Arise. Shine. Light. Glory.

Isaiah says, “Look up! Look around!  The gathering is happening… sons and daughters coming from great distances…” all on a quest to find the guiding light; seeking wholeness; rising to the challenge, ready to shine as a reflection of the glory of the Lord. God is doing amazing things all around us. It’s there. Ready for you.  Are you ready it?  If so, we are faced with the next question.  Will we arise and shine?  We may scoff a bit and say, “Sometime I will.”  “Later, perhaps.”  But it’s already happening… and has been since God became flesh and moved into the neighborhood.  How long can we sit idly on our hands?

Twice in the last handful of years, the Missouri Tigers, my home team, have played the Oklahoma State Pokes, whom we’ve grown to love as well, in a college football bowl game.  So, all the sudden, instead of having vested interest in two games, you’ve got the battle of glory all wrapped up in one.  We were in CoMo, the home of the Tigers, during the game and Carrie’s brother didn’t have ESPN so we found ourselves huddled and yelling around the cell phone of one of the guys joining us.  As many of you know, it was a back and forth game for which the Pokes prevailed which is all well and good.  Beyond the blood pressure spikes from the game, any fan of any team has had the experience of a game coming down to a wire.  I’m not talking MU vs. OSU anymore… just that game that any fan has experienced before. You’ve got the drinks and wings and dips and surround sound and it all comes down to one play.  Seconds are ticking, and time is running out.

Suddenly (a very biblical word) and inexplicably, against all odds, on the final play, somebody begins to run the ball from his own 8-yard line.  He evades a few would-be tacklers and is still on his feet at the twenty-yard line.  He zigs and zags and cuts in the opposite direction and has reached the 40.  Scoots to the 50 and the foot race to the end zone is on.  Only one defender stands a chance of catching him and you’re wondering if your guy still has enough gas in the tank.  Just a few yards shy of the goal line, your guy trips and is falling.  He pushes off the one foot still grounded and stretches for the glory line. Does he score? Whether he scores or not is not the point of this story.  Of course, we all want the glory of the victory but what I really want to know of you as a fan is this: “At what point of this 92-yard excursion did you arise and shine?”  At what point, did you knock over the popcorn or wake the sleeping baby in the other room or grab your buddy’s shoulder who is stunned speechless or scream at the television expecting your yelling to influence your team’s effort toward the desired outcome?  No true fan could sit still.

We’re in such a season of life right now as people of faith.  And it’s not the time to sit idly.  The light of Christ has come… the glory of the Lord has found us… that we celebrate on this epiphany Sunday. And the call for you and me today is to arise and shine.  If not us, who?  If not now, when?  And so we’re off… a new year, a new hope, a new word… one for you that will soon be determined… one for us as a church family:  WHOLENESS.  I cannot wait to see where the Lord will lead us now.  Are you ready?  May it be a year of faith where ok is not okay. The light has come. The glory is stylin’ everywhere. May we all commit ourselves to arise and shine.

[1] This paragraph influenced by Eugene Peterson’s Introduction to Isaiah in The Message. NavPress. Colorado Springs. 2002.
[2] This quote was found posted on Social Media by a friend. While attributed to Emily McDowell, I am not certain where it can be discovered in her work.
[3] www.mumfordandsons.com

text :: Luke 2: 1 - 20

theme verse :: “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host…” (Luke 2:13)

Sometimes standing isn’t possible. It is often pain or sadness or exhaustion that “takes your legs out from under you.” Sometimes it’s prayer that drives us to our knees – a position of humility and vulnerability. And yet, sometimes, we cannot stand for our sense of awe is too great. O Holy Night invites us all to “fall our knees,” that we might hear the angel voices and, with wide eyes, see the Divine night come to us again. Christ is born! Anything is possible!

preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

*****

'See Amid the Winter's Snow' (Forrest) :: Chancel Choir
'Gesu Bambino' (Yon) :: Kelly Ford, Susie Monger-Daugherty
'All Is Well' (Smith) :: Chancel Choir; Christina Maxwell, soloist
'O Holy Night' (Adams) :: Todd Maxwell, Susie Monger-Daugherty
'Silent Night' (Gruber/Mohr) :: Chancel Choir & Congregation

Luke 2:1-20
2 In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. ² This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. ³ All went to their own towns to be registered. ⁴ Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. ⁵ He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. ⁷ And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

⁸ In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹ Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: ¹¹ to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” ¹³ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” ¹⁶ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
* * * * *
And. Here. We. Are.  Christmas Eve. Can you believe it?  You are literally here… like a dot on the Directory Map at the Mall. I’m so glad you’re here.  I love this night. It really paints a beautiful picture of Christmas.  It’s full of friends and family come home.  There’s a light chill in the air and soon a candlelit room that can’t help but leave you hopeful.  There are many traditions associated with this night.  It’s a bit predictable in that way but there’s always a magical surprise or two as well.  Last year, I was pictured with some of the Phillips clan right after service who decided the baby Jesus needed to be announced with a little flair.
Isn’t that fun?

Something else happened last Christmas Eve that was not necessarily extraordinary to most but created a marvelous happenstance tradition for me and my middle son, Dane. The Brileys always have two vehicles here on Christmas Eve as I come early and stay late and Carrie and the kids come on their own.  The last couple of years, however, Dane has stayed late with me so we can ride home together. We park down the road a bit so that we don’t take up a parking spot in our lot for all of you who will be joining us. This makes for a nice, still-humming-silent-night stroll from the building to find our car was everyone has departed.  This has meant we walked past the pedestrian bridge that spanned over Harvard Avenue.  And with that wrap around ramp to get to the top, what kid wouldn’t want to run up there at night on Christmas Eve.  So… Dane and I have run up the ramp, stood in the middle of the bridge looking back at the church – now dark and silent with few, if any cars, driving underneath us.  We just stand there for a while, marveling at the events we just celebrated at the church, giving thanks for the gift of Christ, the mystery and miracle of it all. After the frenzied activity of the weeks leading to that celebrated moment, a silent moment with my son on that bridge was as sweet a moment of worship as I had come to know.  But… as you know if you’ve been around here a while at all, that pedestrian bridge was torn down just a couple of weeks ago after standing for nearly five decades. I’ll admit that my first thought when I learned the news was that I’d miss standing on that bridge with my son on Christmas Eve. Which prompted my second thought: “Where are we going to stand this year, to look back at the church, to marvel again at a holy and sacred night? How am I supposed to see Christmas now? As I was pondering that very thing, it led me to the question of Christmas Eve I’d like you to consider tonight. Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?  

This was now a bigger question than physically standing on a pedestrian bridge on Christmas Eve.  For you, this may be a disorienting Christmas.  Things are different this year. You are different this year.  The story of Christ never changes but we do so it hits us differently every year. The events and shifts and relationships and experiences and questions and mysteries and all that you’ve encountered since last Christmas shapes the way you approach this Christmas.  It changes your perspective.  You can no longer stand where you used to stand when it comes to looking at Christmas. You may be here… in this space on Christmas Eve but you may feel like you’re a million miles from Christmas.  I saw this picture recently taken by the Mars Exploration Rover Spirit.  It’s the first ever picture of Earth from Mars and included the helpful Mall Directory note: “You are here.”  It is an image capturing a remarkable reality.  “You are here.”  A dot. 34 million miles away from a camera that fellow humans landed on another planet.  As marvelous as that is, it may represent in another way how you’re feeling about Christmas this year – distanced, small, unable to make out many of the details.

I wonder if Mary and Joseph felt a bit like that too.  They were on board with the game plan but who’s kidding who, there had to be some sense of pain and smallness to the whole thing too. They had no perspective other than the immediate. Christmas didn’t hold any of the tradition for them that it holds for us.  It was just the culmination of an unexpected promise with threats of exile from their family and community and death from the empire who was threatened by the word that a new King was coming.  Mary and Joe were surely both asking themselves the question, “Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?”  Everything was upended.  This was new territory. Joe wasn’t having a cigar out behind the stable.  They weren’t taking holy family selfies and snapchatting them out to their friends. They were probably just trying to survive that first Christmas.  Can you relate?  You’re sorting through the loss… the absence… the heartache.  It’s impossible to stand where you once stood in relation to Christmas.  Too much has changed and you’re just trying to get through it. Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?

The Shepherds had an entirely different set of concerns when it comes to where they stood with Christmas.  They’re on the hillside watching the flock as best they can.  As they’re downing a 5-hour Energy Drink to stay on their game, they’re blindsided by an angel choir which was not a typical occurrence on the night shift. The Shepherds were afraid.  The angel laid out for them what had occurred in Bethlehem and as much as they wanted to deny what they had experienced, they couldn’t shake the fact that it did.  They could no longer see the world the same way they did the day before. This news of a Messiah born in their neck of the woods – whether they wanted to believe it or not – was now on their radar and they would have to wrestle with such a reality.  Maybe you’re like the Shepherds.  You’re minding your own business in the world, getting’ yours, focused on the drive of the culture, the need to succeed, or just working the daily grind from 9-5 or even the night shift.  From where you stand, Christmas is of no significance. Who needs it? In fact, the only religion that interests you is religious satire that is good for a laugh.  One of my favorites of late was this artwork that says,  “As for me and my house, we will serve tacos.”  Book, chapter and verse?  Salsa 24:7. It’s easier to keep our spirit’s thirst at bay by laughing off faith as nothing more than a crutch for the weak. But then… the grind grows weary.  And money isn’t satisfying you the way you thought it would… and you’re maturing and something has shifted, maybe even a little bit, where the things you thought would fill you just don’t fill the void. There’s an emptiness… and for every hypocritical Christian you know that you can point to as reason you don’t do religion, there’s a spiritual desire in you to get closer to this Jesus – who without all the fanfare we put around religion – is really intriguing to you.  As much as you’d like to just bah humbug the whole thing, you’ve got this nudge in you that longs to confess (if even internally) … “I need something more.  I need God.”  You decide your cultural stance in life can’t be the end game to it all.  Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?

Whether we are forced by circumstances out of our control to get a different view of Christmas this year or we’re spiritually churning in a way that won’t allow us to move through another Christmas with a business as usual mentality… here. we. are. … seeking, wondering.  How will we stand with Christmas now?  Sometimes, when it comes to such a holy moment, we shouldn’t stand at all. That beautiful Christmas song that has been our focus this Advent season offers that very advice.  “Fall on your knees.  Hear the angel voices.  For on this night divine, Christ is born.”  Have you slowed your roll at all this season… to simply get on your knees and worship the Lord?  Have you celebrated the fact that you are not God and you don’t have to be?  Have you marveled at the wonders of what it means to be here, alive, seeking meaning and wholeness and purpose?  Sometimes, you have to position your life, even your very body, differently so that you can see that God is here and you are not alone. Sometimes you can’t understand where you stand until you’re not standing at all.

As I was starting college, I moved an hour from home and was looking to room with my older brother, Matt, at the Gatehouse Apartments in Columbia, Missouri.  It was not the nicest accommodations by any means and we didn’t have much stuff to make the place all that homey.  But… I was going to be out on my own for the first time, sorting out this new phase of my life.  No way things could look the same as they did before.  Life was moving on and I was going to have to decide how I would move along with it. The very first night I stayed in the apartment was before I had moved in.  It was just a scouting trip. I had come down to stay the night and look for a job that would support me while I was a student. Somebody had to pay the rent and buy the cans of tuna and generic cereal that fed us most meals. My brother was actually not going to be home that first night so I was going to be there alone.  That was okay but also left me with some of those uncertain feelings about being by myself in a strange place.  Not having my stuff there and Matt being gone, I went to lay down in his bed for the night.  When my head hit the pillow, I opened my eyes and behold, just a few inches from my face, was the windowsill that projected several inches out from the wall.  I was glad I hadn’t hit my head. It was a little tight. The bug light outside of the window brought enough light into the room through the broken blinds that I could tell there was something written on the underside of the windowsill.  In big letters, it simply read, “Matt was here.”  I shook my head a bit, and maybe even chuckled out loud.  You’ve seen that sort of thing on trees or picnic tables in the park or at a rustic camp cabin where kids stay for a week in the summer and leave their mark on the walls as proof of their experience.  But I laughed at the thought of my twenty-year old brother laying there in bed one night, grabbing a pen and scribbling the words, “Matt was here.”  As strange as it may seem… as simple as those three words were… it was the most beautiful gift to my soul in that moment.  My brother, whom I loved and admired and fought with and who had fought for me through all those years was strangely there with me.  I never would have seen that standing up.  Until I laid down, I could not sense his presence.

Sometimes, we have to put ourselves in position to receive the gift and reminder that we are not alone. Maybe falling on our knees this night is the humbling experience we need to receive Christmas as the gift it is intended to be.  When you approach the manger, you can’t really stand tall, towering over the innocence of the baby. There’s not much connection in that posture.  It’s mostly an obligatory viewing from a distance.  But when you fall on your knees next to that manger and you come close to Jesus, you can see things much clearer.  In fact, if you look close enough in that manger, you can surely read carved into the side of that wooden animal trough the words, “God is here.”

Where do you stand when you can no longer stand where you used to stand?  When it comes to Christmas, maybe you don’t stand at all.  You fall on your knees.

CHRIST IS BORN IN BETHLEHEM
a traditional cantata in concert

Deborah Gist, reader
Rev Mark Briley, liturgist

‘Ding! Dong! Merrily On High!’ (arr H.Morris)

‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ (F.Mendelssohn/arr C. Hamlin & F.Lopez)

‘Joy to the World’ (arr D.Johnson)

‘Angels From the Realms of Glory’ (arr D.Forrest)
– Billie Kay Sawyer & Susie Monger-Daugherty, duo piano

Isaiah 9: 6 – 7, 7:14

‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel’ (arr J.Rouse)
– Kathy Rad, cello

Luke 1: 26 – 35

‘Breath of Heaven’ (arr D.Hart)
– Ashley Pease, soloist

Luke 2: 8 – 14

‘Ding! Dong! Merrily On High!’ (arr H.Helvey)
– Billie Kay Sawyer & Susie Monger-Daugherty, duo piano

‘No Eye Had Seen’ (M.W.Smith)
– Greta Metzer, soprano saxophone

‘O Come, Let Us Adore Him’

Pastoral Prayer

Matthew 2: 1 – 2

‘We Three Kings’ (arr D.Hamilton)

‘All Is Well’ (M.W.Smith)
– Christina Maxwell, soloist

Luke 2: 22 – 23, 25 – 33

‘See Amid the Winter’s Snow’ (arr D. Forrest)

‘Sing Noel!’ (arr D.Hamilton)
– Morgan Briley, soloist

Joy to the World (CH#143)

‘Adeste Fideles’ (J.F.Wade/arr D.Hustad)

CHANCEL CHOIR
– Kelly Ford, Director –

– soprano : Yvonne Admire; Debbie Clary; Jenn Epperley; Margaret Erling; Danna Harrison; Janet Herndon; Christina Maxwell; Ashley Pease; Sue Phillips; Delia Pierson; Paulette Pogue; Marilyn Rhodes; Bet Wallace; Connie Wertz
– alto : Barbara Crider; Jean Jolly; Dana Mackay; Inez Major; Janet McKenzie; Elizabeth Palmieri; Marla Patterson; Cheryl Pease; Tammy Wood
– tenor : Dan Abel; Howard Frank; Bob Herndon; Todd Maxwell; Jim Womack; Brien Wood
– bass : Charlie Bennett; Rick Bohls; Geoff Brewster; Alan Crider; Joel Gist; Ron Lee; Andy McKenzie; Dick O’Neil; Dan Pease; Homer Pickhardt; Tom Rogers

AVENUE
– Barry Epperley, Director –

Susie Monger-Daugherty; Brad Epperley; Jenn Epperley; Kelly Ford; Andrea Gross; Kevin Howe; Ron Lee; Christina Maxwell; Todd Maxwell; Marla Patterson; Ashley Pease; Cheryl Pease; Dan Pease; Bet Wallace

HANDBELL CHOIR
– Andrew Dugan, Director –

Janet Briggs; Maggie Cornell; Suzy Crockett; Ashley Gibson; Shari Gibson; Christina Maxwell; Pat Maxwell; Elizabeth Palmieri; Bettye Rosenlieb; Nancy Shannon; Sally Warrington

ORCHESTRA

piano – Billie Kay Sawyer
piano/organ – Susie Monger-Daugherty

violin 1 – Gina Davis; Greg Lynch; Michael Nicholson
violin 2 – Patti Gaddis; Kelley Pride Mason; Jennifer Sherman

viola – Sheri Scales Neubauer; Phil Wachowski

cello – Pete Peterson; Kathy Rad

bass – Marc Facci

timpani/percussion – Jerry Scholl

soprano saxophone – Greta Metzer

audio engineer – Tom Jurena

text :: Luke 1:39-45

theme verse :: “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” (Luke 1:45)

"You better sing!” is the encouragement of Jennifer Hudson, one of four coaches on The Voice, when she is really moved by a contestant’s singing. Most people, even those without any musical talent, find joy in music. You’ve likely been so moved in hearing someone sing that you felt what JHud feels even if you couldn’t verbalize it that way. “You better sing!” It’s a feeling. It’s passion! It’s freedom! It’s joy! As in, “You better praise God!” “You better keep it up!” “You better sing!” It’s not a threat. It’s not an “or else.” It’s “how could you not?!!” This season brings out all the feels when it comes to music. O Holy Night calls them “sweet hymns of joy.” What do you call them? Do you have a song? You better sing!

offertory :: 'The Little Road to Bethlehem' (M.Head/M.Rose) :: Susie Monger Daugherty, vocal; Billie Kay Sawyer, piano

reader :: Jane Whitt
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

special music :: 'Joyful Joyful' (arr.TheBrilliance) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

Do you speak fluent emoji?  It seems you’re either a fan of the image-based communication icons or… well… you’re not. Emoji is a Japanese word. It’s plural, though debated in the United States, is also emoji… like the plural of sushi is also sushi.  Emoji.  I was curious if Rosetta Stone, the language software company that can help you learn a foreign language in a jiffy, offered any help with emoji.  Surely not, I thought. But indeed, they are open to the possibility.  The company put out an article that says emoji are a linguistic evolution all about making communication more efficient. How ‘bout that?!!  If Rosetta Stone moves forward to create a guide to what all these emoji mean, such could really be helpful.  After all, how often have you received a text with a string of emoji that you just have no clue what message someone is trying to communicate to you. We play the decipher the mother-in-law text game all the time at my house.  My mother-in-law loves her string of emoji for any messaging occasion.  There’s a lot of random ones that get thrown into her usual string of about a dozen per text but you can be sure you’ll always get a bouquet of flowers and an American flag emoji.  It doesn’t matter if she simply texts “How’s your day going?” or “My cat just died.” You can be sure what follows is a series of emoji that, at minimum, include a bouquet of flowers, thumbs up, party hat, praise hands, American flag, and an unidentifiable rodent.  It’s a hoot every time.  But such confusion can get you in trouble.

The Wall Street Journal shared a story earlier this year about a Deakin Law School study.  The study discussed a case in Israel that involved a couple looking for an apartment. After they had seen a particular apartment, the couple texted the landlord a series of emojis, including a smiley face, a comet, a champagne bottle, dancing yellow Playboy bunnies and a chipmunk. The landlord believed, based in part on the emojis, that the couple had agreed to rent the apartment. He took down the listing only to later sue them when they stopped responding to his messages.  A judge found in favor of the landlord, reasoning the couple had negotiated in bad faith, and fined them a month’s rent as damages, according to the Deakin study.[1] How ‘bout that?!!!  And, you’re probably asking yourself by now, who cares?  Maybe nobody but as I was approaching this third Sunday of Advent, JOY Sunday, I couldn’t help but think of my favorite emoji:Do you know what that emoji is supposed to communicate? I probably gave it away already but that’s okay.  I always thought it meant you were cry-laughing – you know, you’re laughing so hard that tears just flow. And I think that’s pretty much the idea, but I looked it up and it is most accurately intended to represent uncontrollable joy.  And who doesn’t love uncontrollable joy?  It generally means guards have been put down, all fear is abandoned and this contagious connection between you and the sender of that uncontrollable joy is satisfying.  I want that for you this morning… on JOY Sunday… also known as Gaudete Sunday – a Latin word meaning rejoice. While we still carry a spirit of waiting this season and maybe even a weariness that things in our lives still exist in tension and conflict and challenge… Gaudete Sunday is where we begin to make the turn toward the manger. It is why the advent wreath candle we light today is pink instead of purple.  It’s Advent’s hump day – the time we turn from expectation to celebration. The rose candle invites us to intentionally make the turn with expectant confidence that what has been promised will come to pass.  It’s an invitation into uncontrollable joy. And the RSVP on that invitation was for today’s worship gathering.  I want our guards to be relaxed, our fears released, our connection to the coming Christ and each other to be full of joy.

We get this in our scripture text today as we’ve rewound the tape a bit from last week when we celebrated the birth of John the Baptist with his folks, Zechariah and Elizabeth.  We drop back in the story to Mary’s visit to her relative, Elizabeth; cousins perhaps.  Mary has just had the obligatory angel visit herself.  Gabriel says, “Mary – you’re up.  Game time. You will bear the Messiah.”  If that isn’t shocking enough, Gabriel thickens the plot for Mary saying, “And guess what else – you’re much older, but lovely, cousin, Beth is six months into her own pregnancy even though she was said to be barren.  How ‘bout them apples?!!!”  Teenage Mary looks up from her smart phone but doesn’t say, “Wha’dyousay?”  She was hanging on every word and responds: “I’m in.  May your word be true.”  What do you do when you get a visit like that?  Mary bolts for the hills to go see Elizabeth with a million thoughts buzzing through her head.  She’s got to be feeling her stomach with some confusion about what’s happening in her own body.  But then there’s this news about Elizabeth.  Surely that’s not true. She had not received any invitation to a baby shower. There were no social media posts of Zechariah and Elizabeth’s empty Birkenstocks sitting next to some adorable empty little baby Birkenstocks with the announcement, “Coming in September.”  If she can get to Elizabeth and she is, in fact, give or take 24 weeks pregnant, then this would be some validation to Gabe’s word about what was taking place in her body as well.

Our brief focal text for today captures this confirmation moment between Elizabeth and Mary.  And their coming together can only be described as uncontrollable joy. Mary’s heart flutters at the sight of Elizabeth’s baby bump and Elizabeth knows instantly that her boy would be the forerunner of the child Mary was carrying. Beth could have been bitter – “Seriously, Mary?  I finally get my turn and you have to come overshadow our good news?”  But not at all. Elizabeth’s joy is not diminished by Mary’s own news.  In fact, it is enhanced.  Do you have that kind of joy?  The kind of joy that can celebrate another’s?  It is a disposition of joy… and Elizabeth’s got it.  How could you be an Elizabeth to someone else in your life right now?

Courtney purchased a print of this art piece this week that depicts the moment between Elizabeth and Mary.   The artist, Lauren Wright Pittman, said, “I wanted to depict the creative energy, communication, and power that was taking place in Mary and Elizabeth’s wombs in this moment. Mary’s womb swirls with the knitting together of the One through whom all things came into being, while Elizabeth’s womb radiates joy with the leaping of the one who will spend his life directing attention, awe and reverence to the One in Mary’s womb.”  And then she writes, “When we draw near to one another, we can recognize and proclaim God’s movement in one another’s lives and be encouraged in our own journey. When we draw near to one another, we live more fully into who we were created to be.”[2]  There is no space for envy on this journey… so root it out of your system by practicing joy.  Position yourself for joy.

Jim Stovall, Olympic weightlifter and accomplished author and advocate for the blind as he is blind himself, is a Tulsan and has made quite an impact in the world.  He recounts a moment backstage before a speaking event with Zig Ziglar.  He said, “I remember being backstage at an event where we were both speaking.  It seemed everything was going wrong with the lights, the sound and everything else surrounding that particular event.  Zig was greeting everyone backstage as he always did. ‘It’s a great day to be alive,’ he said. One of the stage hands said sarcastically, “Well, you’re in a good mood today, aren’t you?”  Zig abruptly turned, stared at the young man, and said, “Yes, sir. Many years ago, I decided to be in a good mood today.”[3]  How do people do that?  How might we position ourselves so that we can be a joyful presence in the world?  It’s worth thinking about.  Imagine how your encounters with others would change if from the onset you decided to bring the joy. Not annoyingly so, of course, but with authentic confidence. We all know someone who is sort of a Debbie the Downer… just always in a bad mood, always enduring terrible circumstances of some kind, always followed by a rain cloud. And this is not to say that we don’t have some of those seasons in our lives.  But positioning ourselves for joy means knowing what enlivens our spirits, charging that battery regularly, and then living with joy in the world.

Elizabeth offers Mary encouragement saying, “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Some ancient authorities word it slightly differently instead of in the past tense but as a prophetic word of what was coming: “Blessed is she who believes, for there will be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”  Blessed is the one who is positioned for joy.  In this way, Elizabeth is sort of like Jennifer Hudson as a judge on The Voice.  Finale tomorrow night, as it happens.   Jennifer Hudson always offers the encouragement to a contestant’s singing that has moved her: “You better sing!”  Most people, even those without any musical talent, find joy in music. You’ve likely been so moved in hearing someone sing that you felt what JHud feels even if you couldn’t verbalize it that way. “You better sing!” she shouts!  It’s a feeling. It’s passion!  It’s freedom!  It’s uncontrollable joy!  It’s as if she’s saying, “You better praise God!” “You better keep it up!” “You better sing!” It’s not a threat.  It’s not an “or else.”  It’s “How could you not?!!”  Elizabeth has this spirit with Mary.  “Mary,” she says with uncontrollable joy, “You better sing!” And, of course, Mary sings – the Magnificat follows. Her soul magnifies the Lord.  Her spirit rejoices with uncontrollable joy.  It doesn’t mean that it won’t be a hard road. There will be morning sickness, and ridicule from her community, and struggle for her and Joseph as they sort out this unexpected addition coming to their lives.  If we always waited until everything was just right, just so, before we could express our joy, we’d likely never get there.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor imprisoned for his anti-Nazi resistance of Hitler’s regime and ultimately killed in a Nazi concentration camp, wrote a good deal about singing joy even in the struggle.  He wrote to his fiancé, Maria, approaching Christmas in 1943, “I think we’re going to have an exceptionally good Christmas. The very fact that outward circumstance precludes our making provision for it will show whether we can be content with what is truly essential. I used to be very fond of thinking up and buying presents, but now that we have nothing to give, the gift God gave us in the birth of Christ will seem all the more glorious; the emptier our hands, the better we understand what Luther meant: We are beggars, it’s true. The poorer our quarters, the more clearly, we perceive that our hearts should be Christ’s home on earth.”[4]  Isn’t that amazing?  I think we’re going to have an exceptionally good Christmas. He’s positioning himself for joy over fear, joy over self-defeat, joy over despair. Joy is his song. His way of saying, “You better sing!”  In O Holy Night, the lyricist calls this “Sweet hymns of joy!” That line also follows the one that names the chains of slavery and the oppressive nature of that institution, but it proclaims in the very next line, “Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we, with all our hearts we praise His holy name.”  Despite the circumstances and even though the struggle is real and we can’t fully know what is ahead… allow yourself the gift of uncontrollable joy.  Give yourself over to it. It is so good for the soul.

As always, this is easier to hear than it is to practice.  There’s something in you that resists the joy.  It may be pushing back within you right now to all that I’m saying. For whatever reason, you can’t fully let it go. Maybe it’s because you’ve held it for so long and it just feels like part of you.  Maybe the stakes are too high to imagine giving it up for the sake of some new joy.  After all, can the joy of the Lord be better than what you’ve come to know as joy-enough all by yourself?  Only you can answer that.  Only you can choose to hold it with all you’ve got or let it go… shed the baggage, forgive the wrong, drop the fear.  It can be done. It may take a deep breath, lots of prayer, and some repositioning but it can happen.

Have you ever seen “A Charlie Brown Christmas?”   It always makes the rounds on most channels during December.  One of the favorite scenes is that of Linus, standing on a bare stage, reciting the story of the birth of Jesus from the gospel of Luke.

That scene nearly didn’t make it into the show. TV network executives thought it was too religious and, maybe even more honestly, thought the Luke scripture was just too long.  The producers persisted, however, and the scene stayed. “There’s one feature of that scene that not many people notice. Just before Linus begins his recitation, he drops his security blanket. If you know anything about Linus, you know he’s never without that blanket. Over the years of drawing his comic strip, Charles Schulz would occasionally deprive Linus of his blanket but only in moments when Snoopy mischievously steals it. Every time this happens, this otherwise cool, calm and wise-beyond-his-years character dissolves into frenzied angst. Linus simply cannot be without his blanket.  Except in this moment, when he’s standing on stage reciting the Christmas story. With the Christ child on his mind, it seems, he doesn’t need it.”[5]  He lets it go.  He drops it.  He has made room for uncontrollable joy. Can you make room today?  Can you meet Christ with joy in your heart?

I want to close with a prayer offered by Howard Thurman that I hope can be our own today.  Would you pray with me?

“May the sounds of Advent stir a longing in your people, O God. Come again to set us free from the dullness of routine and the poverty of our imaginations. Break the patterns which bind us to small commitments and to the stale answers we have given to questions of no importance. Let the Advent trumpet blow, let the walls of our defenses crumble, and make a place in our lives for the freshness of your love, well-lived in the Spirit, and still given to all who know their need and dare receive it.”[6]

May you be so daring to receive it today.  To give yourself over to uncontrollable joy.  It is worth it… spoken in emoji or any language.  Amen.

[1] Mike Cherney, “Lawyers faced with emojis and emoticons are all…,” The Wall Street Journal, January 29, 2018, wsj.com.
[2] https://sanctifiedart.org/original-art/mary-elizabeth-lauren-wright-pittman
[3] www.jimstovall.com.  I do not know the original source of this story.
[4] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “Letter to his fiancée Maria von Wedemeyer,” December 1, 1943, in God Is in the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas(Westminster John Knox, 2012), 6.
[5] From Animating Illustrations found at Homiletics Online. Senior Writer, Bob Kaylor.  www.homileticsonline.com
[6] Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas & Other Celebrations (Friends United Press, 1985).

text : Luke 1:68-79

theme verse : “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us…” (Luke 1:78)

PEACE SUNDAY. The Christian liturgical year has long pointed us toward peace on the second Sunday of Advent. Peace really deserves more than one focal Sunday but we’ll light that Peace Candle and find as much warmth and challenge in its flame as we can get. There is, after all, always great need for oppressions to cease and chains to be broken. Those lines may hold familiarity. After a decade of banishment by the French Catholic Church for its connection to controversy, 'O Holy Night' was discovered by an American writer and Abolitionist advocate, John Sullivan Dwight. He was drawn to the songs call for justice and peace. Does that line beckon us forward still? Are there chains yet to be broken?

special music : 'Glory (Let There Be Peace)' (M.Maher) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

reading : Todd Maxwell
preaching : Rev Mark Briley

anthem : 'No Eye Had Seen' (M.W.Smith) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director; Greta Metzer, soprano sax

duet : 'Alone With You' / 'Man After Your Own Heart' (arr.Rhodes) :: Ashley Pease, Kelly Ford; Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano; Greta Metzer, soprano sax

Luke 1:68-79
“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.
Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant,
the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us
that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, 
in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.
And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Chains shall he break. It’s quite an image all by itself don’t you think? Chains are so restrictive. Tight. Life-draining. Oppressive. You can go this far but not a bit further.  It’s like a dog that wears a circular dirt path in the grass around the tree at the outer limits of the chains reach. It’s sad. It’s certainly not freeing.  Hayes, our youngest son, took our dog, Taylor, for a little walk recently.  He unknowingly clipped her leash onto her dog tag instead of her collar loop which is designed to withstand her mighty tug.  The dog tag was not nearly as strong and it wasn’t far into the walk that she busted free. In dramatic fashion, the leash snapped, the dog tag flew into the air and she took off as Zac Brown Band’s song, “Free” played from the heavens.  “Just as free… free as we’ll ever be!”  The hunt was on and we did wind up together again.  Part of me was concerned for her and for Hayes but a deep-down part of me felt joy in the freedom Taylor claimed for even a short time.  Don’t you long for that feeling sometimes?  Total freedom.  It’s the sentiment of a friend who says to Carrie and me the other night as we were driving home following a great dinner, “The only thing better would be if we just kept driving…”  It was the gleam of freedom in his eye – the joy of the adventure, unencumbered by the responsibilities of every waking, adulting moment. Chains shall he break.  Take a deep breath, would you?  And now exhale…. that’s what it feels like when the chains of our lives are broken.  That’s a moment of peace.  That’s what we seek from a Savior, whose Advent – whose very arrival — is what we hold before us in this season.

Peace doesn’t come easy.  It’s long been the global wish shared at pageants and the like for years.  “If I had one wish it would be for world peace.” It’s a grand and noble wish. Bono, front man for U2, named one of their albums,  “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb.” What a title – and what a challenge to imagine how you would go about such a thing.  But Bono admitted concerning the grandness of the title, “Actually I was talking about my father Bob. He was the atomic bomb in question.”[1]  Dismantling bombs in search of world peace is an overwhelming premise when such diffusing of said bombs often refer to the Bobs in our lives or even to the inward struggles we hold in our own spirits.  How can I imagine a peaceful world when there is such turmoil in my own very being?  Oh we’ve got some inner chains that need breaking, don’t we.

Jeremiah brought the prophecy of hope last week as we launched this Advent sermon series.  Today, Zechariah brings the prophecy of peace.  Do you know his story?  Zechariah was a priest – married to Elizabeth.  Sweet and steady couple up in years by now.  Served faithfully in the church.  On his selected day to enter the sanctuary to offer incense – which was a deep privilege that you didn’t get to do all that often as many a priest wanted a turn – Zechariah had an encounter with an angel.  Because this act was one each priest handled alone while the people waited outside praying, it was a one-on-one situation which, as you could guess, brought a little anxiety to Zechariah.  The angel, Gabriel, says to Zechariah, “Pssst… yeah, you, I’ve got some news for you.  You’re gonna be a daddy!”  “Uhhh, come again there Gabe?”  “Yes,” he says, “You and Elizabeth will be parents just like you’ve longed to be.  And the kid is going to be something.  Here, Zechariah, cut into this cake.”  “Why?” “Just do it – everybody’s doing it – it’s called a gender reveal party.”  Zechariah cuts into the cake and looks at the angel befuddled.  “It’s blue.”  “That’s right,” says the angel.  “Name him John – American parents will name their kids after him centuries from now – he’s got a big life ahead of him.”  “Hold the phone here, angel.  Me and Beth. Pregnant.  Have you seen me?  Have you seen her?”  (He quickly followed with “Don’t tell her I said that.”)  Gabriel knew this had blown Zechariah’s mind and that he probably needed some quiet time to process it all so he Harry Potter’s the priest: “Mute.”  And Zechariah doesn’t utter another word until it’s time to sign John’s birth certificate at the hospital. The first words he speaks are the ones you’ve heard read this morning.  It is the prophecy of his son’s life whose wrestling name will later be, “the Baptist” for his role in baptizing so many in preparation of receiving the Messiah who was to come – who turned out to be Jesus, John’s cousin – convenient!

Zechariah had a great vision for his son. As devout Jews hoped and longed for the day when the Messiah, God’s anointed king, would come, most of them also believed a forerunner would precede him to prepare the way.  It was a commonly held thought that Elijah would return to play such a role but Zechariah says, “John’s the one.”  I wonder sometimes what kind of role our own belief in our children plays in them rising to the occasion of their lives – surpassing what is seemingly their greatest potential.  I can picture Zechariah and Elizabeth chatting after putting John to bed after a particularly challenging night where their son was in rare and difficult form – “Well… still think he’s the one?”  Somehow, an unwavering humble confidence encourages John forward into his life’s vocation.  In life, God is always working in all things to bring Christ to light.  Don’t downplay the moments you spend today, or tomorrow or on a Thursday afternoon as inconsequential to bringing about the kingdom of God.  In all things, God is preparing a way.  You may not feel like such is the case when you’re running about your day.  Between appointments and responsibilities and the things we give our lives to managing on a daily basis, I often feel like I’ve allotted only a very small segment of each day to improving my spirit. And when I step back and try to imagine how such little time can add up to get me to some space of enlightenment, I can get discouraged.  Sitting at a stoplight I’ll ask myself, “Am I forever living an unfinished life?”

You may be familiar with the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York City.  Some people refer to it as the “Cathedral of Saint John the Unfinished.”  It’s an impressive landmark in New York – 601 feet long and 124 feet high.  It features the longest Gothic nave in the United States and the largest rose window in the country as well.  10,000 pieces of glass.  Besides the sanctuary, there are seven chapels.  It’s an architectural beauty.  Construction began in 1892.  Worship and other ministries started taking place there in 1899.  The building wasn’t opened end-to-end until 1941 but even then, there was much work waiting to be completed. Over the years, the structure was plagued by financial woes, changes in building plans, wartime delays, engineering problems and in 2001, a destructive fire.  And so, today, 126 years to the month after the cornerstone was laid, this massive church is still sometimes dubbed, “Saint John the Unfinished.”  ‘Unfinished’ seems like such a downer of a word.  You never like when the idea is attached to your personal projects.  She didn’t finish the race.  His dissertation was never completed. The remodeling of your bathroom may not have begun as far back as 1892 but still, as you step around the unfinished tile every day and the counter-top-less sink area, it could be called “the john unfinished.”[2]

Maybe we’d prefer to refer to these projects, and ourselves, as works in progress. Zechariah’s prophecy is surely saying, “the faith is strong… the progress is coming… this is the time… this child is the one.” Stay the course. John would be one to help usher in the Prince of Peace. “John, my boy,” Zechariah says, “You will be a forerunner, preparing the ways of the Lord, giving knowledge of salvation to the people.”  It is like what Paul would say in Romans 10, “How can people call on the Lord if nobody tells them, shows them, or preaches Christ?”  At such a time, when Zechariah is dreaming over the crib of his son, people didn’t have a sense of what God was personally like.  The Greeks thought of a passionless God – one who looked on humanity with an unmoved detachment.  Not much help there.  The Jewish faith of that time had imagined a demanding God whose name was law had whose function was mostly judge.  But God in the flesh, in Jesus, came to tell that God was love and in staggered amazement people could only say, “We never knew that God was like that.”[3] The reality remains that many people today see God as detached or God as rule-enforcer or have been burned enough by religious hypocrisy that they also don’t know of a God of love and have given up on faith.  Maybe you know such a person.  Maybe you are such a person.  Jesus shows us a different way… and it’s on us to make that love known to those who can quickly and easily say, “I never knew God was like that.”  Chains he shall, he can, he will break, one oppressive link at a time.

This is, in part, the work-in-progress we experience in the quest for peace that we shouldn’t give up on when attempts at peace often feel like an unfinished project. I mentioned last week, a bit of the history of the song we love to break out this time of year, “O Holy Night.”[4]  The song is the inspiration behind this thrill of hope series.  The lyrics were written by an unchurched (and uninterested) French poet and musical score composed by a man of Jewish faith who never celebrated Christmas or the Messiah the words proclaimed.  Once these facts became public, it became a problem for church leaders who declared the song unfit for church services. Church leaders can be stubborn sometimes … like any leaders I suppose… and can turn on something incredibly beautiful when it doesn’t come from one of their own.  But only three weeks after it was penned, it was offered as the heart of The Christmas Mass in 1847.  Though the French church banned the song for a couple of decades, it’s beauty had already captured the hearts of too many.  And the leak was on. A reclusive American writer, John Sullivan Dwight, somehow came across the song and immediately was moved to introduce it to America.  Dwight was an ardent abolitionist and strongly identified with the lines of the third verse: “Truly he taught us to love one another; his law is love and his gospel is peace.  Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother; and in his name all oppression shall cease.”  We sort of accept these words as norm… we don’t feel the sting (even though perhaps we should) … but remember the time.  1860’s in America – the Civil War.  Imagine being in a southern church on Christmas Eve and hearing “Chains shall he break for the slave is our brother… and in HIS name all oppression shall cease.”  Gulp.

Breaking chains to bring about peace doesn’t come without some conflict. And Zechariah says, “Forgiveness of sins” will be necessary in order to “guide our feet into the way of peace.”  Talk about unfinished work.  Forgiveness is a constant need. Forgiveness is not so much the remission of penalty as it is a restoration of relationship.  It doesn’t erase what has been but it forges forward with new respect. It is estrangement turned friendship.  Breaking chains means meeting each other with dignity even in our differences.  I’m sure, by now, you’ve seen this image  of 95-year-old war veteran and senator Bob Dole, with all his strength rise from his wheelchair to salute 94-year-old war veteran and past president George H.W. Bush.  Man, that was a moment.  And across the land, if but for a little while, there was a peace that focused on dignity and respect over poorly constructed spewed words of hate and division.  It shouldn’t take death for us to treat each other with dignity. To whom can you offer some dignity that you’ve been withholding of late?  What relationship can you restore?  Not easy, I know, but you can take a humble step if even the other person will not.  The staff team named Romans 12 in our Bible study last Monday. In it, Paul writes: “As far as it is up to you, be at peace with everyone.”  You’ve got some agency in this peace-work. Theologian Paul Tillich said, “Faith is the courage to accept acceptance.” Not a bad word for us on either side of the forgiveness equation.  In Christ, we are loved beyond measure and we are in turn called to love in that same way.  That’s a kind of love that breaks chains.

And it’s a commitment.  If you give yourself to Christ… to truly study his way of love and attempt its counter-cultural practices, it will frustrate you even as it transforms you.  Clive Staples Lewis used to say, “If you give Christ an inch, he’ll take it all.”  What do you have to give Christ of yourself today?  If you’re willing to give even a piece of yourself, he’ll start to break those chains and it will change the way you engage others too… which only brings about a greater peace in the world.  It will be hard work. You may feel like you’re trying to dismantle an atomic bomb.  But isn’t your spirit worth it?  Isn’t the relationship with your child or your friend or your colleague or even that person who is a total stranger to you but so loved by God worth the effort?  I heard a guy say this week that we so often see each other the way cows gaze at cars.[5]  A car drives by the pasture. The cow looks at it as it passes by.  But there’s nothing going on inside that cow.  Just chewing the cud and once passed, returns to feeding one of its four stomachs.  That’s not peace.  It may be easier but it’s not chain breaking.  The inch you give Christ today may be relinquishing your weapon of choice that is in direct objection to peace.  A friend said it to me this way, “If you’ve got your gun on you, you’re saying that option is not off the table.”  The thought was, “If you’re carrying hate in your heart, in your speech, in your actions … then hate is always a ready option for you.” Whatever your weapon is:  sarcasm, a grudge, a cutting word, dishonesty, whatever – could you take that option off the table… give it to Christ and see what he can do with that inch you’ve relinquished.  Maybe when it’s time for this morning’s offering, you think about that which you might offer to God today in that regard. What weapon will you relinquish?  Whatever that may be is certainly holding you back from living your best life, living into the vision that someone dreamed over your crib like Zechariah did John’s.

There are plenty of chains to be broken in our society… all the “isms” and “phobias” that keep us looking at each other like cow’s gaze at cars.  Societal, systemic sin remains rampant and an effort we as the collective of Christ need to be concerned with for if all oppression shall ever cease, we need to proclaim his name and break some chains. And we live in a time and culture that’s pretty worked up right now.  I’d like to ask us all to calm down, but my beloved colleague reminded me this week with this picture that So I won’t ask you to calm down. What I’ll ask you instead is to keep at your work in progress.   Do you know what that is?  Colleague and friend, Julian DeShazier,[6] posted these words that I share as a reminder: “There is a project you are working on, beyond your work.  It’s a YOU project, and I want to encourage you to stay on it.  As life happens, you’ll fall off the You Project.  Keep going. THAT is the project we need you to finish. We have plenty of content; we need excellent humans, and you are one of them.  Keep going.”

Can I invite you again to do something?  Take a deep breath. Now… release it. Lay down your hostility.  Lay down your pride.  Lay down any consuming greed.  Someone has a vision for your life… and it doesn’t include those things. You put those things down and you’ll find your hands, and your soul, are now open for something better. Pick up knowledge. Pick up salvation. Pick up freedom. Pick up forgiveness and mercy and let’s break some chains in Christ’s name.  And we’ll be “free… free as we’ll ever be.”

[1] https://www.u2.com/music/Albums/4068/How+To+Dismantle+An+Atomic+Bomb
[2] “Cathedral of Saint John the Divine.” Wikipedia. “History.” The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine. www.stjohndivine.org. Bob Kaylor, Senior Writer for Homiletics and Senior Minister of the Park City United Methodist Church in Park City, Utah utilized this piece about the Cathedral in a message entitled, “The God Who Completes.”
[3] Exegetical background as found in William Barclay’s Commentary on the Gospel of Luke.  Westminster Press. 1975.
[4] https://www.beliefnet.com/entertainment/movies/the-nativity-story/the-amazing-story-of-o-holy-night.aspx
[5] As shared by Pete Rollins in an interview with Rob Bell:  https://robbell.com/portfolio/robcast/.  Episode 159.
[6] Rev. Julian DeShazier is Senior Pastor at University Church in Chicago.  http://universitychurchchicago.org/team/rev-julian-deshazier-senior-pastor/

text : Psalm 63: 1 - 8

theme verse : "Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you." (Psalm 63:3)

You spend three months without your usual responsibilities, you learn a few things. You see different things, and you see things differently. Sabbath, sabbatical, rest, renewal. What it means, what it does, what it teaches - what you learn. After all that time and space, it's good to regather the sabbatical wanderings, wonderings, and lessons along the way.

anthem : 'Give Me Jesus' (arr. Ijames) :: Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director; Marla Patterson, soloist

reader : Roy Peters
preaching : Rev Courtney Richards

special music : 'So Will I' (HillsongUnited) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andrea Gross, lead vocal

text : Proverbs 11:24-25

theme verse : “Some give freely, yet grow all the richer; others withhold what is due and only suffer want.” (Proverbs 11:24)

An old rap song from my youth included the line, 'You better check yourself before your wreck yourself.' While none of the other lines were memorable, that one has staying power. Against what do we measure the effectiveness of our lives? Some level of success? Some measure of kindness? A lifestyle of generosity? A man gave millions to establish a university in Texas. Several years later, he lost everything. Someone asked if he had regretted all he had given to the university. 'Regret it?' he said, 'That school is the only lasting thing I’ve done with my money. Had I not given that money, I would have lost it too.' So much of living a generous life involves loosening our grip on fear, security, and the sense of scarcity. Only then, might we experience the freedom of a life that is ‘growing all the richer.’

*Gratitude Statement: “I will relinquish control.”

Open Mic testimony : Andy McMillan

communion music : Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

offertory : Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

reader : David Brock
preaching : Rev Mark Briley

special music : 'Gracefully Broken' (M.Redman) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands.  If you’re happy and you know it then your face will surely show it. If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.   

Well… okay then. Wasn’t sure how that would go.  We have some happy people in the house today.  We have some who maybe just humored the pastor and went along with the child-like experiment.  There may be a few of us who had no familiarity with the song and by the time we caught on it was over.  We have some who likely flat out refused – “I don’t participate in ridiculous clapping rituals.”  And honestly, it’s all okay.  In fact, I learned this week that whether we’re happy and we know it or not may be something we can’t fully control.  I’ve been reading some of Dr. Robert Emmons work in preparation for this series on gratitude.  Dr. Emmons is considered one of the top scientific experts on gratitude which is fascinating – the science of gratitude – have you ever thought about gratitude as a science?  Emmons notes that each person has a chronic or characteristic level of happiness. The research suggests that “people have happiness set-points to which they inevitably return following disruptive life events.  Getting that book published, moving to California, having the person of your dreams answer your personal ad, each of these may send the happiness meter right off the scale for a while but, in a few months, it will drift back to the set-point that is typical for that individual. What goes up must come down.”  Interesting.

It makes sense when you think about people in your life.  Some have a naturally happy disposition and others have been waking up on the grumpy side of the bed for a while it seems.  It’s a process of adaptation.  Humans are adaptation machines.  We take good things for granted and overcome obstacles that life throws our way only to return to the state of happiness that is natural for us.  You win the lottery?   A couple months later, you come down from the high to your happiness set-point.  You lose a job?  A few months later, you re-settle into that natural set point.  I was honestly a little discouraged by this; as if there is nothing we can do about it.  To strengthen this idea, Emmons says that 50% of our happiness is determined by our genetics.

But… that means we’ve got another 50% to consider, right?  (So, you’re saying there’s a chance.)  Turns out 10% of our happiness is determined by our circumstance. These are the things you can’t necessarily control.  Life that happens to you.  Emmons says humans mess up the happiness quotient by focusing on this 10%.  He says, “Most people are trying to improve their outside circumstances.  They want more money, a better car, a hotter body, a more beautiful spouse, a better job, and more.”  Research says we are seeking happiness in all the wrong places.  Why?  Because the remaining 40% of our happiness is determined by our behaviors… our intentional activities.  And as your pastor, I’m going to call these behaviors and intentional activities – spiritual disciplines or spiritual practices. The key to happiness lies not in changing our circumstances or changing our genetic makeup (which is frankly impossible) but in changing our behavior.  Focusing on our behavior is four times more powerful than considering our circumstances when it comes to increasing levels of happiness.  And do you know the number one behavior Dr. Emmons suggests improves happiness?  He’s not the Gratitude Guru for nothing, my friends. You guessed it.  Gratitude.  To take it one step further, improving behavior also tends to create better outside circumstances as well. Not always, as some things are clearly beyond our control, but there is some correlation. [1]

Why does this matter?  Because I want you to be happy?  Of course, I do.  But I also want us all to be growing in our spiritual health.  It is why we are focused on gratitude this month.  Practicing gratitude seems to be more than a good idea – but a reality of spiritual health. So, we’re tackling this honestly in this series called Open Mic.  Andy McMillan stepped to the Open Mic today to share his thoughts on gratitude and stewardship… it is always inspiring to hear our community speak up about these matters.  And we’re asking all of us to consider our own lives as an Open Mic.  You have a voice.  You practice a set of behaviors.  You have influence in your home or your place of work or in the circles of friends and people you move among every day.  What kind of impact are you making in those places?  What is your life saying to them?  And why does it matter as a person of faith?  We’re asking these important questions in this stewardship series even as we’re asking us to consider the nature of gratitude and how, in turn, we give of our time, talents, and resources to God.  Today’s title:  Open Mic:  Check one, two, three.

As a kid, there was nothing more fun than finding an open mic… you could make weird noises or yell loudly or beat box… it was just fascinating to hear your voice amplified.  Being a pastor’s kid, I often was around the church early (and late), before and after events would happen in the life of the church.  The sound guy would often send me up on the chancel before events and check the mics.  Loved it. “Mic check, one, two, three,” was the standard and I usually started with that before broadly expanding what I would test out on the microphones.  There was an old rap song from those days that included the line, “You better check yourself before you wreck yourself.”  It was actually more like, “Chick-chiggidy- check yo’self before you wreck yo’self.”  It was always worth a go when checking the mics. And while I can’t remember even a little bit of the rest of the song, that line has staying power.  It would heed a good warning to my spirit in times of need.  It was like the parental advice before going out, “Remember who you are.”  Same thing.  Check yourself before you wreck yourself.  You can get yourself in a bind pretty quickly if you’re not intentional about what you expect your life to be about.  There is plenty of scripture that can be of help in times of need but there’s nothing quite like the Proverbs to put you in check when you need it the most.

Some have described the Proverbs as the voice of that wise elderly person in your life who has been through it all and doesn’t have time to sugarcoat advice any more. The Proverbs cut to the chase.  Get right after what’s real and necessary and what can alter your behavior in a positive way.  The two short verses from Proverbs 11:24-25 get right to the point.  “Some give freely yet grow all the richer; others withhold what is due and only suffer want… a generous person will be enriched, those who help others will be helped.”  Boom.  Short and sweet. To the point.  Would you say that is true of your life?  In giving freely, do you grow more fulfilled?  In withholding, do you end up only wanting more? The writer says bluntly, you want to measure an effective life?  What do you give away?  How do you help others?  Are you more concerned with getting yours, being selfish, or living in gratitude and doing good for the world?  Seems pretty straightforward and I think most of us would say, at least in church, that we agree with the notion, “It is better to give than receive.”  But is that truly how we see success?  Or do we live as if control and power and money and more of it is what determines success?

There was a man who gave millions to establish a university in Texas.  Several years later, he lost everything.  Someone asked if he had regretted all he had given to the university.  “Regret it?” he said, “That school is the only lasting thing I’ve done with my money.  Had I not given that money, I would have lost it too.”  What have you given of yourself to… what place, what cause, what hope… that is about a lasting impact?  Gratitude is about living with open hands to the world.  When we clench our fists or hold tight to our possessions or our time or our gifts of ability to some cause to improve the world, we close the door on gratitude. We are, in turn, not changed for the better.  We’re not happier.  And we just get lost in the fear of scarcity. As if there’s not enough stuff to go around.  Not enough money.  Not enough, not enough, not enough.  How often is that our driving concern?

A friend shared with me this week his experience of the past weekend.  He wandered into an Estate Sale and was a bit taken aback by the whole experience.  People were rushing in to claim the material goods of another now deceased… a houseful of things that stood as a reminder of one’s property, possessions, personality and likes.  My friend stood back as others were aggressive in the hunt for steals and deals and a couple of those working the sale said in observance of the look on his face. “Look at him, he’s soaking it all in, creating a plan for what he wants to get.”  My friend, still a bit stunned by the whole thing, asks the two working the sale, “Did you know the person who lived here?”  “Uh, no,” they said.  “Do you know their name?”  “Um. No, guess I don’t… but they sure had some great stuff.”  We work hard to accumulate a life without taking much time to truly live a life.  Writer of proverbs is saying, “You want your world to expand?  Not with riches but with what truly is a rich life?  Then live generously.  Lead and make room for others to lead. Give and model for others what generosity looks like.  Loosen the grip on your possessions and see what that affords your spirit to possess anew.”  Sometimes, it is our comfort that makes us lose sight of the generous life.  We become consumed by mundane things that are not kingdom game changers.

In the movie Old School (not a pulpit-endorsement mind you) Will Ferrell plays a married, thirty-something-year-old suburban man who finds himself at a college party. When he’s offered a drink, he declines, saying, “I have a big day tomorrow.”  When he’s asked, “Doing what?” he responds, “Well, um… actually a pretty nice little Saturday.  We’re gonna go to Home Depot, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath & Beyond… I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll have enough time…”.  As you can imagine, not overly relatable to a college aged crowd but why do people who have seen this movie remember this line?  Will knows how to deliver a line, yes, but more than that, there’s something more going on than his trip to Home Depot on a Saturday.  The man in this movie is bored.

He has the life that is often portrayed as the ideal – a spouse, a house, a job, security, comfort, privilege, freedom – and yet it’s left him bored, numb, and in a low-grade state of despair.  His ‘success’ has actually served to distract him from just how deeply unsatisfied he is with his life.  Have you ever experienced this sort of life… or maybe know someone who has?  It can create a paralyzing indifference that comes from being too comfortable. What Rob Bell calls, “Death by wallpaper and flooring.”[2]  Happiness does not exist solely in wallpaper and flooring… even if you’re an interior designer.  Our behaviors have to move us beyond that comfort… over the edge of easy, comfortable, existence to a life that places gratitude, generosity, and difference-making as our top behaviors.

2018 has been a year of this sort of behavior at Harvard Avenue Christian Church. We’re growing as a church by most every measure.  At a gathering of those newer to the congregation last Sunday, there was an eagerness for Bible Study and understanding of our movement of faith known as the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). A Bible 101 course and a series about who we are collectively as Disciples and who we are as disciples at Harvard Avenue will be new opportunities in 2019.  We had 448 people join us to worship God last Sunday morning.  I remember a decade ago being here on a Sunday morning with as few as 140 faithful.  Those are just numbers but they represent a hunger and passion for faith… to do something counter-cultural… to invest in the spirit.

During the state-wide teacher walk out this Spring, you rallied to be a host site for school children during those important two weeks. You made meals for teachers marching from Tulsa to the capitol and delivered them wherever the walk ended that particular night. You treated and cared for the educators of our own congregation that season… it was an inspiring time. In more recent weeks, 100 volunteers stepped forward to host homeless neighbors at the church for a week and we’ll do so again just before Christmas.  Ashley Pease created and hosted a Spotlight Theater Camp for kids this past summer that will surely grow in its second attempt next summer.  We experienced the gifts of that camp on Sunday Funday – one of the most joyous worship experiences I’ve ever been a part of – where 22 people stepped forward at the end of worship to profess faith in Jesus and join our congregation in the mission and vision we share. There were mission trips and fellowship gatherings and the world’s leading pickleball player present to lead a clinic at our church. As a church, we gave almost $30,000 in special offerings to Week of Compassion alone – a denominational ministry that is the first to respond to natural disaster needs in the world.  This week, leaders of Week of Compassion are coming to our church from around the country for their bi-annual meeting… to be on the turf of a congregation who has given more in special offerings to serve this ministry than any congregation in the United States and Canada for several years running. You have given freely, and we are growing in faith, in number, and in spirit because of it.

Kevin, Courtney and I were on a prayer and planning retreat a week ago with pages of prayer requests from you that we took humbly and intentionally before God in prayer. As you poured out your hearts, we poured out those requests before God and continued to find the word “wholeness” surface as a quest of our congregation. How can we be a movement for wholeness in our very fragmented world?  That seems to be the hunger of our community so we’re working to shape 2019 around that need and desire and I believe it will be a deeply meaningful journey… if you’re up for it.  If you’ll invest time and energy, spirit and resources to help us find God’s loving challenge and encouragement in faith.  If we all do our part… give our best… invest intentionally in the communal effort, I believe the transformation will not only be visible to us all, but it will be an inspiration to our city.

Carrie and I will be prayerfully completed our pledge card this week and bringing it to worship next week on Thanksgiving Sunday.  Will you join us in that?  Your pledge to the church helps determine our reach in 2019 – what programs we can offer, what new needs we can meet, what worship experiences, studies, retreats we can create, who we can serve more fully, what witness we can make in Tulsa and beyond.  You may think that your contribution of time, talent and resources isn’t as valuable as another’s, but I’ll politely disagree.  You give. You trust. You grow.

Chris Martin, lead singer of the band Coldplay once said: “I can’t dance like Usher. I can’t sing like Beyoncé. I can’t write songs like Elton John.  But we can do the best with what we’ve got. And so that’s what we do. We just go for it.”  What are you ready to go for?  How can you be grateful in a new way?  How can your generosity expand to a new level?  Proverbs says a generous person will be enriched.  Your 40% control over your behaviors may make all the difference.  Can you imagine your satisfaction – physically, emotionally, spiritually, improving by 40% next year?  We can, at minimum, take a step in that direction.  And practicing gratitude is the best place to start.

You know the story of the rich, young ruler.  A young man who came to Jesus asking, “How can I grow all the richer?”  He asked it by saying, “What do I have to do to inherit eternal life?”  Jesus said, “You saw the felt boards in Sunday School – follow the commandments, etc,”.  The man smiled, “Of course. Got it.  I’m good.”  But Jesus knew he was living with tight fists on his possessions.  So, Jesus challenges further, “Sell what you’ve got and give it to the poor.”  And the line that always pierces my heart flows next.  “The man turned from Jesus and walked away, sad, because he had so much great stuff.” (Perfect for a someday Estate Sale).  I don’t want to spend my life walking away sad. Do you?  It’s all about perspective.  And no one can do perspective for us.  We’ve got to do that spiritual work.  That’s the hard work of the 40% in the happiness quotient. But if I know you, Harvard Avenue Christian Church, I know you’re up for the work.  And I’m so grateful to be on the journey with you.  You are a people who live gratitude well.  I’m happy and I know it.  You?  Maybe worth one more shot…

If you’re grateful and you know it clap your hands. If you’re grateful and you know it clap your hands.  If you’re grateful and you know it then your life will surely show it. If you’re grateful and you know it, clap your hands.

[1] https://www.njlifehacks.com/thanks-robert-emmons-book-summary/  Info shared in this message concerning Emmons work are found at this link.
[2] This quote and the Old School reference found in Bell’s “Drops Like Stars.” Harper One. 2009. Pg 41-42.

text : John 17:10-19

theme verse : “As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world.” (John 17:18)

Have you ever been confused in a conversation to the point you felt the person talking to you was speaking a foreign language? In John’s version of 'The Lord’s Prayer,' we may catch some of this sense from Jesus. All this talk of “the world” and who we are in relation to it can be a bit of a brain buster. If we live in the world but are not to be of the world and yet are sent into the world, how do we make sense of our lives as Jesus followers? Perhaps it is figuring out what it truly means to be sent.

anthem : 'Here I Am Lord' (arr. C.Courtney) :: Ashley Pease, vocal; Elizabeth Palmieri, flute; Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

reader : Bob Flint
preaching : Rev Mark Briley

special music : 'For The Sake of the World' (Bethel) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

offertory : 'Sending the Light and Telling the Nations' (C.Gabriel/H.E.Nichol, arr. S. Daugherty) :: Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

It was Ben Franklin who is attributed with the quote, “Honesty is the best policy.” The state of Nebraska is taking Franklin’s line to heart.  Research revealed that consumers don’t consider Nebraska a leisure travel destination.  We can likely attest to that.  How often do you hear someone say, “We’re headed on vacation to Nebraska!”?  Or, “Got to get to Nebraska – it’s on my bucket list!”  So, you’re sitting on the Nebraska Tourism Commission… what do you do?  You come up with a very honest campaign which was released to the world this week.  Its catch phrase?   “Nebraska:  honestly, it’s not for everyone.”  Some marketers are calling this genius.  Sort of a reverse psychology notion.  The thought that it might not be for you makes you want to know why. Now I have to go!  A terrific and tested sales tactic – transparency.  When someone asks, “Why should I hire you?” it may be best to answer, “I don’t know if you should.  I’m not a good fit for everybody.”  All the sudden the person leans in to understand further. The honesty campaign is attempting to change the perception that people will say anything to get the sale… to get you to come to Nebraska.  But honestly, it’s not for everyone.[1]

Being “sent” may have some of the same connotation. When you think of being sent, does the thought come with positive feelings?  Some may think of being sent to the principal’s office. Probably not the most positive feeling.  You might think of a solider being sent to the front line which comes with some dangerous implications. Maybe being sent has the nobility of a missionary heading to a remote part of the world to share the love of Christ but… I have heard many a follower pray, “God I’ll go anywhere you need me to go but please don’t send me to……” [Nebraska].  Sent. Hmmm.

We wrap up our in, not of, but for series today wondering about what it means to be sent.  In this prayer of Jesus – a very intimate and vulnerable moment – Jesus offers all of this back and forth word about being in the world but not of the world – praying protection from evil and all that might hold a person apart from a life of faith.  It really is a bit of a tongue twister to read.  “I don’t belong to the world,” he says, and “they don’t belong to the world,” but “you sent me to the world,” and “Now, send them into the world as I was also sent.”  We’ve been wrestling with this reality all series long.  This idea that our ultimate allegiance isn’t to city or country or planet but to the kingdom of God but… here we are, alive in this world, a world that we are also told God sooooo loves so we should “get out there and be a part of it.”  BUT… don’t let it influence you in a bad way. BUT… you’re not being faithful if you’re not out in it trying to spread the love of Christ.  After all, Jesus didn’t come for the well but to heal the sick.  BUT… am I well or am I sick?  My, my.  It’s just all so confusing. When life is confusing, we can become anxious and retract and decide, “I think I’ll just let someone else be sent, thank you very much.”

I felt this way last week when we took the family and a neighbor friend to The Gathering Place.  Have you been there?  It really is amazing. It has claimed sort of the anti-Nebraska slogan: “A Park for Everyone.”   The claim expands to say this: “The Gathering Place is a world class riverfront park designed to welcome all Tulsans to a vibrant and inclusive space that engages, educates and excites!”[2]  Well who doesn’t want to be sent there?  So we went. Me, wife, dog, four kids (each with a scooter to use in one of several skate parks).  What could possibly go wrong?  After the kids had a blast with their scooters, we ventured over to some of the playground areas and stumbled upon these amazing, long, slick, fast slides… a kids dream.  And so all four kids race to get in line… we weren’t the only Tulsans there believe it or not… there were lines.  Carrie decides to slide so I’m left holding the dog and four scooters.  No big deal and probably the name of my first book.  (Either “Left holding the dog and four scooters,” or “Driving the kids around the Target parking lot while Mom runs inside.”  Stay tuned.)  But here we were.  Beautiful night.  Laughter of children.  Me, the dog, the scooters.  It was great.

After going down the big slide, Carrie comes back to the holding area with me and says, “You should really do the slide!” “Nah, I’m good, thanks. Looks fun though.”  “Really, you’ll love it,” she says.  “Okay.”  So I leave her with the dog and four scooters and run up to the top where the children cheer – “Dad’s gonna go down the slide! Yay!!”  And there I am feeling all heroic until… I got sent.  It’s really the only way to describe what transpired. I launched myself down that slide and, given my size and the laws of gravity, I quickly noticed my speed seemed to surpass the others I watched enjoy this park with a slide for everyone.  I also recognize that the bottom of the slide is coming and there are people everywhere and I’m not sure how I’ll stop myself.  And then, Boom!  I was sent like a rocket into the crowd.  I tried to plant my feet which only thrust me head first into this world of park goers with which I immediately did not want to be in, of, or for any more.  It was really a blur from that point forward.  What I learned is this:  I hit my head on a stroller wheel, snapping it completely off of the stroller (and no, no child was in the stroller thank God).  I also grabbed a young lad on my way down, rolling to my back in hopes of not crushing the child but having him land on top of me.  Scared the poor kid as you can imagine.  (This is one of your pastors, my friends).

And so, I’m trying to comfort the boy and his pregnant mother and father who have come over to survey the situation.  The stroller dad is demanding cash for the stroller, two teenage girls give me that scary look saying, “Sir, sir – your head is bleeding.”  And I’m sitting there a bit dazed by the whole thing.  By this time, the boy’s mom has gone into hero mode and is wiping the blood off my face.  The boy is fine (at least physically).  I pay the gentlemen for the stroller damages and manage to find my way back to the dog and four scooters. Once assured that I am fine, my wife runs to the restroom and the kids are off to another playground and I am, once again, holding the dog, four scooters, and bleeding from the head.  So, of course, one of the kind Gathering Place employees approaches me and says, “Sir, has anyone talked to you about our dog policy yet?”  With a bloody face and a hobbled turn as I had twisted my knee upon planting at the bottom of the slide, straddling four scooters and holding my dog, I said to the man, “No sir, no one has shared with me the dog policy.”  At that moment I did not want to be in the world, of the world, or for the world at all.  If I was going to be sent anywhere, I just wanted to be sent home.  It felt more like Nebraska at this point and I had discovered that honestly, it wasn’t for me.

This was a bit of a wild story but essentially just about a little trip I had at the bottom of a slide. When we reflect on the week that was, we know there are much more serious matters tripping us up as a collective of humans. There are bombs being sent. There are those deeming other’s humanity erasable. There are eleven murdered in a house of worship during a baby blessing.  As part of that blessing, the baby is brought before the gathered faithful on a pillow.  Handled with great care but those who love that child desperately.  And upon arrival at the front, the first words spoken are, “Baruch Ha-Ba,” which means “blessed is the one who has arrived.”[3] Isn’t that beautiful?  And over such beauty comes suffocating tragedy.  Retracting into our own bunkers goes far beyond my desire for home after my being sent off the slide. How often have you just wanted to quit… that job, that relationship, that discipline, that diet, that treatment, that club, that whatever because it was just too much.  But life isn’t ultimately lived in a hole of our own making.  The challenge has been, and always will be, to be sent into the world with the spirit and tools we each have to make the world more as it is in heaven. We’ve prayed that very thing already today.  Don’t we mean it?

And so we swallow our pride, we bandage our wounds, and we are sent back out to see if there isn’t something more Christ-like we can bring into the world today. And Jesus goes with us. Jesus prays in this prayer a longing for protection over us as we go.  And to be honest, I think we may often misuse this protection as “traveling mercies” or a “shield of armor” in some physical sense.  Certainly, we pray those prayers earnestly but as I see what plays out for Jesus after he prays this prayer, his arrest and ultimately crucifixion, it’s hard for me to imagine Jesus praying to God, “Protect them from ever being harmed.”  “Pick up your cross and follow me,” doesn’t sound like, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”  Not a single person was mistaken when it came to the cross carrying business Jesus suggested to his followers.  They’d all seen it.  The cross you carry is the one you’ll die upon.  I imagine Jesus’ prayer of protection is for our souls. That we not grow weary in doing what is right and cash it all in.  That we might not quit seeing one another as holy, beloved, and made in the image of God.  That we might not cast off the stranger or the one we don’t understand because of fear or apathy.

I think when Jesus prays, “As you have sent me into the world, send them into the world,” he is praying for us keep going, living with eyes of faith and hands that heal.  There is a Nicaraguan Mass called, Cristo Trabajador, Christ the worker, where Jesus is the “God who sweats on the street, the God with the sunburnt face, who looks and feels as we do.”  Here is, in part, how the Mass is shared:  I have seen you in a village shop and an Inn on the road; I have seen you at a lottery stall [Mega Millions!] and you were not ashamed; I have seen you at the filling station testing the tires of a truck; and even on the street patrol, in overalls and leather gloves.  I believe in you, comrade, Christ man, Christ worker, Victor over death. With your great sacrifice you made new people for liberation. You are risen in every arm outstretched to defend the people against the exploitation of rulers; You are alive and present in the hut, in the factory, in the school. I believe in your ceaseless struggle, I believe in your resurrection.[4] Could that be what it means to be sent?  To see Christ in all and to be seen ourselves?

Jesus did not pray that his disciples should be taken out of this world.  He never prayed that they might find escape.  He insisted that faith is one lived out among the world.  And if we are going to do this… if we are going to be for the world as Jesus is for the world… we are going to need each other.  This is why Jesus prays, “May they be one as you and I are one.”  Jesus prayed unity for his disciples.  For us.  “Where there are divisions,” says the biblical commentator William Barclay, “where there is exclusiveness, where there is competition between the Churches, the cause of Christianity is harmed and the prayer of Jesus is frustrated.”[5]   Have you ever imagined being the source of frustration for Jesus’ prayer?  I’d never thought of my life in that regard, but it didn’t hurt to put a little fire in my soul to say, “Pull it together, Briley.  Don’t be a divider.  Don’t be caught up in the fray without being heart checked, gut checked, Christ-checked ahead of time with a commitment to be sent into the mix with a Spirit of love.”  To be sent without love is to be sent empty spirited… without resurrection. You don’t bring the love, you’re not going to bring new life to anything.  You’re not going to heal anything. And what good is our witness if we only bring signs of death and no proof of life?

A few years back, a news story was released about an Army veteran named John Crabtree.  He had been receiving permanent disability benefits from the government after being wounded in the Vietnam War. One day, out of the blue, he received an official notification from the government of his own death. It goes without saying that John was a little shocked.  He wrote the government a letter stating that he was indeed very much alive and would like to continue receiving his benefits.  To no avail.  Then, he tried to call the government.  Have you ever tried to call the government?  It’s like standing in line at the BMV or trying to order pizza on Super bowl Sunday… only worse.  The phone calls did no good.  Finally, as a last resort, the veteran contacted a local television station which ran a human-interest story about his situation.

During the interview, the reporter asked him, “How do you feel about this whole ordeal?” John chuckled saying, “Well, I feel a little frustrated by it. After all, have you ever tried to prove that you’re alive?”  I wonder if that may be a reasonable question for us to consider for ourselves this morning.  How do we prove that we are alive?[6] Really, genuinely, deep-down alive?  When was the last time you had an alive moment?  Not the last time you took a breath or had your heart beat inside your chest but the last time you felt your life at a soul level… so connected to your spirit, to another being, to the transformative task in front of you that you could claim: “For this I was created.” “For this very moment, I was sent to be alive.”

That’s sort of a deep question, I know.  And, in my experience, it is an ongoing discovery.  It’s even a daily prayer, “Lord, how will you send me today?”  Some of you may be thinking, “Eh. Sent? Not happening.”  Some may be thinking, “Yes. Sent. I’m in. Where do I go next?” And some of us are teetering somewhere in between those extremes.  I’m not sure what you’re truly thinking in this moment… what you feel hopeful about… and where skepticism is winning out.  What I do know, however, is that even before some of us put on our seatbelts in the parking lot after worship, we’ll start scrolling the social media feeds again.  We’ll turn on Fox News or MSNBC or whatever your flavor of news may be and jump right back into the fray of the Gospel according to billion-dollar production companies.  And we give those voices so much power… and the small voice within you… of this very moment … that’s trying to find a way to the surface of your soul can quickly rescind into the depths until next Sunday.

But there’s a chance – always a chance – that something will be different for you today.  Nebraska may not be for you. Honestly, it’s not for everyone.  BUT… being sent into the next critical decision, moment, situation, relationship… is for you and will be happening next. If you’re ready for that step – to be sent as Christ was sent – not in fear but in love then, “Go! My friend.” We need you out there.  Love needs you out there.  Christ has, in fact, sent you for just a moment such as this…
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[1] https://www.forbes.com/sites/henrydevries/2018/10/22/honestly-its-not-for-everyone-nebraska-campaign-is-marketing-genius/#6c1cc4ef418c
[2] https://www.gatheringplace.org/
[3] https://www.kveller.com/article/the-bris-ceremony/
[4] From “Thinking About God,” by Dorothee Solle.  Kreuz Verlag Stuttgart. 1990.  Pg.114-115.
[5] From Barclay’s Commentary on the Book of John.  Westminster Press. 1975.
[6] R. Scott Colglazier, Finding a Faith That Makes Sense.  Chalice Press. 1996.