Welcome! As always, mark your attendance and share your prayer concerns with our *Connection Card*. 

We bring our tithes and offerings through online giving  You can also mail offerings to the church address, or contact Business & Finance Director Nedean Geurin to set up autopay and other giving options.

This week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the parable of the great pearl, will post for families on Monday.

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

Welcome! THANK YOU for taking the time to mark your attendance and share prayer concerns with our *Connection Card. 

We bring our tithes & offerings through *online giving  You can also mail offerings to the church address, or contact Business & Finance Director Nedean Geurin to set up autopay and other giving options.

Enjoy this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of Phillip’s teaching in Samaria.

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

Welcome! As always, let us know you’re here by using the *Connection Card*. Share any concerns and celebrations so that we can be in prayer with you and for you. (These go directly to our Connections Pastor, and you can note ‘pastors only’ if you choose.)

We bring our tithes and offerings through online giving  You can also mail offerings to the church address, or contact Business & Finance Director Nedean Geurin to set up autopay and other giving options.

Enjoy this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of Pentecost.

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

Welcome! As always, let us know you’re here by using the *Connection Card*. Share any concerns and celebrations so that we can be in prayer with you and for you. (These go directly to our Connections Pastor, and you can note ‘pastors only’ if you choose.)

Offerings are possible through online giving  or can be mailed to the church address. (You may also contact Business & Finance Director Nedean Geurin to set up autopay and other giving options.)

Enjoy this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of Jesus asking Peter to follow him (again!).

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

> Welcome  ::  Rev. David Emery
> Call to Worship  ::  Diana & Scott Booren, Carolyn & Connor
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer  ::  Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘New Wine’  ::  Mark Bleikamp, Andi Gross, Nathan Wilson
> Scripture (Jeremiah 29: 4 – 14)  ::  Colt Stubblefield
> Sermon   ::  Rev. David Emery
> ‘How Great Thou Art’  ::  Kelly Ford & Vicki Smith
> Communion  ::  Rev. Kevin Howe; Hank & Cathy Leonard
> communion music  ::  Isaac Herbert; photos by Summer Lyons & Courtney Richards
> Benediction  ::  Booren family

Welcome! As always, using the *Connection Card* lets us know you were in worship. Share any concerns and celebrations so that we can be in prayer with you and for you. (These are emailed directly to our Connections Pastor, and you can note ‘pastors only’ if you choose.)

Offerings are encouraged through online giving  or can be mailed to the church address. (You may also contact Business Manager Nedean Geurin to set up autopay and other giving options.)

You can also find this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of Jesus commissioning the disciples.

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Since Jesus and the disciples are gathering for a morning meal on the beach, let’s do the same (sort of). Whether it’s simple cereal or a weekend spread; whether you’re in pajamas or clothes, costumes or church wear; send us your breakfast pics! Now you don’t have to choose: You can come to church AND come and have breakfast!

Post to Facebook and Instagram, and hashtag it: #ComeAndHaveBreakfast – #LoveStaysHome – #BEingHACC so we can find each other! (As always, you can just send your pictures to Courtney, too.)

> Call to Worship
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer ::  Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘Precious Lord, Take My Hand’ (Dorsey/arr.Shaw)  ::  Avenue; director Barry Epperley; filmed pre-COVID @ Christ the King, Tulsa
> Sermon  (text John 21: 1 – 17)  ::  Rev. David Emery
> ‘There Was Jesus’ (Williams/Beathard/Smith)  ::  Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert
> Communion  ::  Rev. Kevin Howe; Deborah Gist
> ‘Here I Am to Worship/There’s Something About That Name’ (arr.Fraley)  ::  Kelly Ford & Rick Fraley
> Benediction

Please use this *Connection Card* to mark your attendance, and especially to share concerns and celebrations so that your pastors, elders, and prayer teams can be in prayer with you and for you. (These are emailed directly to our Connections Pastor, and you can note ‘pastors only’ if you choose.)

Offerings can be made through online giving  or sent to the church address. (You may also contact our business manager to set up autopay and other giving options.)

You can also find this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of the road to Emmaus.

This week, as we remember Christ entering into the room where the disciples gathered, and breathing peace upon them, show us a photo of your home’s doorway/entry. (You can include yourself and family or not! Be sure to obscure/crop the house number.) Post to Facebook and Instagram, and hashtag it : #ChristEntersIn – #LoveStaysHome – #BEingHACC so we can find each other! (You can just send your pictures to Courtney, too.)

> Call to Worship  ::  Heath & Staci Pennington; Coco, Izzi, Breaker
> Pastoral Prayer  ::  Rev. Kevin Howe
> ‘In Christ Alone’ (Getty)  ::  Kelly Ford & Mark DeLuca
> Sermon  (text John 20: 19 – 22)  ::  Rev. David Emery
> ‘Holy Spirit’ (Katie & Bryan Torwalt)  ::  Rising Worship band (Isaac Herbert, Andi Gross, George Halls, Nathan Wilson)
> Communion  ::  Rev. Courtney Richards; David & Jennifer Brock; Eli, Toria
> ‘Breathe on Me, Breath of God’ (Hatch)  ::  Mark DeLuca  ::  photos, Courtney Richards, honoring 50th anniversary of Earth Day (April 22)
> Benediction  ::  Tom & Anita Wertz

Good Friday Reflection

Rev. Courtney Richards

Seven Last Words of Christ from the Cross

Please use our Connection Card to let us know you joined in worship today, and to share prayer concerns with our pastors, staff, and prayer team.

> texts :
1) Luke 23: 32 – 38 (Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.)
2) Luke 23: 39 – 43 (Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.)
3) John 19: 25 – 27 (Woman, behold your son. Behold, your mother.)
4) Mark 15: 33 – 39 (My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?)
5 & 6) John 19: 28 – 30 (I am thirsty. / It is finished.)
7) Luke 23: 44 – 49 (Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.)

> music : ‘At the Foot of the Cross/Ashes for Beauty’ (Kathryn Scott) :: Sarah Grace and Isaac Herbert

Welcome to worship with Harvard Avenue!

Please use this *Connection Card* to let us know you were here, sharing any prayer concerns and celebrations so that your pastors, elders, and prayer teams can be in prayer with you and for you. (These are emailed directly to our Connections Pastor, and you can note ‘pastors only’ if you choose.)

Your tithes & offerings can be made through online giving  or sent to the church address. (Mail is collected daily.)

You can also find this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, celebrating the events of Palm Sunday.

+ Welcome & Call to Worship :: Rev. David Emery

+ Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Courtney Richards

+ ‘After All (Holy)’ (David Crowder Band) / ‘All the Poor and Powerless’ (All Sons & Daughters) :: Isaac Herbert

+ Scripture :: Matthew 21: 1 – 11 :: Rev. Kevin Howe

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, ² saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. ³ If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” ⁴ This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,

⁵ “Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
    humble, and mounted on a donkey,
        and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

⁶ The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; ⁷ they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. ⁸ A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. ⁹ The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,

“Hosanna to the Son of David!
    Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

¹⁰ When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” ¹¹ The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

+ Sermon :: ‘The Gift of Desperation’ :: Rev. Emery

+ ‘Where There is Faith’ (Billy Simon) :: Kelly Ford, Andy Chrisman, Donald Ford

+ Communion Meditation & Prayer :: Rev. Richards

+ Benediction :: Rev. Howe

Welcome to worship with Harvard Avenue! Please use this ‘virtual Connection Card’ email : let us know you were here, and any prayer concerns, celebrations, news and information so that your pastors, elders, and prayer teams can be in prayer with you and for you in the days and weeks ahead. (These are emailed directly to our Connections Pastor, and you can note ‘pastors only’ if you choose.)

(Our online giving button should be ready on Monday. Programmers are doing lots of overhauls too!)

You can also follow this link to find a 15-minute video of this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, focused on the parable of the treasure. 

Come, family of faith, wherever you are,
let us worship God together!

+ Welcome & Call to Worship :: Rev. Kevin Howe

Friends of Harvard Avenue Christian Church, welcome to this week’s worship cast. We hope that this recording will be for you a sacred moment wherever and whenever you are listening.  

We would invite you to fill out the virtual connection card when you engage this recording by clicking the link which can be found beside play button for this worship cast. 

If you happen to be in a place where you could light a candle, we invite you to do so as a tangible reminder of Christ’s light, present to each of us as we worship. We would also invite you to grab a bible and read along with today’s scripture, as it is offered later in worship. Feel free to pause this recording now, if you would like to gather these things. 

Now, let us go before our God with eager hearts and minds to worship the One on whom abundant life is built. Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation.  

+ Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Darlene Martinez

borrowing the ‘Prayer for the Pandemic’, from Cameron Bellm

God of all creation, we come to you today from many locations, but with one heart, joined together to commune with you.

Our prayer for today is that

            we who are merely inconvenienced,
            that we might remember those whose lives are at stake.

            May we who have no risk factors
Remember those most vulnerable.

            May we who have the luxury of working from home
Remember those who must choose between preserving their health or making their rent.

            May we who have the flexibility to care for our children when their schools close
Remember those who have no options.

            May we who have to cancel our trips
Remember those that have no place to go.

            May we who are losing our margin money in the tumult of the economic market
Remember those who have no margin at all.

            May we who settle in for a quarantine at home
Remember those who have no home.

As fear grips our country, let us choose love.

            During this time when we cannot physically wrap our arms around each other,
Let us yet find ways to be the loving embrace of God to our neighbors.

Hear us now as we join in prayer the way that Jesus taught us to pray …

+ The Lord’s Prayer

+ Scripture  ::  Isaiah 58: 1 – 11  ::  Rev. Richards

Shout out, do not hold back!
   Lift up your voice like a trumpet!
Announce to my people their rebellion,
    to the house of Jacob their sins.
² Yet day after day they seek me
    and delight to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that practiced righteousness
    and did not forsake the ordinance of their God;
they ask of me righteous judgments,
    they delight to draw near to God.
³ “Why do we fast, but you do not see?
    Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”
Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day,
    and oppress all your workers.
⁴ Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight
    and to strike with a wicked fist.
Such fasting as you do today
    will not make your voice heard on high.
⁵ Is such the fast that I choose,
    a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush,
    and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast,
    a day acceptable to the Lord?

+ Reflection :: prepare: rebuilding :: Rev. Howe

After first hearing about the original Seven Wonders of the World, I recall the disappointment I had upon also learning that only one of these structures remains intact. Here are these amazing works of art and architecture that serve as a testament to the ingenuity, imagination, and sheer hard work of which human beings are capable. But they also serve as reminders of the impermanence of even the most impressive of our efforts.  

For all the great things we humans have built, each one has met the same end. I think about the story in the Gospel of Matthew, when one of Jesus’ disciples calls his attention to the splendor of the temple in Jerusalem. The temple, like other magnificent structures, was a site to behold. It would have likely impressed just about anyone who laid eyes on it. Well, except you-know-who. Jesus tells his disciples, “Truly I tell you, not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down.” (Matt 24:1-2)  

As a reader strolling through the Gospels, you may have noticed that Jesus is not impressed with things that are big and shiny. This is perhaps part of the reason Jesus becomes weary of the crowds that gather around him in his ministry and their increasing affirmation of him. Jesus was no less impressed with his star-struck fans or the pursuit of a book deals, for that matter. He recognizes the same things in the eyes of those who marvel over his works as those who marvel over the temple and other edifices of humanity. Jesus is keen to steer clear of the seduction of greatness.  

Throughout history, rulers and empires have often poured extravagant resources into the construction of buildings and monuments to highlight their greatness. But at one time or another, we have ALL been lured by the temptation to build structures of greatness in our own lives—outward signs that result from inward projects about self-importance.   

Unfortunately, there are any number of these projects of greatness that one can pursue in life. They can involve proving our financial success, or building a professional career that sends us to the hall-of-fame, or achieving an optimal level of health and fitness. Even our religious beliefs and practices, if left unchecked, can be used in effort to build our lives up as things of self-importance and greatness. We hear of this in today’s scripture reading from Isaiah 58, as those seeking the Lord’s favor are met with God’s critique of superficial rituals and practices of fasting, that they were performed as signs of outward piety, rather than the acts of self-denial which they were intended to be. The Lord then reminds the people that a fast pleasing in God’s sight is one where practitioners seek to diminish themselves for the sake of acting with compassion and justice for others.    

Perhaps the most unsettling about Isaiah 58 is that its indictment of lives and communities built upon projects of self-importance and greatness could easily have been written for our day and age. Many of us have fallen victim to the seduction of greatness and the hardships that come with its pursuit. We are lured in by promises of constructing our lives on such things that will either make us complete or offer us security or bring us fame and fortune. But while these projects seem enticing, building our lives upon them often keeps us penned down with anxiety and working toward things which never quite pan out to be what was pledged. There’s always just one more favor to do, one more promotion to get, one more enemy to defeat, before you can rest secure.   

And adding insult to injury, we eventually find ourselves in a real-world version of the childhood story about the Three Little Pigs, when life’s Big Bad Wolves come huffing and puffing at the proverbial structures we have built in our lives. Perhaps it’s a crisis, a trauma, a disease, an illness that blows with such force that our lives are razed to their very foundations.  

There’s perhaps nothing more unsettling than having to rebuild or remodel the project that is our lives. It’s uncomfortable work, to relocate the foundational assumptions of our thinking and doing. But the good news of our faith is that each time we undergo the process of rebuilding and remodeling our lives, we have this precious opportunity to leave behind those things which were merely projects for greatness, and pursue the construction of something more enduring.   

We hear that the Lord promises to the people of Israel that, if they adhere to a fast comprised of humility and the care and love of neighbor through acts of compassion and justice, their ancient ruins will be rebuilt and they will raise up the foundations of many generations.  

And herein lies the paradox of God’s ways: when we give up our plans for greatness and self-importance, God uses us to build something that cannot be lost, or destroyed or eroded by the years. It is by letting go our own wants and desires, that God takes people like you and me and builds something that is far greater than any of the Seven Wonders, including the Pyramid of Giza, which is the only one that stands right now…but will also fall victim to the sands of time.  

Consider the example of Jesus as we follow his ministry in the gospels. We come to see how he constructs something beautiful for God by denouncing greatness and taking on a servant’s heart. He never constructed a temple, or even built a chapel for prayer. Instead, through humbling himself he built the Kingdom of the Holy, whose architecture remains faithful people who are ready to live their lives in accordance to God’s will. Its pillars are service, prayer, worship, peacemaking. The carved stones of this timeless temple are faith, hope, and love.   

In the 2nd chapter of 1 Peter, the apostle calls us forth to build our lives not on greatness but on the cornerstone of Christ and his way of humility:

“Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For it stands in scripture: ‘See, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious; and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame’.”  (1 Pet 2:4-6) 

As people of faith, God asks us to rebuild our lives on a fast that is pleasing to the Lord. To all other projects, Jesus offers this sobering advice: Do not be led astray. One day, not one stone of these things will be sitting on another. Do not put your faith in that which is destined to crumble. Do not build the foundations of your life and communities on such things. Instead, find your hope in something that cannot be broken with a hammer, or destroyed in a war, or eroded by time. Put your hope in the kingdom.

As we move closer to Holy Week, my prayer is that we would seek to build more of our lives on the sure foundation that is the Lord: our rock, a solid place to lay the foundations of our living, especially in these unsettling times. And may we always strive to follow Christ’s path of humility and service, so that the glory of the Kingdom of God is that which we seek to build.

The glory of God’s Kingdom—where God’s love reigns supreme—is not the glory of the Taj Mahal, or London Bridge (which isn’t falling down yet, but it will). You might not be able to buy souvenirs of it like you would at the Eiffel Tower, or to purchase tickets for a guided tour like you could at the Louvre. But you can place a human life in the Kingdom of God. And all the edifices of humanity will crumble around it, and the home of your spirit will not even shake, and you will proclaim, “It is well with my soul.” 

+ ‘It Is Well With My Soul’ :: Kelly Ford & Mark DeLuca

+ Reflection :: spiritual foundations in covid times :: Rev. Richards

How do we set our souls right? It’s the question of the season of Lent. How do we remove distractions, how do we step away from the things that interrupt us? What is it in our life that consumes our focus, and blurs our vision for who God is and who God calls us to be? What do we need to set aside in life as it is, to focus on life as it could be?

That is the question of every Lenten season. The weeks leading up to the celebration of the resurrection are supposed to be such a time of fasting – of paring down what only serves us, and guiding our hearts more completely toward what serves God.

Well. I supposed there’s nothing like a global pandemic to make you really hone in on things like trust and faithfulness, compassion and responsibility, community and mercy and love.

Here we sit, worshipping all in our own places. Finding sanctuary in different rooms. Seeing love take shape in ways we never could have imagined just a few weeks ago.

So how can you nourish your spirit? How are you establishing spiritual foundations in these shifting-sand days of COVID-19?

Being here in worship with us is a great start. Even though it looks and feels and sounds different in this moment, I hope it also looks and feels and sounds familiar, and remains a holy grounding and connecting moment for each of you, and for us together. Use the connection card link right below where you clicked play on this morning’s worship service; let us know you were here, and how we can be in prayer with you and for you in these days and weeks ahead.

While you’re naming how we can pray for you, consider how you might pray for others. Turning our gaze outward keeps us in tune with God’s will for our lives – that the whole body of Christ might be strengthened and carry on. Make a list of people you know, and maybe people you don’t know, who might be in need of God’s grace. Pray for someone each day. It doesn’t have to be fancy or formal, it doesn’t have to be out loud or written down. It doesn’t even have to be anything anyone else knows about. Simply thinking of and praying for others grounds us in community, in what matters most.

Listen to what your body is telling you about what’s going on in the world. We are the body of Christ, and right now that body is aching (more than usual). There is tension in the air and in our muscles. There is anxiety in our words, and our hearts race a little when we hear and repeat those words. Listen to your body, and answer its needs.

Sit still.
Breathe slowly and deeply.
Get away from that work-at-home desk once in a while.
Stand up and stretch.
Walk around the block.
Wave to a neighbor.
Listen to music.
Phone a friend. Use a video call if you can.

For now, caring for each other means not being together. It’s weird and we don’t like it and some of us may even think it’s overreacting, but it’s the best and healthiest and most critical and most compassionate choice we can make. For now, love looks like an empty sanctuary. And yet here we are to worship. Slowing down. Saying God is still God.

Worship. Pray. Listen.

Even in the darkness, we’ll find the light.

+ ‘Find the Light’ :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

+ Benediction :: Rev. Howe

We’re glad that you could engage in this worship cast with us. And as we go forth from this moment, may we do so with the aim of anchoring our lives on the sure foundation of the Lord; the One who is our rock and our salvation. May we seek to establish ourselves as part of the timeless structure that is God’s kingdom — with Christ as our cornerstone, and the enduring materials of faith, hope, and love. Amen.  

Sunday March 8 2020

Pray this week’s Pastoral Prayer.
Use this week’s GPS (GrowPrayStudy) Guide to reflect on the sermon.

Isaiah 58: 1 – 9a
Shout out, do not hold back!
   Lift up your voice like a trumpet!
Announce to my people their rebellion,
    to the house of Jacob their sins.
² Yet day after day they seek me
    and delight to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that practiced righteousness
    and did not forsake the ordinance of their God;
they ask of me righteous judgments,
    they delight to draw near to God.
³ “Why do we fast, but you do not see?
    Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”
Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day,
    and oppress all your workers.
⁴ Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight
    and to strike with a wicked fist.
Such fasting as you do today
    will not make your voice heard on high.
⁵ Is such the fast that I choose,
    a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush,
    and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast,
    a day acceptable to the Lord?

Many of you may recall a time when churches across this nation wielded a powerful tool of faith formation, which they used o shape the hearts and minds of their youngest members….Behold! The felt board (or flannel board, or flannelgram).

It was a felt board located in my childhood Sunday School classroom, where the stories of Jesus’ healing acts first took to root in my imagination. There, on that fuzzy canvas, I witnessed before my very eyes no less than the miraculous healings of many sick and demon-possessed people, as one-by-one they were gingerly removed from the felt and replaced by depictions that replaced their tears and scorn with bright expressions. Flannelgraph Jesus had done it again, against all sort of aliments, and despite the fact that he had been mushed up on that board in so many times that he often fell off the easel mid-miracle.

From those formative years, the stories of Jesus’ healing ministry travelled with me as assurance that Jesus has the power to heal—a truth which has been confirmed by the subsequent decades of life lived. But perhaps because of these stories’ familiarity, for a great deal of my life there were many aspects of these healing stories that went unquestioned and unexamined. Until along came a seminary professor, who, with one simple question, pulled the flannel board out from underneath my understanding of God’s healing action in our world. The question he asked was this: What is going on that there so many sick people everywhere that Jesus goes? Why are there so many sick people in the gospels?

After posing the question, the professor, Warren Carter, who now by the way teaches New Testament here in town at Phillips Theological Seminary, went on to describe for us the backdrop of Roman Empire and the damage that it inflicted upon people. I would like to read you some of his commentary on this, and I quote:

“The Gospel reflects its imperial world…Roman imperial structures and practices were bad for people’s health. Some 70-90 percent of folks in Rome’s empire experienced varying degrees of poverty—from the very poorest to those who temporarily fell below subsistence levels. Understandings of hygiene were limited; social stresses were high; water quality poor, food insecurity was rife with low quality and limited quantities. Such factors resulted in widespread diseases associated with poor nutrition and a lack of immunity. These [things] were death-bringing in a world that required physical labor for survival.”¹

By equipping me with a knowledge of the real-world context in which the gospels played out, it enabled me to move Jesus’ healing ministry off the backdrop of a felt board and into the world we live in—enriching my understanding of God’s healing work in the this world of ours. In a world where imperial structures make people ill and then ostracize them for it, it is harder to simply see Jesus as a street doctor spinning miraculous cures. There is something more that is taking shape in all these healing stories.

As the treatment of diseases, cures are wonderful. But cures are always transitory. Even if you and I were to be cured of some of those things which ail us, eventually these beautiful but feeble bodies of ours will fail. But Jesus is not just in the business of cures. He is in the business of healing. And this healing goes far beyond the treatment of disease. It also addresses the social and spiritual dimensions of living.

In the context of the gospels, Jesus’ healing binds the wounds that have been inflicted by imperial structures that leave poor people limping along. His healing brings restoration to social systems that—to this day—are divided by sickness.² You may notice that following the healings of Jesus, the once-ill are free to be incorporated back into social relationships and worshiping communities, no longer confined to the outskirts of town. Coupled with Jesus teachings, all this healing points to the wholeness of things when it is God’s kingdom—God’s empire—reigns supreme.

But there is something else I would invite you to consider about the type of healing that takes place in the gospels. And that is this: the sick and demon-possessed are not just healed from something, they are healed for something. Jesus doesn’t just free people from things, He frees them for things…freed for following him on his path, freed for giving more of themselves, freed for transformed thinking and living—for pouring their own lives out in gratitude and service to God.

And it should be noted that people who are freed from things but have no spiritual calling for anything wider than their own ambition, tend to collapse inward underneath the weight of their own self-interest. And this is what we see taking shape at the beginning of this morning’s scripture passage from the Book of Isaiah.

Here, we’ve picked up the story of the people of Israel shortly after they have been freed from ravages of Babylonian captivity. But what was at first a celebration of this freedom had fallen into bickering among the people over who should rule, the fighting of factions grappling for power, and the abuse and overworking of laborers in the daunting task of rebuilding their city. And we read that while the people are being attentive to the ritual ordinances of the law by fasting, it is clear that they have completely neglected the ethical demands of it.

Instead of a fast that puts the priorities of God first, their fast is a self-interested one. And the prophet Isaiah calls them out, sharply. He says “Look here! All this bowing down like a bulrush, all this this spreading of sackcloth and ashes…this kind of fasting ain’t gonna’ get your prayers off the ground. Do you think the way to create an audience with the Lord is the mere outwardly display humility—to put on a pious long-face and parade around solemnly in black?”

“No” the Lord says. “This is the kind of fast day I’m after: to break the chains of injustice, to get rid of exploitation in the workplace, to free the oppressed; to share your food with the hungry, invite the homeless poor into your homes, put clothes on those who are out in the cold, to be available to your own kin. Try this kind of fast and you find that your light will shine, and healing will spring up quickly.”³

Something that always captures my eye about this scripture is just how dreadfully specific it is about what actions will bring forth healing. You would be hard-pressed to simply spiritualize it and say to the hungry, and poor, and naked “We’ll be praying for your souls.” And yet it is a temptation to which the church has been drawn time and again.

Author Brain McLaren speaks to what he perceives as a failure of today’s church. He says that “the Church has specialized in dealing with the ‘spiritual needs’ of its members to the exclusion of the physical and social needs of its neighbors.  It excels in addressing the destination of a person in the afterlife while failing somehow to address the significant social injustices of this life.”⁴ When it comes to a fast that is pleasing to the Lord, there is to be tangible attention to those in need.

Sadly, I know far too many folks that have lost their faith in the church to take on this kind of fasting. And it isn’t necessarily because they don’t believe in God—many of them still believe that God is calling us into the world. But they have more suspicion than ever that the church is mostly concerned with its own success and survival, rather than the kind of fasting that brings God’s healing liberation to those at the fringes of broken social systems.

And to this I say that prophet Isaiah’s call to repentance is one that we—the church—must heed. We must own the fact that the church has not always acknowledged and touched the broken places of our world, where modern day empires have left people sick and ailing. We must reckon with the hard truth that the church has not always recognized how comfortable it has been sitting on the dock of the bay, working only to pay its bills and keep the lights on. And, particularly for the modern-day church with all of its buildings, I believe that we must name that our calling is not to the safe harbor of our sanctuaries or facilities, but out in the highways and byways of a wounded world.

As the pastor that has been charged by this community of faith to focus on community engagement and outreach, the question I most frequently ask is, “What does it look like for this congregation—in this community—to participate in the healing that comes from a fast that is pleasing and acceptable to the Lord?” There’s such great need within our city for people that are ready to create spaces where healing and wholeness can happen.

I give thanks for the ways that many of you are already engaged in responding to the needs of those who have been cast aside because of broken human structures:
as you serve food at the Day Center for the Homeless;
provide support for the community of Chacraseca, Nicaragua;
as you offer up hospitality to families in situations of homeless by hosting them in the building through Family Promise;
as you supporting the feeding ministry of Iron Gate; and address food insecurity through the Community Food Bank of Eastern Oklahoma;
by tending to the ways that our environment has suffered the consequences of broken systems through our Green Team;
by building houses with Habitat for Humanity of Tulsa;
providing a community garden space for an international congregation here in town;
supporting our neighboring schools and students,
and the list goes on. I’m thankful for the ways you are taking seriously the call to serve our in our community.

And during this season of Lent, I would invite you to deepen in your fasting even more. I’m not going to sugar-coat it, the fast we are called to is not easy. It IS a fast and so it is not without its costs to us. It may not require us to forgo food. But it will require us to forgo our own wants and desires for love of neighbor. It may not require the discomfort of feeling hungry, but it will surely require the discomfort of getting one’s hands dirty in the sickness of the world. You be required give, and give, and give some more—to pour yourself out on God’s people. But thanks to the healing of Christ Jesus, we have been freed for this ministry. And I’ve been told that if we stick to God’s prescript fast of self-denial (as Christ showed us)…when we pour out our lives for the poor, the dispossessed, the sick, the oppressed, God’s healing work will be made known. And I recall, very distinctly, from the days of the old felt board, the story when Jesus surprised his students by saying “Just as you did it to the least of these, who are members of my family, you did it to me.”⁵ 

¹ Warren Carter, Working Preacher, “Commentary on Matthew 4:12-23” https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3138
² Davis, Scott M. “Healing and Exorcism.” The New Interpreter’s Handbook of Preaching, by Paul Scott Wilson, Abingdon Press., 2008, pp. 79–80.
³ Isaiah 58:5-9
⁴ Brian D. McLaren, Everything Must Change: When the Worlds Biggest Problems and Jesus Good News Collide. Tomas Nelson, 2009.
⁵ Matthew 25:40

Isaiah 58: 1 – 5
Shout out, do not hold back!
     Lift up your voice like a trumpet!
Announce to my people their rebellion
     to the house of Jacob their sins.
2 Yet day after day they seek me
     and delight to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that practiced righteousness
    and did not forsake the ordinance of their God;
they ask of me righteous judgments,
    they delight to draw near to God.
3 “Why do we fast, but you do not see?
    Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”
Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day,
    and oppress all your workers.
4 Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight
    and to strike with a wicked fist.
Such fasting as you do today
    will not make your voice heard on high.
5 Is such the fast that I choose,
    a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush,
    and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast,
    a day acceptable to the Lord?

Lent – from the old English word for spring – this season of decreasing darkness and increasing light, as the days lengthen toward Easter.

Lent is not … a diet plan.
It isn’t. It’s just … that’s not what it’s for.

I want, as your pastor, I want to be supportive and encouraging and empowering of all the ways you might seek to be in right relationship with God. But if you’re going into Lent and saying to yourself it’s about fasting, it’s about giving up, I’ll spend six weeks doing this (or not doing that), because it’s a good chance for me to take the discipline of spirituality and use it to jumpstart a discipline of controlling my choices …

I hate to say it, but I’m going to say it: If that’s what you have in mind, you’re doing it wrong.

If you’re here to sort of fire the starter’s pistol and take off down the track with some super pepped up Jesus-is-my-life-coach motivation for A Better Me in Forty Days, then … no.

This is not that.

That is not what Lent is.

Tonight we’re part of something very particular – perhaps peculiar – in the life of the church. Things happen in this worship service in certain ways for certain reasons … and those reasons are NOT that we aren’t creative and didn’t want to do a new thing.

In this evening, in this Ash Wednesday moment, we are blessing dirt. Ash and oil, mixed together and marked on our skin. We pray that it somehow becomes a blessing.

We come to recall the very moments of our creation – when God took the dust of the ground and formed a human vessel and breathed into its being the very breath of life. We are here to remember that we are created from the dust, and to the dust we will return. We are here tonight to say that we are divine creatures in human vessels and if that’s the case, then we should make the most of what we have.

Lent is not a diet plan.

Forty is a number used throughout scripture, matched with many sacred journeys.

Forty days and forty nights, Noah is at sea, his family wondering what’s going on, and two of every creature getting restless in the cargo holds.

Forty years, Moses wanders the desert, leading people who didn’t want to be led, and listening to them tell him over and over how he ought to be doing his job and how they were happier where they used to be.

Forty days, Jesus separates himself from the crowds, preparing for his ministry to begin. He is tempted in ways that are strikingly familiar: tempted to display his power; to take advantage of his unique and divine nature; to worship an easy master instead of doing the hard work of God’s realm.

So in the early church, around the 4^th century, Christians began to mark a season forty days too.

Between today and Easter is 40 days, not counting Sundays. In the Christian tradition of the Lord’s Day, we should already be marking that day of our week as set aside for a focus on God’s work in the world and in us. Those Sunday worship celebrations remain. It is these 40 days in between, from Ashes to Easter, on either side of the Sundays, that we’re saying, right now, we intend to approach differently.

But how?

In those early days, believers had often started somewhere else first – a national religion that worshipped an emperor, or a generational ritual that honored multiple gods. So to learn and follow the teachings of this one Messiah/Savior, as a way to know the Divine Creator most closely, was kind of a big leap. So a season of preparing came into play.

New believers spent forty days in study and prayer, sometimes even mimicking Jesus and going off on their own to a wilderness. At the end of their study and following a Holy Saturday vigil, the new believers would be baptized at Easter and claimed fully into the life of the church.

In the same way that we stand and respond together when someone joins our faith community, the earliest believers recognized – or remembered – what we all really know instinctively. We are not here to be alone. God-breathed creations that we are, we are in this world with all the other God-breathed creatures, and if any of us is going to survive, let alone thrive, then we’d better live in ways that recognize and inspire the God-blessed nature of every one of us.

So as a new believer would study and pray in this 40 days season of preparing, the community of faith would stand with them and honor them by studying and praying as well. The road of faithful following is not one of ease, nor of comfort, nor even always total joy. And so if there is a journey to be taken, no one journeys alone.

Think about where you’ve wandered. Where have you stumbled? Where have you caught someone else? Who has travelled with you as you’ve become the person you are? Who do you need to look for, and find, to be part of your journey now?

Poet and pastor Jan Richardson offered this blessing for Ash Wednesday –

To receive this blessing,
all you have to do
is let your heart break.
Let it crack open.
Let it fall apart
so that you can see
its secret chambers,
the hidden spaces
where you have hesitated
to go. 

Your entire life
is here, inscribed whole
upon your heart’s walls:
every path taken
or left behind,
every face you turned toward
or turned away,
every word spoken in love
or in rage,
every line of your life
you would prefer to leave
in shadow,
every story that shimmers
with treasures known
and those you have yet
to find. 

It could take you days
to wander these rooms.
Forty, at least. 

And so let this be
a season for wandering,
for trusting the breaking,
for tracing the rupture
that will return you 

to the One who waits,
who watches,
who works within
the rending
to make your heart
whole.[1]           

Today, Ash Wednesday, is the first day of the Season of Lent. Today we are part of a practice that happens the same way every year, for a reason. It is the day that worshippers take on the symbol of ashes “as a sign of humility before God, a symbol of mourning and sorrow at the death that sin brings into the world.”

In the earliest days, ashes were only for those who publicly confessed their sin and asked to be restored to the Church, or who renounced their mistakes and promised to dedicate themselves to study and this new faithful living.[2]

But again, Lent is not about one person, or even one kind of person. The church realized that if we were going to really welcome new believers, if we were going to take seriously the instructions of the Jesus we say we follow, then the entire church ought to be reminded of our own shortcomings. We need to take the time to name our sins, and to create a sign – in ash and oil on our foreheads – to be marked as run-of-the-mill human being sinful people. We start this season of Lent in mourning, so that we can look ahead together to the joy of resurrection and new life. The mark of the ashes is our shared confession, and it means that at the end of the forty days, we will share in the resurrection as well.

Lent – the dying, the giving up, the taking on, the prayer, the study, the fasting, the giving – isn’t about us, at all. It isn’t about us as individuals trying to be better people. It isn’t even about a whole community of faith pointing itself in a renewed direction. It is about setting ourselves aside, and recognizing that God is already working – working in us, working on us, and working for us – and that our job is to get out of the way of what God is already doing.

THAT is our fast. That is what we break from. That is what we set aside.

Anything that controls us. Anything to which we cling too tightly. Anything that keeps us from depth of experience, from fullness of faith, from holy and wholly flourishing.

Isn’t this what the prophet Isaiah is saying? We will spend the next five Sundays take a slow and thoughtful walk through this chapter of Isaiah. He starts where we start: By taking a true and careful look at what we’re doing and why.

‘Is THIS your fast?’ he says … you’re fasting so that people can see you? You’re posting on Facebook about what you’re ‘giving up’ so that everyone can know just how faithful and close to God you are? You’re practicing your following by talking trash about whoever doesn’t follow the way you do? Is that the fast you’re going for? Is that the focus you want your faith to have?

Is it?

This isn’t the fast we desire, and we know it isn’t what God has in mind for us. That’s why we’re here, to start this season of reflection by confessing, and by taking our mark for it. We admit that we’re not who we should be – and there is room for God to step in. We confess, individually and together, that we put other things ahead of our relationships and our faith – and when we do, God turns that confession to mercy. We fast, not so that we are made less, but so that God can make us more.

The mark of the cross is our confession, AND our forgiveness.

We are here to confess our sin. Not just to say that we’ve done things we shouldn’t, or that we’ve not done the things we should. But to say – again – that we have separated ourselves from God – again.

We confess that we

• speak without thinking
• hurry even when there is no emergency
• listen without hearing
• interrupt when waiting would do fine
• work without resting
• disregard because understanding would take too long
• look without seeing
• compete when there isn’t even a contest
• decide without knowing

We confess. And we seek. And we will soon make the slow walk down this aisle to receive a mark our foreheads.

There is penitence, and there is mercy. We come to receive a mark of grace.

Ash Wednesday is about the mess of the human experience. It’ s about the oil and the ash making a print on our skin. It’s about the mud and the Breath that made us who we are in the first place. It is about preparing as individuals, and welcoming as a community, and confessing who we are, and knowing who we can be.

Before we come down the aisle, a short reminder of what taking those steps can mean (again from Jan Richardson):

All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners 

or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial— 

did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust? 

This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched. 

This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning. 

This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.

 So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are 

but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made
and the stars that blaze
in our bones
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.[3]

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection.

[1] Jan Richardson, Rend Your Heart: A Blessing for Ash Wednesday

[2] Dennis Bratcher, Christian Resource Institute, general historical sketch

[3] Jan Richardson, ‘Blessing the Dust: A Blessing for Ash Wednesday’, Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

Song of Solomon 8: 5 – 7
Who is that coming up from the wilderness,
    leaning upon her beloved? 

Under the apple tree I awakened you.
There your mother was in labor with you;
    there she who bore you was in labor. 

6 Set me as a seal upon your heart,
    as a seal upon your arm;
for love is strong as death,
    passion fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
    a raging flame.
7 Many waters cannot quench love,
    neither can floods drown it.
If one offered for love
    all the wealth of one’s house,
    it would be utterly scorned.

One of our adult Sunday School teachers, having looked at the text for today and spent a few minutes looking at the study guide questions earlier this week, passed me in the building that day and said ‘Oh hey, and good luck Sunday!’

It took me a second and then I recognized, of course, what they meant. Goooood LUCK. A text from the Song of Solomon. Song of Songs. The only book of the bible probably LESS read than the book of Revelation – and probably even more feared. Good luck.

A while back there was a tongue-in-cheek top 10 list making the rounds with church folk: ‘You Know You’re Not Reading Enough Old Testament When…’. High up on the list? Your kid is reading from Song of Solomon and you demand to know ‘Who gave you this trash?’

Good luck!, they said.

Song of Solomon is the English translation of the title, and points to the very first verse of the book, where Solomon is mentioned. It’s probably not to say that he wrote it, but that he might have inspired it. It’s more accurately called Song of Songs. Whatever it is, though, this book makes us nervous. We don’t like talking about this.

I mean, we talk about LOVE all the time. God IS love, we say. In church, in our faith, in Christianity, love is supposed to be the thing we talk about – and live out – the most. But this love is what we talk about least. It seems like the thing we’re not supposed to talk about. But we’re going to.

No, we’re not going to talk about sex. Not exactly. So take a breath. But we are going to talk about love. The real kind. The soul-deep kind. The kind that the scriptures in this Bible we claim to trust and hold dear and value as our guide and teacher proclaims. We’re going to talk about this kind of love.

It’s hard to read. Not because it makes us uncomfortable, although it might. It is pretty vivid love poetry. There are also some strangely awkward and even violent moments that seem like a really sharp turn away from the love story, and then next think you know it’s all gazelles and flowers and you’re back to the lovey-dovey stuff. The language is admittedly a little weird.

A bunch of preachers got a kick this week out of sharing an article from the Babylon Bee, which is a satirical online news source. Hear me when I say satirical – they make fun of church stuff and church people – and I will confess to you that most of it is funniest to those of us who are the very inside-church types … and I’ll admit to you that sometimes it gets a little rude … and I have to point out that sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the satirical religious news and the real stuff.

Having said all that, I did laugh pretty hard when several friends shared this article during Valentine’s week, not even knowing I was preaching from Song of Solomon.

Everyone knows that the best way to show your love to your significant other is to hand them a heart candy with words on it.

Now even Christians can partake in this beloved Valentine’s Day tradition with these new candies emblazoned with messages straight from Song of Solomon.

“Your spouse will swoon upon reading that her teeth are like a flock of sheep or that her nose is like a giant tower,” said the CEO of Solomonhearts, David Meyers. “It’s a foolproof way to let her know how beautiful she is and how much you love her.”

Messages include touching, romantic poetry like the following:
Hey, tower neck!
Ur teeth are sheep
You have goat hair
Ur legs = marble pillars. 

“Note: not actually foolproof and we do not guarantee any swooning.”.[1]

So yes. It is a strange book to read, and makes us a little nervous reading it, even in worship, even the very mellowest verses that we selected for today. But it is metaphorical language of the most personal and beautiful kind.

We use metaphors all the time to describe our human experience – ‘peace, hope, joy, community, death, faith and so on.’ This poet relies on metaphor ‘to describe the most elusive of all human experiences: love.’ It is both ambiguous and explicit, reality and fantasy, literal and metaphorical.

This Song of Songs, with its wide range of emotions, the abrupt changes in settings, and the shifts from one speaker to another only accentuate[s] the pathos of the poetry with its focus on the passionate, bewitching, vacillating, and unpredictable character of human love.[2]

As we started this sermon series, exploring the four words the Greeks use to name LOVE, we told you that two of the four words don’t actually appear in scripture. Eros is one. But it is here, in ideal form. It is fully human love – partnership, a matching, a pairing between consenting lovers who are free to fully give themselves to each other.

Such bodily wisdom comes with having lived some life, with maturity, with a sense of being responsible for yourself, and responsible for the care and nurture of the divine gift in another. The very act of creation is intimate. God breathes life into the dust of the earth. The Creator of the Universe holds and forms each of us. The embodiment of love, the sacred clay that receives the divine breath is who we are … and it’s who the other person is too. That is not to be taken lightly.

This text sets the narrator up in a strong body- and sex-positive voice, and we’re not quite sure what to do with that. That says more about us that it does about the text. We have spent so long saying our bodies are bad, and have to be hidden unless perfected, or worked on to meet an arbitrary cultural standard, that we have forgotten to talk about the ways that our bodies are intended for our good.

We in this country spend an inordinate amount of time attempting to control our bodies. Objectified, surveyed, judged, our flesh is seen as an instrument, a means to various and sundry ends. The hair shirts of [long ago] have become the exercise bikes of today. … The flesh is not just a conduit for the holy: the flesh IS holy. We can rejoice in it.[3]

Eros is about responsibility. Maturity. Mutuality. Partnership.

So even though the word isn’t used specifically, what does the text have to say about eros love?

Rev Dr Renita Weems, renowned Hebrew Bible scholar and preacher, offers a great introduction to the Song of Songs:

Readers attempting to read the Song of Songs for the first time are invariably astonished to discover that such sexually provocative language and imagery can be found in the Bible. Contained in the eight brief chapters of this little-read book are some very titillating romantic speeches between a woman and her suitor. Their exchanges about their love, passion, desire, and longing for each other can hardly be matched by classical secular romance writings. … the matter of the Song’s place within the Bible has been and continues to be the subject of considerable debate and speculation.

… in the Song of Songs, human sexuality is explored and delighted in so as to make some very specific assertions about female sexuality, to counter some definite notions about beauty, and to insist in a rather dramatic manner on a woman and man’s right to love, irrespective of prevailing cultural norms, whomever their heart chooses.[4]

Described as everything from a single love poem, to more than 30 separate poems, from a recitation of a cultic fertility ceremony, to a drama that idealizes the love of God for Israel (or in the Christian extension, the love of Christ for the church) – there are many opinions, and no consensus. Interestingly, it is one of only two books of the 66 in the Bible (Esther is the other) where God is not mentioned by name. It is also the only one where the main character’s voice is directly and specifically female. It’s not about her, it is her speaking.

She is portrayed as tender (a lily, a dove, a gazelle), and named for her strength (a pillar, a tower). She waits for her lover in a garden, and is herself a garden. The woman and her lover go to the vineyard, and they themselves are intoxicated by each other’s physical presence. Every comparison of the humans, to any of the rest of the created order, is there to reflect beauty and freedom.[5]

We have to read with a faithful eye, and draw the line between what makes us uncomfortable – pornography, which is sensation without emotional feeling – and what is eros, erotic love, that which is sacred and celebrates the divine and the human at once. They are very different things.

What, then, does this love poetry show us about God’s love for us?

Scholar Phyllis Trible suggests that the poetry in Song of Songs provides

the redemption of the love story that went awry in Genesis 2-3.
          In this setting, there is no male dominance, no female subordination, and no stereotyping of either sex. … [it] defies the connotations of ‘second sex’. She works, keeping vineyards and pasturing flocks. … {They are never referred to as husband and wife, nor as parents.} In fact, to the issues of marriage and procreation the Song does not speak. Love for the sake of love is its message…

The emphasis is on the shared nature of love. Ilana Pardes reminds us to look at the reciprocity.

For once the relationship of God and His bride relies on mutual courting, mutual attraction, and mutual admiration, there is more room for hope that redemption is within reach.[6]

Now that sounds like a scripture I want to read. In church.

What can we do with this kind of love? Not the kind that fills the world with silly love songs. (Although, I love a good love song, don’t get me wrong.) But what can we do with the kind of love that is true and deep and rich and mutual and safe and trusted, that respects bodily autonomy, and   rejoices in physical intimacy based in the sacred connection of the souls that make the bodies work?

We must treat this as something very personal. Not shameful, or hidden away, but love that is personal. This very text has given us permission, instruction, even demands, to be heard very publicly. The poet does not go into speeches about the need for love to be complete and free and full and unfettered and without limits.

It’s not up to us to overwrite our expectations onto another individual or onto others’ relationships. She spins metaphors and similes, uses figurative language to advocate for balance in relationships, mutuality and interdependence, fulfillment not just procreation, and ‘uninhibited love not bigoted emotions’. [7]

In this Song of Songs, the poet uses deeply intimate and personal lyrical language to remind us that love is a revolutionary act.

Poet Mary Caroline Richards says that

At the center the love must live.
            One gives up all one has for this. This is the love that resides in the self, the self-love, out of which all love pours. The fountain, the source. At the center. One gives up all the treasured sorrow and self-mistrust, all the precious loathing and suspicion, all the secret triumphs of withdrawal. One bends in the wind. …
          Do not speak about strength and weakness, manliness and womanliness, aggressiveness and submissiveness. Look at this flower. Look at this child. Look at this rock with lichen growing on it. Listen to this gull scream as he drops through the air to gobble the bread I throw and clumsily rights himself in the wind. Bear ye one another’s burdens, the Lord said, and he was talking law.
            Love is not a doctrine, Peace is not an international agreement. Love and Peace are beings who live as possibilities in us.[8]

As a gift from friends in seminary, I have a devotional book that I’ve turned to for more than 20 years. In it, author Jan Richardson quotes a poem by Alta, empowering us for this embodied revolution of love:

                                                            love is believeable.
keep that as a smooth stone, for sometimes you will be the
only one to love. for sometimes, you will be hated, & all the
love within reach will have to be your own, & what you can
tap from the spirits who fly to be with us at those moments,
& lend us their wings. who land on the lamps to give us com-
fort & courage, when we think we have nothing to say. When
we have nothing to say, perhaps it is time to listen. …

 love is free, sometimes, & costly othertimes. we may only
have each other. our true touch. we may only have.[9]

So this morning, if you are next to someone, and you’re comfortable taking hands, would you do so? You do not have to, but you may. Close your eyes. Feel their palm against yours. Feel God breathing inside your own breath. And receive this blessing:

            Blessed are you who touch with integrity and grace,
          for you give flesh to the good news of Christ.[10]

                                                                                                Amen.

[1] Babylon Bee https://babylonbee.com/news/song-of-solomon-sweetheart-candies-now-available
[2] Renita Weems, The Women’s Bible Commentary; ed. Newsom & Ringe (WJK 1992), p 156-160.
[3] Cries of the Spirit; ed. Marilyn Sewell (Beacon 1991) p205.
[4] Renita Weems, The Women’s Bible Commentary; ed. Newsom & Ringe (WJK 1992), p 156-160.
[5] ‘Woman/Lover/Shulammite’, Women in Scripture; ed. Meyers, Craven, Kraemer (Houghton Mifflin 2000), p 310-311.
[6] Trible, O’Connor, Pardes, as quoted in Helpmates, Harlots, and Heroes; Alice Ogden Bellis (WJK 1994) p199-202.
[7] Reems.
[8] Mary Caroline Richards, ‘Centering’, in Cries of the Spirit, p58-59.
[9] Alta, in The Shameless Hussy, Essays and Poetry by Alta; quoted in Jan Richardson, Sacred Journeys (Upper Room 1995), p178.
[10] Richardson.

John 12: 1 – 8
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2 There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3 Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4 But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 5 “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” 6 (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7 Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8 You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

I wonder if in this moment, when Jesus is being loved with a grace upon grace kind of love, an abundance of love, a love that you could even smell, with a fragrance that would linger for days, that Jesus remembered his mother. Three years ago. Back in Cana. At that wedding. His mother, who loved him, who knew who he was and what he was capable of doing. His mother, without whom, I wonder, when Jesus’ ministry would have actually gotten started.

Jesus insists it is not his time, but his mother knows better, as mothers often do. Because of her insistence, Jesus starts doing what he came to do. Because of her encouragement, Jesus realizes the time really had come. Because of her love, Jesus can do what he was sent to do. Jesus’ mother loves Jesus into his future as the Word made flesh.

Now, in Bethany, Jesus finds himself in the same kind of position, the same kind of transition, the same kind of situation. Immediately after [this] Mary anoints Jesus, he will enter the city of Jerusalem. And so, Jesus needs that same encouragement, that same love, to do what he must do. Mary’s extravagant love for Jesus makes it possible for Jesus to show extravagant love in what follows — washing the feet of his disciples, handing himself over to be arrested in the garden, carrying his own cross, dying, rising, and ascending. Mary loves Jesus into his future as the fulfillment of, “for God so loved the world.”[1]

Preacher Karoline Lewis wrote that last spring, reflecting on the text from the Gospel of John read this morning. I read her words over and over. ‘A grace upon grace kind of love.’ ‘Because of her encouragement.’ ‘Because of her insistence.’ ‘Because of her love.’ She ‘loves [him] into his future.’ Isn’t that the kind of love we long for? The kind of love that roots us and grounds us, that holds us fast and moves us forward, the kind of love that the Greeks surely had in mind when they talked about love.

But which love? But was it storge? Phileo? Eros? Agape? So much love! So much.

Let’s take the four Sundays of February and work on love, we said. It’s the month that our culture has decorated with hearts and flowers and chocolate and all our human designs on love. So let’s make the faith connection. Let’s take the four words the Greeks use to describe love. Greek is the language in which the New Testament was written. Let’s take those four words, and explore the scriptures where those words are used. Love is throughout the scriptures … God IS love, after all … Jesus is love incarnate, the very physical form of the most extraordinary love there is …

And yet here’s what you’ll find: Two of the four Greek words … phileo and agape … are plentiful in the New Testament. The love that comes from close friendship, ‘brotherly love’. And the love that binds humanity together in compassion and mercy. Both words are used again and again.

And two of the words … storge and eros … the love associated with natural and instinctive family-like bonds, and the love of intimate partnership, romance, and physicality … those two words do not actually show up in scripture itself. They are certainly there conceptually. And they are in the language of histories and related non-biblical literature of the time. But not IN the texts themselves. (Guess who’s preaching those two words?)

But there’s so much to work with, so much overlap and blending together of these ‘kinds’ of love, we want to take some time to refresh our memories, or to see for the first time, and to look more broadly, at just what God has in mind for us when it comes to love in this world.

Many of you have met my mother. She has always been my biggest fan. She deeply and truly believes that I am fantastic; there’s no talking her out of that. And she is convinced, beyond any shadow of any doubt, that I can be and do anything I want. On the one hand, I could set that aside, and say ‘You have to think I’m great. You’re my mom.’ But. On the other hand, who has a better understanding of who you are and what you’re worth than the one who set you into motion?

That’s storge. It’s the kind of love the Greeks meant when they talked about family bonds … the natural, instinctive, and when they’re working well, the selfless kinds of love that we find most often in kinship.

The word storge isn’t used in the New Testament, except in the negative. 2 Timothy has a word that focuses on the lack of such love; the word is translated as heartless, devoid of concern, without love. In Romans, Paul uses a word to describe humanity’s sinfulness as having “no understanding, no fidelity, no love, no mercy.” He says one of the marks of the last days will be when families are at a loss for natural love.

Let’s remember that ‘family’ – in biblical realities as in the present day – took on a wide variety of shapes and combinations. We fool ourselves if we think that ‘family’ looked then (or looks now) like any one thing. Many families in the Judean culture were very similar to those in the Greek and Mediterranean cultures, consisting:

… of several generations: an older, free adult male, his wife, their grown sons, the wives of those sons, and [their children]. Grown daughters of the older generation typically became part of the households of their own husbands and lived elsewhere; this could be as close as another courtyard in the same village or town, or much farther away. High maternal mortality rates also meant that households might consist of a free man, his children by one or ore prior wives, one or more daughters in law, and grandchildren, one or more current wives, their children from a prior marriage, and the children of the most recent marriage.[2]

That, of course, doesn’t even include the legally enslaved members of a household, or the children, whether born through their own relations, or because of their slave-owners. The ‘biblical family’ has a very (very) broad definition.

And it is in the midst of this first-century definition of ‘family love’ that we gather today, with Mary and Martha and Lazarus, the sisters and brother whom we see throughout the four gospels. At this moment in the gospel of John, Jesus has revived Lazarus from the dead, and the sisters have staked their claim to real relationship with this one who can do such things, and who they clearly love.

There is mention of and debate about other – biological – family of Jesus. There are suggestions of as many as four brothers, and event two sisters. We don’t know. Joseph isn’t mentioned again after Jesus is in the temple as a child – does he die? Was he ill? Is he that much older than Mary? We don’t know.

But this family – these three siblings – seem to have adopted Jesus in as their own. The deep affection that is shown in word and in deed … Jesus’ true affection for Lazarus … Mary and Martha devoting themselves both to their brother’s well-being, and to caring for Jesus when he is in their home during his travels. This is a ‘family of choice’ if ever there was one.

They gathered for a meal, all there together. And in the presence of her family, with a devotion she both learned from them, and shared with others, she anoints Jesus’ feet with a costly fragrant oil, wiping them with her hair. While we could wonder if this is a more personally intimate act, every indication from the scripture, and from the people as we see them in the story, is that this is an expression of extravagant devotion, of great love, literally poured out to honor this one who is part of their lives, and in their home.

This is not the version of the story where Martha is seen as complaining about her work, and what she sees as Mary’s lack of work. This is a story of family gathered for a meal, including the brother who was lost but then reclaimed to life, and two sisters who serve with devotion – one offers a meal, and one a blessing. This is natural, instinctive abiding, family love.

When you have had your life given to you – Lazarus quite literally, and his sisters nearly as much so, given that they would be destitute without him – when your very life has been handed to you by Jesus, don’t you want to honor Christ in every way extravagant way you can? ‘When Jesus has become the reason for our very existence, we have a different sense of values and what worth really means.’[3]

I love that John included the observation that ‘The entire house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.’ (v3) She has showed such great love that it cannot go unnoticed.

Mary has anointed Jesus so lavishly that all present can participate in it…. The odor of death has been replaced by the odor emanating from Mary’s extravagant love. … Mary is the first person in the Gospel to live out Jesus’ love commandment. … Mary models what it means to be a disciple: to serve, to love one another, to share in Jesus’ death.[4]

When it’s working as it should, it is the love we learn in the family that roots us. When we tend the soil of family affection, and nurture that abiding love, it spills out in extravagant love for all. Both Mary and Martha do what Jesus calls us to – serving faithfully, loving generously. They do the work of faith-full-ness.

There is a movement afoot to have … let’s call them ‘messy’ dinners.

It’s a dinner party. With rules. To keep it messy:

1. No housework is done to get ready.
2. The menu is simple enough to not need any special grocery trips.
3. You wear whatever you have on.
4. No one brings a hostess gift.
5. (optional) You act surprised when your friends happen to show up at the door.

Kelley Powell talks about the first time she and her friend Laura decided to this – get their families together, spend much-missed time with dear friends, and not put the pressure on to get the place magazine ready, and for everything to be just so. The 7 year old walked through the house in muddy shoes. The 9 year old started a glue and glitter laden craft project right before Laura was coming over. They ended up in the smackdown of the year right in the middle of the living room and then clambered over each other to get to the door when the bell rang. And Kelley says it took her a few deep breaths and a glass of wine to let it all go and enjoy the moment, but now she and Laura and their families are trading messy dinner parties every month. Host a messy dinner. See your friends more often.[5]

This is the kind of home Jesus is welcomed into – a family’s home. Sisters and a brother. The one they thought they’d lost, now suddenly back with them. And this Jesus, whom they love as their own, is sitting at their table. Historian and scholar Justo Gonzalez offers a great reminder:

In the midst of a pragmatic society, we wish to be efficient, to make certain that everything counts and that there is no waste. In the church we look for responsible budgets that make the best possible use of every cent. This is a requirement of responsible stewardship. However, for this to be true Christian stewardship it must be founded not primarily on efficiency but on an overwhelming love that leads to what others may consider mere waste…. Mary spills her perfume with wild abandon for no other reason than this: Jesus is there. There is no calculation here, no consideration for efficiency, no sense that this is a waste. There is nothing but sheer love and gratitude for what Jesus has done.[6]

What we see in this generous outpouring of perfume, of love, is also an outpouring of faithfulness and discipleship. It is instinctive and natural, and every bit the storge love of the Greeks. Jesus raising Lazarus shows the fullness of life available with God; Mary’s anointing shows the fullness of discipleship, what it means to serve and follow entirely.[7]

It is messy and hard and imperfect and sometimes just awful and sometimes only occasionally right. But it is, somehow, ‘a grace upon grace kind of love.’ We love family into their future, even when that future is uncertain, whether that future is painful or wonderful, or first one and then the other. We love them into their future. And they love us into ours.

[1] Karoline Lewis, Dear Working Preacher 4-1-19 https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5309
[2] Ross Kraemer, ‘Jewish Family Life in the First Century CE’, The Jewish Annotated New Testament (Oxford, 2011) p537-540.
[3] Peter Woods, The Listening Hermit, https://thelisteninghermit.com/2010/03/15/
[4] Gail R O’Day, ‘John’, The Women’s Bible Commentary (WJK 1992), p299-300
[5] https://www.mothering.com/articles/host-crappy-dinner-see-friends-often/
[6] Justo Gonzalez, ‘Living By The Word’, The Christian Century, 3/5/19 https://www.christiancentury.org/article/living-word/april-7-fifth-sunday-lent-john-121-8
[7] paraphrasing Gail O’ Day, ‘John’, The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, p703

Mark 10: 46 – 52
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. ⁴⁷ When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” ⁴⁸ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” ⁴⁹ Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” ⁵⁰ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. ⁵¹ Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher,^[a] let me see again.” ⁵² Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

opening video

(manuscript to follow soon!)

Matthew 2: 1 – 12
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2 asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” 3 When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4 and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5 They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

6 ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.’”

7 Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8 Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” 9 When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11 On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Like many people, and perhaps even many of you, my last 10 days have included a lot of time on the road. (And by a lot of time on the road, I mean A LOT OF TIME on the road.) The great part about road time is playing catch up on podcasts and stories and conversations I’ve been meaning to listen to but sometimes miss during a regular work week. One of my favorites is NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me.

This news quiz has been on the air for 20 years, and recently replayed a conversation from this summer, with beloved actor Henry Winkler. Host Peter Sagal spends a few minutes in conversation about Winkler’s work and current projects, and then he plays a quiz game called ‘Not My Job’. As they say, this is the game where they ask famous people who are really good at something to answer questions about a thing they probably know nothing about. Henry Winkler‘s game? Three questions about things that twinkle. Stars.

It’s Epiphany Sunday. We’re here to talk about stars.

Soooo … YES. We’re going to play the game. The Fonz got 2 out of 3 right (which is enough to win). Let’s see how you do. Ready? Here we go.

We’ve learned some interesting things about stars and since we started venturing into space, including which of these?
(a) Stars can get bored.
(b) Stars smell like burnt steak. or
(c) Stars: they’re just like us.

Actually ‘Stars: They’re Just Like Us’ is a feature in Us Magazine.
The real answer was stars smell like burnt steak. We didn’t know this is literally true until astronauts went out to space in spacesuits and came back and with a whiff of their spacesuits felt weirdly hungry. It turns out that stars give off a number of chemicals, one of which smells like burnt steak. The smell of space.

Who knew?

Next: Williamina Fleming classified tens of thousands of stars during her decades-long career at the Harvard Observatory. But before that she had another job; what was it?
(a) One day the head of the Observatory got frustrated with the staff and said “My Scottish maid could do better!” He hired her and she did.
(b) She was a theater critic who said “People are boring. I want to watch something else. or
(c) Nobody knows. She just showed up one day wearing a silver suit and said “I can help you.”

If you said ‘a’ you’re right! Turns out she was one of those undiscovered geniuses who became a brilliant mathematician and astronomer. She discovered among other things the Horsehead Nebula and this Scottish maid is considered a science hero.

One more. Here’s your chance to redeem yourself: Our sun is a star of course. For about 30% of people, staring into the sun will cause sneezing fits.  What is the scientific name of this reflex?
(a) squinty sneezing.
(b) solar snot. or
(c) Autosomal Compelling HelioOphthalmic Outburst, or ACHOO.

Yep, it’s ACHOO. [1]

The word is definitely an onomatopoeia, or a word that makes the sound of what it is – ‘ah’ is the intake of breath, ‘choo’ is the sound of the sneeze itself – and it IS actually the acronym for the sneezing disorder that affects almost 1 in 3 people!

Well, now you know a little more about stars. And your pastor’s listening habits. (Both may explain a lot.)

But it IS the day for stars … one in particular. “We have seen his star at its rising,” they said, “and have come to pay him homage.”

Celebrated as early as the 3^rd century, before Christmas was even part of the calendar, the Feast of the Epiphany was to acknowledge all the many ways Christ is revealed to the world: the nativity event; Jesus’ baptism; the wedding at Cana; the visit from the Magi. All occasions where the Divine was revealed to be right with us in human form.

In the 4^th century, believers began to celebrate the incarnation – the nativity/Christmas event – as its own Feast Day (eventually taking over the December 25 date), and the Feast of the Epiphany evolved and became more focused just on this particular event, engaging with wise travelers and brilliant stars.[2]

Though our modern western culture has turned the entire month of December into ‘Christmas’, the season of Christmas actually begins on Christmas day, and goes until Epiphany (which is tomorrow). THOSE are the 12 Days of Christmas. For many, Epiphany is the most important, the culmination of the Christmas season. Twelfth Night celebrations, particularly in French and Latin American cultures, take on vibrant life and festivity.

Maybe we need more imagination … more festival … more wonder. Maybe we need less certainty and resignation and packing it away and being done with it. Epiphany – epiphaneia – refers to the coming of God into the world, the manifestation of the Divine not just as a phenomenon and a sense, but as actual flesh and blood humanity. Epiphany is about appearing – the appearing of a star, and the appearing of a savior. What could happen if we took more than one Silent Night’s candlelighting and broadened our view, extended our senses, engaged our entire lived experience to be its own kind of epiphany: What if our whole life was tuned to the way God appears with us, in us, around us, and works through us? What if we had stars in our eyes, and they changed our entire vision?

Perhaps – just maybe – this brilliant star, rising over Bethlehem – is God’s longing to change us.

We say it every year, and every year it has been true – and if there’s ever a year that we don’t think it will be the case, then your pastors need to re-evaluate – every year we say: This will be God’s biggest year for us. The year ahead is bringing the best of what’s to come.

2020 will be such a year for us. As I look at 2019’s accomplishments, ministries, changes, and challenges – as I sort through the pieces that we’ll share in the 2019 annual report later this month at our congregational meeting – I am in awe of what God has done. How God has held us. How we have uplifted each other. How the community around us is different because we’ve been here. And how we are different because we have been willing to let God lead the way.

And as we thought about a theme for 2020, the word ‘vision’ is the obvious cliché. 20/20 vision. We are SO very clever! But in this case, in this place, VISION is the only word that suits the occasion. As we move closer to the call of a new Lead Pastor to serve with us into the future … as our leadership in all areas of the church continues to dig deeper and reach farther … as the world around us continues to cry out for justice, compassion, and truth … the vision that God is placing before Harvard Avenue Christian Church is bold and exciting, and I have absolutely no doubt that God is already stirring the hearts of leaders – those here and those to come – and this entire congregation to continue our forward motion … into a new year, a new vision, a new season of imagination and festival and wonder.

In ancient days, lives were guided by constellations. Stars pursue a steady course – they represent an ordered universe. If that order is interrupted by a star phenomenon, it would seem God was trying to say something, announcing something special by breaking into the divine order. Breaking into the order of things seemed to be a general sense within history itself; there are multiple accounts from a variety of historians, philosophers, teachers, and writers, about an expectation, a waiting, a sense among the people, of the coming of a king.[3] Which made the ruling king very anxious.

The wise ones, these magi, follow a star until it stops, over Bethlehem. And once they have offered their gifts and bowed in respect, they receive a caution in a dream, and are rerouted for their trip home. God’s Messiah remains protected. As the wise men had received word in a dream and did not return to give Herod intel, so too Joseph received a warning and the Holy Family makes their own escape. Foreigners, travelers once again, they are saved by divine intervention and human will. We have to remember that God is the God of all, even those – especially those – no one else wants. Try what we will – no matter what a ruler may say, no matter how a king may try to subvert the ways of the world to his control – God will still prevail.

Who are the wise ones in our day? Those who humble themselves. Those who accept wise counsel. Those who follow to all faithful extremes. Those to whom God is revealed. Who praise God when they find the Holy One, just as they were promised.

So let’s open our hearts. Let’s expand our imagination. Let’s get some stars in our eyes. And into our hands.

YES! It’s almost time! In just a minute, the deacons are going to pass trays with cards in them. There are 580 cards, each with the VISION image on one side, to remind us of our shared word for the year. And on the other side is a single word. And no word is like any other, all 580 handed out in this space are different. (The only duplications are the words on cards that our children will receive in their worship space today.)

No, I have no control over who gets which card. I’m accused of that every year. ‘You got this one just to me!’ (Y’all, I do NOT have that kind of power, and if I did I’d use it somewhere besides on these cards!) Every card has its own word, and we place them face down so that you really are choosing quite at random … the idea of the star word is not that you choose it, but that it might choose and guide and call to you.

It isn’t magical. It also isn’t compulsory. If you want to pass the tray and not take one at all. That’s fine. I think you’ll be missing out on something interesting and maybe even something wonderful. If you take a card today and promptly lose it, forget about it, or ignore it, then you do.

But here’s what I hope for you:

• That you’ll give it a chance. You don’t have to share it with a soul. You don’t even have to turn it over right this minute. But once you look at it, and have your first response, I hope you’ll sit with it for a while and see what your second response is too.
• That you’ll maybe put it in your wallet, or on your mirror, or in the cupholder of your car, or your center desk drawer. Maybe you’ll snap a picture of it and use it as a screensaver.
• Maybe you’ll look up the word, and learn something about it. Its history, its root, its usage.
• Maybe you’ll see a quote that includes your word and you’ll write that down and hang onto it.
• As the year goes on, and you see it each day, maybe you’ll start seeing it in other places: maybe that characteristic or idea will show up in something you read, or in a conversation with someone you know.

If the deacons would come pass the trays, and everyone select your card. Don’t go rooting around in there to find the one you like! Just pull one at random and hang onto it for a moment. We’ll pray over them together before we go.

Henry Winkler has star words. I mean, he didn’t call them that, but in the Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me conversation, he said:

“I live by two words: gratitude and tenacity. Tenacity gets me where I want to go, and gratitude doesn’t allow me to be angry along the way.”

You’ve drawn your word. I am confident there is something in it for you.

Just see. Just see what happens.

See where it leads you. Where it shows up. How it works on you. How you might work on it. Use it as a guide, as a companion, as an opportunity.

Resolutions are easy to make, and easy to slide by.

The idea of the star word is that – like the star of Bethlehem – it will guide, and we will follow it with imagination and wonder, and it will come to rest just where it needs to.

May we see our word today and think we know exactly what it means for us.

Or may we realize we need the rest of the year for it to reveal itself.

That’s not anything we direct, and it’s not anything we predict.

It’s simply something we open our eyes to see. It’s God’s vision, with stars in our eyes.

Let us pray.

Dear Lord, give us a new depth of vision to understand the mysteries of your revelation. Let us grasp the full revolution brought about by your reign. Let us absorb the wisdom of your ancient story, which sets aside the domination of kings like Herod and ushers in kings who worship, who surrender, who are awed by the dimensions of divine power. Give us, also, Lord, a spirit of celebration, so we can revel in the magnitude of your joy and your renewal of the human heart. Amen.[4]

[1] www.npr.org/waitwait Nov 30 2019 (orig Aug 10 2019)
[2] Emilie Griffin, God With Us: Rediscovering the Meaning of Christmas (Pennoyer/Wolffe 2007), p163-168
[3] Wm Barclay, The Bible Study Series: The Gospel of Matthew, (Westminster, 1975), pp23-33
[4] Griffin

Luke 2: 1 – 20
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.

We made it! He’s here! That’s it. That’s Christmas!

Now it’s just time for dinner, and a night’s sleep, and Santa Claus, and time with people you love (or at least with people you like) and more food, and all the big gift reveals (be sure to let me know who gets the red-bowed Lexus in this December-To-Remember Celebration), and maybe some time to just sit on the couch, and then church one more time next weekend and then it’ll be the new year.

We made it! He’s here! That’s it. That’s Christmas!

I mean, that’s all we want to hear tonight, isn’t it? Maybe the song we love, and light a candle – carefully, you guys, pay attention to the candles – and hear that the baby is born, wrapped in swaddling clothes, laying in the manger. What else do we need?

Maybe just a story first?

As you know or have seen if you’ve been with us in worship during the Sundays of Advent for the last several years, we set our creche on the communion table, so that it is front and center throughout our worship season. Creche is French word for crib … it’s the nativity scene, with the characters who play out in the story. Each Sunday through Advent, at Christmas, and on Epiphany, we add to our scene as the story unfolds. We ask children to bring these characters forward; we close our service each week with a focus on the figures who tell us more of the story.

We begin with Mary, chosen as the God-bearer. Mary, who is Luke’s “model of obedient, contemplative discipleship. She is not defined by her biological motherhood but blessed for her belief (1:45), as are all who ‘hear the word of God and obey it’ (11:27).”[1] Mary births the Lord into the world. Her first born son, a gift like the first fruits of the harvest, the first seat at a banquet, the first choice among all others. She reminds us that we each have a role to play in bringing Christ into the world.

The nativity story continues as another character takes his place. Joseph, the carpenter, steps into the divine dream for the world, and carries it forward with uncertain steps, yet constant faith. Already a man of heart and compassion, he crafted a plan to be sure Mary wasn’t scandalized. And then God’s messenger intervened. And Joseph responded with faith and not fear. Joseph reminds us that home is where we make it, and that the Prince of Peace may find a home in us.

We come on the third week to bring the shepherds as they watch. We have this image of shepherds as dirty and mistrusted, and perhaps in some places and times that was true. But we also see in the Hebrew Scriptures where shepherds are the heart of a community, and men like Moses and David are both associated with shepherds.[2] So we bring a shepherd to the scene, and we have to admit that much like them, we’re never fully prepared for the glory of God to surround us. And yet we know that it will, and that we will be different because of it.

After a Sunday filled with huge sounds of praise – with drum and bell, with guitar and voice, with band and choir and orchestra all around – we come tonight, in the same space, that somehow feels a little different … and have added the central figure. We’ve invited Jesus in … into the room, into our lives, into the world, again.

Um, yes. Yes you can. Of course. Because you have just made the whole entire point of Christmas Eve:

Jesus is ready to join us. We are ready to have him here. We are eager to get him to his rightful place. And we want others to be there with us.

Yes. That’s what we want in this world, and yes, friends, as we’ve heard in scripture and learned already tonight in this room … our little children will lead us.

And Mary, really, is still a child herself.

Mary, daughter of Anna and Joachim, a descendant of Leah and a member of the tribe of Judah. Given her heritage, she would know the history and the scriptures, she would know that it was the angel of death who went through the king’s camp and caused soldiers to die; she would know an angel wrestles with Jacob and leaves him limping; she would know an angel causes fire to appear in front of Gideon.[3]

So when you’re already in a precarious spot (unwed, pregnant), to then also have an ANGEL appear, say to you ‘Do not be afraid’, give you the most stunning and unbelievable announcement ever … and then to still be the one to say ‘let it be with me according to your word’ … that is faith over fear. That’s Christmas.

Just before the birth story we heard tonight, Luke tells Mary’s story within Elizabeth’s. The angel announces this astonishing thing to Mary, who replies at first with … ‘How?’ How can this be? But Gabriel’s answer to her ‘how’ question is not to give her the science … his answer is to say that Elizabeth is also expecting, even in her age. For nothing will be impossible with God. Your kin will be in this season with you. And Mary rushes to Elizabeth, and her cousin addresses her the same way the angel has already: “Greetings, favored one. Blessed are you among women.”[4] There it is. The hope that casts out fear. Knowing she won’t be alone is the antidote to being afraid.

That’s for us, too. God is here. We made it! Jesus is here. That’s it. That’s Christmas.

We hear tonight about the angel going to the shepherds in the fields. It reminds us that the word of God, and the announcement of that Word, is going to happen in places that are less than obvious. The word of God, from the messengers of the Lord, proclaimed on a hillside in the middle of nowhere, to a bunch of guys no one would expect to be favored with much at all, let alone with news like this.

The word of God is proclaimed here tonight. But the sermon is only preached in this building. It is heard in the world. The word of God is made alive and real outside of the church walls. Which means it should live in us. Which means we need not be afraid. That word of God will come to us, and we need not be afraid to live like it has. God didn’t wait for the shepherds to get the news through the grapevine. God came right to them, as angel and then as a messiah. God coming to us in the world means we don’t have to wait to get to church to meet God, or for God to meet us. The news is given to the unlikeliest, anywhere. Like us.

God coming to the shepherds, who are fringe people, and questionable, is God’s way of reminding us that what we see as the world order doesn’t matter. Who or what we think is in control isn’t (especially when we think it’s us). What we think is set and planned can all be undone by the vulnerability and surprise of God’s reaching into our lives.

You know, this wouldn’t have happened … the savior would not have been born in the City of David, in Bethlehem, if Joseph and Mary hadn’t gotten to where they needed to be. The census requirement made that location happen. So here’s a thought: When we are where we’re supposed to be, God is born among us.

God shows up through the pain of childbirth, the blood and sweat of a teenage girl, the fear of a couple who have been told, but still have no idea, what’s coming next. How can we be anything other than certain that God is not just with us but for us, steadfast and sure and longing for us to be steadfast and sure when we tell the story too.

We speak the unspeakable by putting it in the voice of angels. The name of God was too sacred to pronounce, the closeness of God was too unfathomable to imagine. So a divine being intercedes, to bring news of joy, peace … to settle our fearful souls. Where can we be angels, messengers, God-bearers, home-makers, story-tellers, hope-bringers in this world of ours?

Can we start tonight?

We have a church member who faithfully writes on the Connection Card each week. Listing only initials, they list those I’m assuming are friends, family, even themselves, and then notes a word or two next to each: ACM, peace, hope; KD, confidence, trust. Sometimes it’s one or two, sometimes it’s several, but every time, every week, it makes me pause, and think What deep faith. What true prayerfulness. What a great gift this dear one has offered to their beloveds, and what a lesson in constancy and hope they are teaching this pastor.

Tonight, I pray we’ll celebrate more than the beauty and peace of Christmas. I hope we’ll celebrate the interruption and disruption of it all, too.

There is no room in the inn. But a way is made, to a manger. Once we find room, once we make room, God’s peace comes. Christ will be born, one way or the other. It’s just a question of where.

The shepherds heard, came, saw, and went. Their whole purpose was to see and know the child. Their response was to tell about him. And they did it – they showed up, and they heard, and they went, and they told – together.

When we think we can’t … God says we can.
If we long for more … God says it’s coming.
Though we look for it in our little corner … God reminds us that it’s a broader view than we can imagine.

When we hear what can be … God says yes, even for you.
If we wonder how and if … God offers us others to be by our side.
Though we wonder if we’ll find peace … God reminds us that hope, and love, and joy are action words too.

Thank you for listening to the story tonight … but most of all thank you for being part of it.

We made it! He’s here! Do not be afraid. That’s it. That’s Christmas.

[1] Jane Schaberg, ‘Luke’, The Women’s Bible Commentary (Newsom & Ringe, eds., WJK 1992) p279
[2] Amy-Jill Levine, The Jewish Annotated New Testament (Oxford 2011), p101-102
[3] Lindsay Hardin Freeman, Bible Women (Forward Movement 2014), p401
[4] Meyers, Craven, Kramer, eds., Women in Scripture (Houghton Mifflin 2000), p116-118

Matthew 1: 18 – 25
Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22 All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

23 “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.”

24 When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, 25 but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

From one of my colleagues in this week’s staff meeting, I quote: “This is such bad writing. There are too many details left out.” You know, in the Disciples church we have always emphasized the importance of opening the word and letting scripture speak. Thing is? Some of us have a bit of a tendency to talk back.

So let’s walk through this together.A marriage is arranged between two people – the bride-to-be, probably a girl in her teens, the groom-to-be, a man probably somewhat older (some would say much older). Once that marriage is arranged, during the betrothal (the period of engagement), the couple remained in their families’ own homes.

Should the woman, oh I don’t know, suddenly be discovered to be pregnant, it would be quite the scandal. I don’t mean she suddenly goes out of town to care for an aunt like in the Victorian novels. I mean that sign of unfaithfulness is considered adultery and she would be executed following a public trial. (Which, since we already know she’d be executed, makes you wonder just how much of a ‘trial’ there really was. But I digress.)

So this is where we are. Joseph gets news that makes absolutely no sense. We don’t know HOW he gets the news. That’s one of the (many) details left out of this telling. But Mary – engaged Mary, the Mary who’s meant to wed Joseph – is “found to be with child”. “By the Holy Spirit.”

Which sounds lovely and poetic when we read this verse once a year.

But.

In real life? I’m betting it was anything but lovely and poetic, all-is-calm all-is-bright and ready for the gold-leaf image on your Christmas card.

How do you explain, convincingly, what God has done?

How do you hear it, and accept it, and go on your way?

How do either of you look at each other again with anything resembling normalcy?

Joseph gets news that makes absolutely no sense. There’s a baby on the way. And it’s not just changing his world – this baby will change everyone else’s too.

We’ve talked before about the fact that both Matthew and Luke – and only Matthew and Luke – tell the nativity story. We’ve also said that they each tell different parts of the story. In our heads, in our own retellings, on our Christmas cards and in our nativity sets, it’s all become one thing – everyone is there at once.

But here in Matthew, we’re at the very beginning, with the earliest and smallest circle of characters. We’ve gone through the 17 verses of genealogy, fourteen and fourteen and fourteen more generations from Abraham to Jesus … which Kevin masterfully read for us last week, and helped us look at with new understanding. It matters that we consider where we’ve started, so that we might see more clearly where we’re going. Looking at our family tree – looking at the tree of Jesse that details the ancestry Jesus brings to an earthly realm – it matters.

Just as it matters to sit here today and say: a woman and a man were engaged to be married and she was found to be with child … and the child was not that man’s. That detail is a big deal and not something we can skim over and say ‘But look how well it all turned out.’ Just as every child in born into their own family and in their own time, this child came to these parents as an emphasis of God’s work in the world.

In these opening verses of the gospel of Matthew, the focus is on Jesus’s origin, and his purpose. As Dr Warren Carter says, “A new creation is underway.”Just as we see in our earliest scriptures that the Holy Spirit created order out of chaos in the beginning of the world, so too in these first words of the New Testament, the Spirit moves and creates the One who will bring a new world order.

In a dream, the angel confirms God’s will for the world with this pregnancy and defines Jesus’s meaning and his life – as messiah, to save the people. God’s purpose is emphasized by quoting the prophets, calling scripture ‘fulfilled’.[1]

This child is from the Holy Spirit. The Spirit who taught prophets to speak, the Spirit who over the ages brought truth to the world, the Spirit who and opened the eyes and hearts of humanity in order to see and hear that truth most clearly. This Holy Spirit now declares that Jesus is the one who will bring God’s truth into the world; as traditional scholar William Barclay has said, “Jesus is the one person who can tell us what God is like, and what God means us to be.”[2]

But wait. We were walking through this together and I jumped a few steps ahead. So Joseph gets news that makes absolutely no sense. So….In this moment, in this time, the expected response from an engaged man whose intended is found pregnant (therefore unfaithful) would be to dissolve the engagement, expose her to trial, and see her executed for her offense. For him to go on as if all was well and good would be to expose himself to the same public ridicule as hers.

So we don’t know exactly how he got there, but that isn’t the choice he makes. We don’t know what the conversation in and around Joseph was at this point. Is it a pretty small town? Did everyone know each other? Had news already gotten out? Did Mary tell her parents? Did Joseph’s parents know? Matthew doesn’t give us much here.

Except to say that Joseph had already settled it in his mind – he had planned to dismiss her quietly. He knew that it would go against not just the custom but the law, and yet he had resolved that this is what he would do. He had kept this to himself, and decided he would simply and quietly divorce her – they weren’t married yet, but in the sense that an engagement was as good as a sealed agreement, even though there was the official waiting period of the betrothal, divorce was the means to undo that. So he could quietly and privately declare them divorced, and go on his way, reasonably unconcerned about what happened to her. She was no longer his to worry about or deal with.

But that isn’t who Joseph is. We don’t learn much about Joseph from the scriptures – there is a good deal of historical speculation about him, and some writings from in and around the time that suggest some background. But from the scripture here, we don’t get much. The first and only description of Joseph is that he is righteous. My New Testament professor Dr Eugene Boring (do not let that name fool you) writes of Joseph and reminds us, that “naming in a Jewish context has to do with essential being and not merely labeling.” Righteous isn’t just a word to describe him in this moment or circumstance. This is the very essence and character he brings into the very inbreaking of God. Joseph – he who is identified and named as righteous – has a choice. And has already resolved to do a kind and merciful thing. [3]

Having received such nonsensical news – that his intended is with child, by the Holy Spirit – Joseph has choices. And has made one. And yet even then, our God who is able to do far more than all we can ask or imagine takes it one step further …

Has this ever happened to you? You’ve been in a big decision – maybe it was going to university, or approaching a new job, or deciding where and how to live, or taking the step to share your life with someone else – and you get there. You make the decision. You’re resolved. You’re settled. You’re ready.

And all you want to do is take a nap. Sleep is a great defense mechanism, right? And it’s healing. We talk all the time about kids needing more rest, that they grow while they sleep. We grow when we sleep too. Our minds and bodies can rest, and heal, and we can grow. I am a great proponent of the Ministry of Naps.

This is what I imagine here for Joseph. We only read that ‘an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream’. I suppose that could be a waking dream, a daydream, a spirit of discernment that was embodied by his imagination. But to my mind? The man needed a nap: this period of wild information, and the unsettling of his obviously kind-hearted nature, and coming to a sense of release, of ‘okay this is what I will do’. And so I think maybe he needed a rest.

And just as he rests, God rustles next to him … an angel appears to say ‘I know you found a way to settle this mercifully, quietly, without fuss. Here’s another thought. YOU do it. Don’t be afraid. You can do it. This child is special. This baby is going to be something else entirely. This one? He will SAVE people from their sins. He will be the very embodiment of God in the world. God with us. Emmanuel. … And Joseph, we need you to show up for it.’

And when Joseph’s dream is over, he does exactly that. We don’t have record of him responding with words, arguing for maybe a third option they haven’t yet considered, looking for a side door farther to the side than the one he’d already planned to use as his exit. After his dream, he does as the angel instructed. He takes Mary as his wife, the child is born, and …

Matthew leaves us with quite a challenge in this little bit of text though, doesn’t he? In this moment with Joseph, the gospel writer seems to be saying that even when we have already determined what we think and how we will behave, and even when we have crafted a way that we think will navigate our obligations AND our heart … God can show us yet another way.

Even when we have spent our whole lives sure of what is right, even when we are solid in what is expected of us, when we are clear about the rules and the lines and the demands, even when we meet every standard for faith and righteousness … God can show us yet another way.

Even when we are weary, when we’ve done the hard work of choosing and doing what is right, kind, compassionate, merciful, just, and we don’t think or imagine or even want to realize that there is anything more that we can do … God can show us yet another way.

In this whole story “only the narrator and the angel speak. Joseph and Mary have no speaking parts, and Mary has no active part at all. The only action is that of the angel, representing the divine initiative, and Joseph’s obedient response.” Joseph represents us : sitting between wanting to do the right thing (following the law would mean her execution) and following a larger law of compassion and mercy that makes adhering to the letter of the law more difficult – “the tension between the prevailing understanding of God’s commandments and the new thing that God is doing in Jesus. … In a difficult moral situation, he attends to the voice of God, and he is willing to set aside his previous understanding of God’s will in favor of this word from the living and saving God.”[4] 

Preacher Rev Alyce McKenzie says, “Between his decision to divorce her and his presence at her side on that night of birthing, something dramatic must have happened. What? Our text tells us what: a night of birthing just as real as Christmas Eve. The birth of a father for the Son of God.”[5]

Is Joseph relieved, to not have to divorce her? This is his intended, after all. Even in an arranged marriage, the period of engagement and waiting is the time when the heart settles in and begins to recognize its new home.

Is there peace for him in the part of the story that Luke tells – where they have to go to Bethlehem, another town entirely, with different people and even if it’s cramped space, it’s different space and at least it’s theirs?

What must it be like to know that the child you’re raising is not just the one that maybe you and your spouse have hoped for, but is actually the fulfillment of prophecy?

It has been said that “The first story about the birth of Jesus is a story of compassion, of grace… And so Joseph remained with Mary because he believed the dream and the message of the angel.”[6]

We don’t get a look at the stress of Joseph’s decision here … We learn what has happened: we learn of Mary’s pregnancy. We learn of Joseph’s decision, and then his dream, and then his new understanding. It sets us up as readers and hearers to perhaps already feel inadequate: We can’t get there that quickly. We fall short of that peaceful understanding of God’s will in our lives.

Perhaps the thing Matthew wants us to notice, though, is this: This is the beginning of the story, not its end. Joseph comes face to face with the Holy – in his dreams, and then in his arms. And it is hearing that word, and embracing that Divine moment, that is the first step forward in a movement of God that is still changing even us, even now.

Even we are not sure we can do it,

even when we want things to change faster than they are,

even when we are not sure if it’s the right time or if we are the right person,

even when we cannot see a way to make any difference in anything at all,

even when we are waiting and wondering and have no idea of what in the world is next.

even when the world would tell us that there is too much, and it’s too awful, and there is no way …

God can show us … God will show us …

yet another way.

[1] Warren Carter, New Interpreter’s Study Bible, p1749 (Abingdon 2003)
[2] Wm Barclay, Daily Study Bible series, The Gospel of Matthew p20-21 (St Andrew Press 1975)
[3] Eugene Boring, New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, p134-138 (Abingdon 1995)
[4] Boring
[5] Alyce McKenzie, ‘The Fear of Betrayal’, https://www.patheos.com/resources/additional-resources/2010/12/fear-of-betrayal
[6] Edward Markquart, Sermons from Seattle, ‘Joseph and the Virgin Birth’, http://www.sermonsfromseattle.com/series_a_joseph_and_the_virgin_birth.htm

1 Peter 4: 7 – 11
The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers. ⁸ Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. ⁹ Be hospitable to one another without complaining. ¹⁰ Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. ¹¹ Whoever speaks must do so as one speaking the very words of God; whoever serves must do so with the strength that God supplies, so that God may be glorified in all things through Jesus Christ. To him belong the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.

Want to grab people’s attention? Start your writing with these words: “The end of all things is near.” You know, a great deal of time and energy of every generation has been invested in predicting the end of all things. And each year brings about its own set of troubling global crisis and events that some will inevitably point to as sure signs that the end is near—telltale signals that the last of days are close at hand. And though I hear Jesus’ words echoing in my mind, “no one knows the day or hour when these things will come to pass,” I just can’t help but feel like that time is surely near each year we approach Black Friday.

Yes—the crowning achievement of American consumerism, Black Friday and its younger sibling, Cyber Monday, have produced some of the most mind-blowing discounts and bargain deals that you could swipe a card at. For those of you tuned in to the advertisements, you have likely uncovered door buster deals that are worth fighting for. It is my pastoral obligation, however, to remind you here that pushing and throwing elbows is not the way to show Christ’s love to fellow shoppers. But please also note that if you’re not planning to set an unusually early alarm or pitching a tent outside the mall, you may miss out on that coveted high-definition TV. After all, stock is limited, and these deals will only be around while supplies last.

John Kotter, is a professor emeritus of leadership at Harvard Business School and he wrote a book entitled Leading Change. And in this work, Kotter lays out eight stages of change and the first is, of course, the most difficult: establishing a sense of urgency. It makes sense. If members of an organization, or Black Friday shoppers, or dare I say Christians, don’t sense the need to take action, nothing will change. Kotter suggests that the most significant impediments to meaningful change combined low levels of urgency with high levels of complacency.¹

Enter the Apostle Peter. Urgency might as well be his middle name based on the passage that we just read from his first letter. He says “Look, you don’t have as much time as you think (and boy isn’t that the truth). So don’t take anything for granted. Stay wide-awake in prayer. Love each other as if your life depended on it. And like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received.” Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God.

You know the word grace comes up quite frequently in our talk. But often times with important words, I think we can use them so much that we risk losing sight of their meaning. And grace is one of those words that is at risk. The apostle Peter suggests that to understand grace, is to understand that it is what we receive from God as a gift.

So amidst the bargain deals of the coming weeks—as you consider the gifts that you will give to others this holiday season—it is good that we take some time to consider how our faith weighs in on all things gift. Let me help set the stage…

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. And God said, “Let there be light.” Gift! “And darkness.” Gift! Earth, sky, animals…the whole thing was all pure gift. And yet in all that material goodness, there was nothing that could reciprocate; there was nothing that could respond to God. And then God created a gift better than anything else; crafted in God’s image, filled with the very breath of the Divine. Crowned with glory and honor…the gift of us. And in same lavishness, God blessed us and said, “Go; explore my world and unwrap the gift of my creation. And bless the world with your own gifts.” And it was so.

But then there was a tree. And the strange thing about this tree…it wasn’t a gift. And wouldn’t you know, we took it anyway. And in taking that which was not gift, there was death and confusion. Our relationship with God was strained and all creation suffered, and it seems we forgot what life is all about: being receivers and givers of gifts. But despite our propensity to take that which is not ours, God gave us yet another gift. A gift so amazing; the gift of God’s very self as one of us. And in doing so God once and for all restored the way of our purpose; restored our role, so that we can once again offer to God our lives, our work, our knowledge…that we might join our gifts with the gift of Christ so there would be life abundant on earth and to offer thanks and praise for the all the good gifts that God has given.²

It is has been said that a Christian is one, who wherever she or he looks, sees the gift of Christ and rejoices in that gift. Perhaps this is the very essence of thanksgiving. We come to our Thanksgiving tables this year not just to pig out on turkey and all the trimmings but gather together to give thanks for the bountiful gifts that God has given to us.

A few months ago, I was invited to a luncheon for one of our congregation’s outreach partners, and before we ate, the chair of their board made a few comments and ended with the words, “Now let us return thanks.” I had heard the phrase before, but I had never reflected on its meaning: giving thanks back to the God who has given us all that we have. Returning gratitude to its source. I think it’s such a beautiful way to describe the act of prayer, when we respond to God’s grace the only faithful way we are able: with gratitude and thanksgiving.

You know, it seems if we are not careful, we can find ourselves implying things that ought to be said. I believe this can be especially true when it comes to thanksgiving. Perhaps we think it is assumed, but I would encourage you this Thanksgiving week to say aloud the gratitude that comes to your heart. Say “thank you.” Say “I love you.” Say “my heart is full.” If you’re thankful and you know, say “amen.” Because the beauty of gratitude and thanksgiving is that it multiplies when it is shared. Gratitude grows among us when we refuse to keep it to ourselves.

And since I have issued the challenge, I will lead this morning: I am filled with causes to return thanks to God for this faithful, missional, caring, supportive community—for this place of grace. I return thanks to God each day for the gift of being your pastor, for the gift of witnessing the love and hospitality that you extend one to another, for the gift of the depth of your commitment to living the gospel you proclaim, for the gift of your generosity, for the gift of those who laid a firm foundation of faithfulness here over 60 years ago, and for the gift of people and new members who have heard the call of God to claim this community as their own.

With hearts full of gratitude, we will gather tonight in this church building for our annual Thanksgiving dinner, and we will return thanks to God, whose providence is the source of our life and of this community. Returning thanks and praise to God is a fitting way for us to respond to the many gifts among us, but our scripture passage this morning says that there is something more that we must do. You see gifts, while they are not to be earned, do come with some measure of expectation: to enjoy them and to participate in those gifts. I think we all understand this at some level, because the last thing we want is for a person to whom we will give a gift to unwrap that gift and say, “Oh great, there’s no obligation here” and throw it away. No; we delight when the recipient enjoys the gift and engages it.

The apostle Peter says to us, you’ve received gifts from God. Enjoy those gifts and participate in them. Dwell in the gift of God’s grace. And then Peter goes on to say, “Take the gifts you have received from God and re-gift them!” (And I just know you were looking for a permission to re-gift without guilt this holiday season!) Each year, many folks will rewrap some of their gifts and offer them to unsuspecting friends and coworkers. According to one survey, and my own personal experience in the matter, the most popular of those items being candles, gift cards, hand lotion, and fruitcakes. You’ll be pleased to know that the website Regiftable.com will offer you some proper etiquette for re-gifting presents, but the general guideline is “If it ain’t broke…give it to someone else!” And when it comes to God’s grace, it is paramount that we should re-gift it. It’s not something to be kept to one’s self or just between you and your besties. The late, great preacher, Fred Craddock said that it makes no sense and is ultimately of no value to think of the grace of God as simply something to wallow around in and feel good in, like a warm bath. He says “To talk about being saved by the grace of God and grace covers all our sins and all that. It’s true, it’s true, but that’s not all that’s true. It is also said that if you only love people who do good to you, where is the grace in that?”³

And this is what Peter says about what re-gifting grace looks like. He says it looks like maintaining constant love for one another, even when the tension around the Thanksgiving table is high. He says it looks like being hospitable to one another without complaining about it. It looks like being quick to give a meal to the hungry, or a bed to the homeless—and doing so cheerfully. It looks like being generous with the different talents that God has given you, sharing them with those around you, not because anyone has earned these things, but because you are stewarding the manifold grace of God, and you have the ability to bless others freely, the way that God has done so for you.

Now, I’m not going to discourage you from those bargain deals out there right now. And I hope your present shopping is successful, be it in the fury of Black Friday or further down the holiday stretch. But when it comes to gift giving this season, I can think of no greater gift to give to the world in 2019 than to simply re-gift the manifold grace of God. In a setting like ours when pressure is overwhelming and competition is relentless; where words are hurtful, when we are judged and evaluated and scored on everything from our dress, to our coffee brewing, to our portfolio size, how much freedom would the world outside these walls feel if it was to experience the gift of God’s grace?

I’m willing to imagine that some of you want to know what’s in this gift box. And honestly the answer is: I don’t know; Courtney wrapped it. But here’s what I do know, there are countless gifts here in this very room. They aren’t wrapped neatly in paper and tied with a bow, but they are far more precious. And my prayer is that this you will come to name those gifts this Thanksgiving, and like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, that you will share your life with those around you; share your possessions with those in need. That you will count your blessings and return thanks back to the Source from which all gifts flow. To Him belong the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen.

¹ Kotter, John P. Leading Change. Harvard Business Review Press, 2012.
² Concept for this telling comes from the DVD curriculum, For the Life of the World: Letters from the Exiles. The Acton Insitute.
³ Craddock, Fred B. The Collected Sermons of Fred B. Craddock. “On being Gracious.” Westminster John Knox Press, 2011.

Luke 18: 9 – 14
9He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: 10“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ 13But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ 14I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

Finally. An easy text.  A parable! Parables. A favorite teaching technique of this man from Nazareth. A common practice of rabbis in that time, to tell a story about one thing, in order to make a point about something else. Familiar, easily heard, quickly remembered, simply shared. A way for us to understand biblical truth in different ways: story, symbolism, universal truth.

Finally, an easy text. Clear-cut. Straightforward. Even brief. In just a few verses, we meet just two characters: one is clearly the model of faithfulness and right practice, one is clearly … not that.

Oh wait what now? Jesus keeps going? He turns it upside down? It isn’t obviously the one with the most credentials and the loudest voice that we should look to? There might be something to this other person’s stance as well? Well. That’s annoying.

Years ago in a bible study one of my very dear friends looked up and, serious as could be, said “Well, if I were the Messiah … I certainly wouldn’t be teaching in parables.” Okay, first of all, if she were the Messiah, well that would just be weird. Second of all, the gospels would be a lot shorter, what with all of the parables missing.

So, since they’re there … since we’re here … maybe we owe this ‘easy text’ a closer look.

When we have received our pledge cards, when we are asked each week to give an offering, when we hear for a few weeks each fall about stewardship and ministry and budget and decisions … it is easy to set up a cause and effect, one-for-one reaction.

• We get a card, we fill it out and return it.
• We get a card, we don’t respond.
• We’re invited to bring offerings, and we do.
• We’re invited to bring offerings, and we let it pass.

It is easy for our ritual to become rote, for the moment to become just a motion, and to give without a single thought to it, or to not give because we don’t think it matters.

Jesus is saying here, in this easy text of a parable, that it matters. It matters that we give, how we give, and that we think about our giving.

Our Bible 101 scholars learned last week that there are several ways to dig deeper into a scripture … sometimes we go through the characters:

• What do we know about the people involved?
• What is said about them?
• What do the people in the story have to say?
• What does that tell us?

sometimes we go through the location:

• Where is the event taking place?
• Where are people coming from or going to?
• What significance does the location play?

Wherever we start and however it goes, we have to eventually get to the so what of the text.

• What is the truth of this story?
• What does it signify/mean/stand for?
• How does it impact my life?
• What difference would it make in my life if I took this truth seriously?

We have to get to the so what. Otherwise the words are just words, printed and bound and lovely to look at, but not living in us and through us.

This morning we have a religious leader, a Pharisee … and we have a public worker, a tax collector … and they’re at the temple. So what?

The temple was central to life at the time, and the most faithful made the effort to go up to the temple for the ritual of prayer. Part of prayer was an accounting of sacrificial offerings, and bringing a tithe – 10% of one’s elemental livelihood: animals, produce, materials. There were clear temple rules about behavior, and about placement. Where you stood – inside the temple – or outside, only near it. This mattered too.

Two men have come to the temple to pray.

One is known in the community as quite religious, a leader even, deeply connected and known. He can be heard as he prays, looking to heaven and telling God about his goodness – his OWN goodness – about his fasting (even more than he was required to, not just the traditional holy day fast, or the one day per week, but two days!), and his generosity (giving even more than was required, tithing on everything he had and not just the goods that were named as offerings!).

The other man is also known in the community, but for much different reasons. His work made him suspect. He collected taxes, and such work was often considered thievery: taking more than was allotted, serving an oppressive ruler, carrying out penalties without question.

Two men have come to the temple to pray. One stands inside at the center of the gathering space, face and hands raised in celebratory prayer, pointing out all he’s done for God, and claiming a blessing in not being like the other guy. That other man stands at the outside, removed, alone, and doesn’t look up, but bows his head, even pounds his chest, and proclaims, short and sweet, I’ve not done what I should, God be merciful.

Jesus describes them and then closes the teaching by saying that the second man went home ‘justified’, or right with God. Which leaves us to assume, we suppose, that the other man did not.

And so it leaves it easy for us to scorn the Pharisee, to blame his gloating, and to thank God that we are not like him.

Oh. Oops. That makes us like him right there, doesn’t it?

When we judge the Pharisee, we are doing exactly what we are saying he shouldn’t do. ‘Thank God I am humble like this tax collector. Thank God I am not a leader like this other person. Thank God I am not like this Pharisee!’

Saying ‘thank God I’m not like these’ is dangerously close to one of society’s favorite phrases: ‘There but for the grace of God go I’. We know what we mean by it, but think about what we’re saying with it. God’s grace is with me, so I’ve managed to not be like this person in this other situation I’m comparing myself to. So is God’s grace not with them? Is that what we want to say?

The place at temple was significant – inside and outside, worthy and not, receiving and outcast. It is perhaps true that we, like the Pharisee, are doing the right things: we are praying, we are here, we’ve already returned our pledge card, and we keep that pledge, we participate, we invite, we volunteer. And yet sometimes we are too much ‘inside’: our comfort in doing it all right, our insistence that we are right, makes us miss the point of the blessing we’re standing there praying for. Sometimes we miss the very blessing itself.

In this day of the Pharisee and the tax collector, your place in the temple mattered. Who led and got their way. Who responded and took direction. Who sat in the inner circle, and who stood to the side, was strictly prescribed and clearly followed. But when Jesus dies, the temple curtain tears. The thing that separated the inside and the outside realms? Removed. Gone. No more. It’s no longer a matter of ‘see what I am doing’ or ‘I really can’t do anything that matters’. There is no more of that. We see clearly that we are shaped, and strengthened, and move in this world, only by God’s grace.

This very ‘season’ of stewardship – which we’re naming this year simply ‘Generosity’ – is a good reminder to us, and a good nudge especially for our congregational leadership as we look to the new year, to recall that giving and generosity is something we tend to every day of our lives, not just for three Sundays in November. We could all stand to work on it a little longer than that.

Maybe we start with bringing back our pledge card this month, or making a pledge online. Maybe we read that letter, even look at and take home the GPS study guide inserts from this month, and read the testimonials emailed each week. And maybe we say a prayer – on our own, with our spouse, with our children, at our family table, with our Sunday School class – and we ask how we can respond.

What gift can WE bring?

Our minds will immediately drift to make comparisons. I’m on a fixed income. I’m looking for work. I have a kid in college. I’m a kid myself. I don’t make what that person does. I know I give more than that person does. Why don’t people pledge? Don’t they know it helps us plan? I don’t have time to think about it. I’ll do something later. I don’t know what’s going to happen around here in the next few months. I know it’s hard to wonder about the future, I’ll make sure to get my card in this month. I’ll say a prayer every time I write that check or click the stock transfer or put the money in the envelope.

Whew. All that bounces around in there at the same time, doesn’t it? And it becomes a thing. And it can defeat the blessing that giving should be, when we only swirl around in those comparisons. Whether we’re putting ourselves at the head of the list and stand annoyed that others can’t get it right … or whether we drop ourselves to the back of the line and sit convinced that we’ve nothing to offer, or that it doesn’t matter if we do.

We miss the blessing.

At the temple, one came to be seen by others, and one prayed only that God would see his need.

The temple was not just the place of prayer, but the medium for it.[1] In our moment, Christ is our temple … He is where we fix our focus.

It is easy for our giving to become a thing of not letting the left hand know what the right hand is doing. Thinking that we are doing what we should, we end up casting judgment on the work that’s being done – by whom, and how, and if it’s to our standard. And we will give or withhold our giving accordingly. When we think we are giving alone, in silos, in our own checks and envelopes and automatic withdrawals, it is easy for us to exercise control and use giving as both the carrot and the stick.

But when we unburden ourselves before God – when we throw ourselves on God’s mercy – when we admit that we aren’t where we should be, but we also aren’t done trying to be where we could be – then we have come closer to making an offering and not just performing the act of giving.

Jesus tells a story not to lay out the details of the story but to get at the intentionality of the behavior. The details of giving – making a pledge, upholding a pledge, bringing and offering – are the details. It is in acting on those details – recalling the extravagant love of God, the ‘holy prodigality!’ kind of generosity we talked about last week – in acting on those details, we get to the why.

When self-awareness is in check, and humility and piety are in balance, we can be clear that just giving alone is not automatically generosity. Giving is not, as some of us were sometimes taught, our ticket to heaven. Releasing control. Giving as lived prayer. Generosity as an act of worship. THIS is where, as early church writer Tertullian once said, God is the hearer not of the voice but of the heart.

We are very good at saying what should and shouldn’t be, who is and isn’t doing it right, especially when we’re convinced of our own place – the best place! – in that regard. And yet “anytime {we} draw a line between who’s ‘in’ and who’s ‘out’… {we} will find God on the other side.”[2]

Lutheran pastor Karoline Lewis says,

“Our society excels in deciding on another’s fate. … So, where is the good news, then? Well, perhaps the good news rests in us. That is, the good news will be heard, will be experienced, when we look beyond the obvious, the assumed, the expected in the other to a space and place of deep regard. … Solidarity is an act of discipleship.”[3]  

When we realize that generosity isn’t just about us individually, but all of us together, something happens. We see people here who go to the temple to pray. But in a larger understanding within the tradition, ‘prayer’ is used to mean the entirety of your commitments and behavior. We pray not just by what we say but by how we live. The question isn’t whether we’re as good as others, but if we’re as good as what God has created, and Jesus has taught us, to be.

In the very prayer Jesus teaches the disciples, we repeat ‘forgive US OUR debts’. We pray first ‘THY kingdom come’ … then for daily bread, then for resistance to temptation, then for the future. Prayer is – generosity is – entirely about God’s work and ours together, not alone. All of us matter to all of us. Our being generous makes us more generous. Seek ye FIRST the kingdom of God; and then all these things will be added. God’s grace first. All else comes after.

It becomes more than a transaction – a thing we’re supposed to do.

It becomes transformation – a thing God does in us and through us, and sometimes in spite of us, because it is God from whom all blessings flow, and to whom all gifts are returned.

This parable isn’t an example story. It’s a story of reversal. The tax collector goes home in right relationship with God, because God made the relationship right.[4] We see that “Mercy is found at ground level.”[5]

Mercy is found at ground level.

Right here – among the rogues and the cads and the ones who’ve messed it up and yet still believe somehow that God can set it right.

Here is love. Here is hope. Here is faith.

Here is generosity.

[1] Matthew Henry, Commentary – https://www.ccel.org/ccel/henry/mhc5.Luke.xix.html
[2] David Lose, Working Preacher Oct 23 ’16 – http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2967
[3] Karoline Lewis, Dear Working Preacher Oct 16 ’16 – http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4742
[4] Brian Stoffregen, Crossmarks – http://www.crossmarks.com/brian/luke18x9.htm
[5] Peter Woods, The Listening Hermit – https://thelisteninghermit.com/2010/10/18/the-altitude-of-a-prayerful-attitude/

Romans 10: 8 – 17
But what does it say?

“The word is near you,
    on your lips and in your heart”

(that is, the word of faith that we proclaim); ⁹ because if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. ¹⁰ For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved. ¹¹ The scripture says, “No one who believes in him will be put to shame.” ¹² For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. ¹³ For, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

¹⁴ But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? ¹⁵ And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” ¹⁶ But not all have obeyed the good news; for Isaiah says, “Lord, who has believed our message?” ¹⁷ So faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Christ.

Turns out, some people are more talkative than others. But on average, the typical person can say anywhere between 125 to 175 words per minute.¹ That’s a lot of words! Of course, not all of those words are probably needed. I happen to know some people [pointing to myself] who can use a great deal of words to say practically nothing.

When used judiciously, however, even a few words can go a long way. Several months ago, one of our elders, Bob Flint, shared with us about a project launched several years ago by SMITH magazine which invited people to distill their lives down to the six words that describe what is most important or interesting about them. Several collections of these so-called six-word memoirs have now been published. The very first six-word memoir was, “Not Quite What I Was Planning.” Late-night host, Stephen Colbert, offered this memoir: “Well, I Thought It Was Funny.” Many of these memoirs are good for a laugh: “Google knows me. Therefore I am.” And few are heartbreaking: “I Still Make Coffee for Two.”

Words are powerful. They can move us to tears or to action. They inspire our hope and provoke our anger. And some words can transform our lives forever. “Congratulations, you’ve been accepted.” “I’m sorry to inform you…” “Will you marry me?” “This just isn’t working anymore.” “It’s a boy!” “I’ve missed you.” “I forgive you.” “The test showed there’s something wrong.” “He’s coming home.” “She’s gone home.”

Words are powerful. The Book of Proverbs goes as far as to say that “The tongue has the power of life and death.” Almost all of us in our childhood likely heard the expression “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” It’s one of those sayings that we pass on with determination even though—or perhaps because we know—it’s not true. We must brace ourselves against the harm caused by words precisely because they are so powerful, and so we contrast them to material weapons like stick and stones and pretend that only the cuts and bruises that show up on our bodies are indications of real pain. All the while, every one of us walks through life bearing the scars of words that were spoken in anger or judgment. In hatred or disrespect. The power of speech is just as apparent in our culture, where words are used to tear down and destroy with alarming frequency and almost no negative consequence for the speaker. Listen to the rhetoric that we are living in. We humans can be so cruel to each other, especially when we feel no accountability for the words we speak or write.

When it comes to faith talk, perhaps you have experienced the damage that unthoughtful speech can do. In a time where every grand idea and complex subject is reduced to bullet points, and the most sensational and polarizing messages are the ones that make the headlines, we witness how our religious beliefs have been misused and misconstrued by a loud bunch with an assumed monopoly on God’s truth. It’s enough to leave us all flushed with embarrassment and shame. “Yes, I’m a Christian, but don’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t need everybody to know. I’m not one of those Christians,” we might say.

And despite the unfortunate ways that our faith can be broadcast around us, we have to also admit that to speak of our faith takes a great measure of vulnerability. You open yourself up to possible criticism and judgement about something that may be close to your heart. And, oh, does that make use nervous! This fear of judgement can lead us to shy away from speaking with authority and conviction about even our most deeply held beliefs.

Taylor Mali is a poet who spent nine years teaching English to high school students and, like most poets, he has a strong opinion about the state of discourse in contemporary culture. I want to share an excerpt of his poem, entitled “Totally like whatever, you know?” I’ll try to do the oral quality of the poem some justice:

In case you hadn’t noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you’re talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you’re saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)’s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? You know?

Declarative sentences—so-called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true, okay,
as opposed to other things are, like, totally, you know, not—
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
…

Do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally . . .
I mean absolutely . . . You know?
That we’ve just gotten to the point where it’s just, like . . .
whatever!

And so actually our disarticulation . . . ness
is just a clever sort of . . . thing
to disguise the fact that we’ve become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since . . .
you know, a long, long time ago!

I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.

To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks 
the determination with which you believe it. 
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.² 

The Apostle Paul could have taught a master class on speaking with conviction. His words have provided sustenance and courage to Christians for centuries. His letter to the Romans that we read from today is, in many ways, a collection of his most strongly held convictions. And you won’t find much of the tragically cool interrogative tones of contemporary discourse here; the words practically jump off the page. Paul is not considering the possibility of the potential truth of what he writes to the Romans. Paul speaks with authority and conviction, because he believed with his whole heart that anyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved. He says,

“Look, the word that saves is right here, as near as the tongue in your mouth, as close as the heart in your chest. It’s the word of faith that welcomes God to go to work and set things right for us. Welcoming Christ into our lives—embracing, with our body and soul, God’s work of doing in us what he did in raising Jesus from the dead. That’s it. With your whole being you embrace God setting things right, and then you say it, out loud: ‘God has set everything right between us!’ Paul says the scriptures say as much, for ‘No one who trusts God like this – heart and soul – will ever regret it.’ It’s exactly the same no matter what a person’s religious background, be they Greek or Jew: the same God for all of us, acting the same incredibly generous way to everyone who calls out for help.”

I love how The Message translation says this next part of our passage this morning. It says “Everyone who calls, ‘Help, God!’ gets help.”³

Paul knew this to be true from his own experience. He had seen the transformative power of God in his own life. In a former life, he was a man who many might have said was too far gone to be saved or find any measure of wholeness. And yet he tells his story, of how he found God’s grace and love extended to him, and he could not imagine being ashamed of such a world-altering message: the power of God is for all who live by faith. And because he was willing to proclaim that Good News, countless generations have been the better for it. You may never know the impact that your testimony of faith will have on those that hear it.

Paul probably didn’t know that his story would become such a profoundly meaningful witness to the Good News of God’s work in the world, but he did know this to be true: There is no gospel — which literally means “Good News” — if it isn’t shared. Paul writes, “How are others to call on One in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim it?” Blessed are the feet of the one who proclaims Good News!

I wonder if you could bring to mind a few of those voices in your life, who did the beautiful work of bringing the Good News. Someone you taught you the stories of faith. Someone who encouraged you with their own testimony of God’s work in their life. Perhaps there is someone who continues to bring a word of Good News into your life even still. After all, being a recipient of the gospel is not just a one-time thing; we are all encouraged when someone brings the story into view for us again.

I was sitting in a circle of clergy that had been prompted to share about “What sold us on church.” One by one, those in the circle told our story on why church came to matter in our life, until there was only one person left to speak. And as tears welled up in her eyes she said, “I am a member of the Church because the church saved my life.” Well, we all leaned in and Laura told her story—abandoned by her parents. Sent to a foster home, where she was physically abused for the next several years of her life. At age eight, she was adopted by a local family. Not knowing what to expect, she spent the first night wide awake in her new bed, afraid. She said had left her shoes on that night in case she needed to run away. And the next morning—a Sunday—the family got up early, had breakfast, and got into the car. Laura said “It was my first time at church and I had no idea what to expect. But when I walked into the Sunday school classroom, the teacher’s face lit up. ‘Welcome, Laura, we’ve been waiting for you!’” Then teacher read the Bible story for the day. Laura said “I’ll never forget it: Jesus says to his disciples, ‘Let the little children come to me. Do not stop them.’ I knew with all of my heart, that he was talking about me. I knew that I was home. I am a part of the church, because Jesus welcomed me.”

We are enriched by the many ways that people testify to the power of the gospel. And even when we choose words that are life-giving and point at the wholeness and love we find in our faith, the world is a better place for it. Maybe it’s a kind word shared at just the right moment, an email sent just to offer gratitude, a word of affirmation for a job well done. I’ve seen weary souls renewed and apathetic hearts warmed by a single sentence spoken in genuine appreciation. In times like ours, when words are used so frequently to divide and defeat—when angry and hostile shouting dominates the narrative—I’m convinced that the words we speak in this place matter more than ever. We need them now more than ever before. Words like, “All are welcome.” Words like, “Child of God, you are valued.” Words like, “You are forgiven.” Words like, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace.” Use your words with love and care. After all, words are powerful. Especially those that proclaim the gospel.

What if we were to be unashamed of the good news—that God’s power and grace hold the world? What if we were to give testimony to the ways in which our lives have been enriched and transformed by God’s embrace? What if we were to withhold words that cast fear or slander, and speak in love towards our neighbors and even our enemies? What if we were to take the message of hope that has changed us and, without reservation, share that message with others? As a pastor, my deepest hope is that our congregation will be adequately equipped to speak of our faith, standing firmly on the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The message is clear—the gospel is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes. The power of God for all. The Apostle Paul says that word is on your lips.

It was St. Francis of Assisi that said, “Preach the gospel at all times. Use words only when necessary.” And we would be best to let our actions do a good bit of the talking. But at some point or another, you will be called upon to use your words. To proclaim a good word for the Lord; to testify to the ways that you have seen and experienced the saving acts of our God. You may not be standing up here when you do it, but the pulpit will be yours. For you, you are bearers of the gospel message—God’s word of good news to the whole world: that all who call upon the Lord will be saved.

¹  Rebecca Lake. “Listening Statistics: 23 Facts You Need to Hear” Sept. 17, 2015.
² Taylor Mali. “Totally like whatever, you know?.” What Learning Leaves. Newtown, CT: Hanover Press, 2002.
³ Eugene H. Peterson. The Message. Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress, 2002.

1 Kings 19 : 9 – 14
At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there.

Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 10 He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”

11 He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; 12 and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13 When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 14 He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”

It’s conventional wisdom to practice what you preach. And that is why today is a humbling experience for me. You see, last year, I stood here in this pulpit and told you that the question “Are you listening?” sat at the number one spot on the list of questions most frequently asked of me by my wife. And as of today, I am sad to report to you that this remains the case. I have not put in the work that I must to move the meter on my listening skills. And not just around the house, but as the important spiritual discipline that listening really is for us as people of faith.

You know, it seems to me that listening for God’s voice has fallen out of fashion in our world. In fact, some of us are a bit skeptical when someone says that they have heard God speak to them. If someone tells you they have the heard the word of the Lord, you might expect a request for money or some far-fetched prediction. And on a heavier note, you and I could cite many examples of people doing ill in the name of obeying God’s voice. Such heinous acts make us wonder, at times, if hearing the voice of God is anything more than mere delusion. Our skepticism is not unfounded, and yet Jesus says confidently “My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me.” No ifs, ands, or sometimes.

But many of us have learned to content ourselves with praying in a one-way fashion, with our thoughts and words going outward, and then a solid “amen” to seal off the event before it ever becomes a true dialogue. Don’t get me wrong, there’s every reason to offer up our gratitude or the worries and concerns of the moment, but that sort of prayer is not to be confused with listening for what God is saying to us. We may have spiritual conversations with our friends, and that would be time well spent. And while talk about God is all around us in our culture, listening for God voice is a rarer occurrence. Where are you listening for God’s voice?

Most of us Protestants were told that the way God speaks to us is through the Bible, or through a preacher speaking from the Bible. But surely that is not the only way that God is speaking to us. Who would want to believe that only conversation we would be afforded with the Divine would be possessing a holy book, and getting the translation right, and interpreting it wisely? Frankly, many notable Christians in our time have used the Bible to pick out whatever slogan they needed. And Jesus was always on point to call out the religious zealots of his day that knew their sacred texts forward and backward, and Jesus says to them, “My sheep hear my voice.” And so it is that a relationship with the Bible and even a relationship with the rituals and patterns of faith are important, but surely these are not the only sources of communication with the One whose presence we often claim in our very midst.

Here’s the bottom line:
If we are not trying to listen for God’s voice in our living, then how can we hear anything new? How can we be following anything other than our own internal discretion? How can we say that we are not our own gods—if we don’t regularly engage in that difficult, yet important, task of listening to a call that is deeper and wider than the nudging of our own desires?

Enter Elijah. You might have noticed in our scripture passage this morning that the prophet Elijah was clearly motived by his desires—in this case to save his own hide. And who can blame him? In the previous chapter, Jezebel, wife of Ahab, King of Israel, has sent a servant to tell him when she’s done with him, he’ll be as good as dead. And so terrified, Elijah takes the first bus out of town, and after long wandering through the desert—and a nap and a snack for morale—we find Elijah tucked into a cave on mount Horeb, still fearful for his life.

Now I don’t know about you, but I’m not the best listener when I’m operating out of fear. Just ask any nurse that has cared for me and they will tell you that any directions they give to me after the needle comes into view don’t register. And my fear of needles isn’t the only things that blocks my ability to be an effective listener; I operate out of fear more often than I would care to publicly admit up here (though I do not suspect that I’m alone on this point). The state of affairs in our world is often enough fuel to feed my fear factory, and halt my abilities to listen deeply. I wonder if we are ever fully aware of how much we are affected in our listening by the fears we carry? I don’t know that a tired and fearful Elijah was clued into how much his fear had stunted his ability to home in on God’s call to him, because the Lord actually speaks to him, saying “Elijah, what are you doing?” And all he can think about is his inevitable undoing.

Then, Lord tells Elijah to go and stand on the mountain at attention before God. That the Lord will pass by. And if Elijah is anything like us, he’s probably waiting for God to show up in a thunderclap, or a fireworks display. And, as it turns out, Elijah just about gets all that, there on the mountaintop. The passage says, “Now there was a great wind, a tempest so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces. But would you believe that the Lord wasn’t anywhere to be found in it? Then after the wind there was an earthquake, not an Oklahoma tremor, no—this was a California-size quake. And yet, in all that commotion, there was no trace of the Lord. Well, as if that wasn’t sensational enough, after the earthquake there came massive fire. Scorched everything. But as you might image by now, still no sign of the Lord’s presence therein.

And I must assume the scripture is correct here in its account. Because while it would be nice—even just once—to have God’s voice plainly from the heavens like a flash of lighting, and with thundering decibels that would drown out the shouting voices and sensational actions around us, it has been my experience that God’s word is rarely, if at all, proclaimed through the tempest of shouting voices, the quaking of stomping feet, or the fires of our rage and anger.

And so it is, that all these fantastical events—that are fear-producing in their own right—come and go and Elijah has not seen or heard from the Lord. / And then…silence. “The sound of sheer silence” as it was read this morning. Elijah covers his face for he realizes that he standing in the presence of God Almighty, and in that silence, the Lord quietly calls to Elijah.

It was only after listening to God’s voice there in the quiet that Elijah had any shot at doing his ministry. Listening to the word of God and doing this work of ministry are inextricably linked.  They aren’t like diet and exercise–you can’t do one or the other. Living out our ministry and listening for God’s word are like two feet involved in the same walk.

The thing that always gets me, though, is the silence. Why is it that silence is so often the venue where God’s voice can best discerned? The early church had men and women who escaped off into the wilderness to resolve themselves to a secluded life of praying; sharing the space of solitude and silence. Every week, Quakers circle up, not to hear a 5-star sermon, or even to share in song, but to sit in silence as a community, hoping to receive something from the Holy Spirit. I have a friend who begins each day by laying on the floor of his work office for an hour to simply experience “the presence” …in silence.

Quite frankly, it would be more convenient and conducive to our busy schedules if our time in the presence of God were more like shaking a Magic-8 ball and getting back a clear and explicit response. We want God to speak in such a clear, clarion voice that we would come to know exactly what’s on God’s mind, what God thinks about this or that, and what God wants us to do with our lives. But that’s simply not the case for most of us. For most of us, the call of God comes when we have quieted our spirits in a way that might as well be referred to as the sound of sheer silence. In wordless hummings that speak beyond language and sentences. What we come away with when we listen for God’s still small voice is more often than not less like words and more like impressions. And we’re much better suited for picking up on those impressions than you might suspect. My mother can shoot me a look across the table and send a message that is three paragraphs long, in an instant. And all with no words.

It’s no an easy task, but I believe that when we learn to quiet our hearts and mind—to slow our pace—and make ourselves available for listening to God’s voice, I think we discover that there is something amazing about our ability to pick up on the impressions from a God who is far more mysterious and far greater than our simple ways of thinking, and speaking, and communicating. Lest we forget that sheep do not understand human language, our listening for the Good shepherd depends, in part, on how well we are picking up on the impressions that we are given.

Recently, there has been a surge in those who have found interest in meditation and contemplative prayer. In our Christian tradition, these practices, in varied forms, have been revered for centuries as spiritual disciplines that help to silence the mind and enable practitioners to listen for that that still small voice.

The first time I attempted contemplative prayer, bets were promptly made on whether I could in fact go a whole 20 minutes without talking—it had never been done before. Besides that, the thought of sitting still for that much time sounded about as fun as watching paint dry on a wall. But I was willing to give it at least one go, so I took my place on a cushion alongside a few others. And before we began, we were offered some brief, but important guidance. The leader suggested to us that the point was not to see if we could keep from making noise; this was to be a different kind of silence. The goal, instead, would be to be still and quiet our minds enough to possibly come to recognize the presence of the Lord within our very souls.

To many who practice it, contemplative prayer is space to still the body and quiet the mind so that one can create a space within oneself to know that which is greater and more necessary than myriad of things on our minds, or our to-do lists, or whether the garage door was left open. It is a type of prayer that has become an important spiritual act for me, because I often move at a fast quip and occasionally glance up from my cell phone screen, hoping that if God wants to talk it will be glaringly obvious. Christian singer and songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman wrote a song entitled waiting for lightening, which contains the following lyrics:

Somewhere in the depths of your heart
where it’s empty and dark
There’s a flicker of light
And the Spirit calls
But do you notice at all
Or are you…waiting for lighting
A sign that it’s time for a change
And your listening for thunder
While He quietly whispers your name.

I believe the word of the Lord can still be heard. A voice so close to us, that we need only but clear the chaos and clutter in our lives, to find that it is in fact imprinted on very hearts, its wordless hummings in our very souls. And when we choose to listen as part of our prayer life—we are not likely to receive an answer in a flashing neon sign, but we may uncover new ways of thinking about a situation that had not occurred to us previously. In the sacredness of silence, we might discover that there is, in fact, strength for forgiveness over a person who has hurt us. In making room for God’s presence dwell within us, like Elijah, we may uncover that we have the courage to persevere, even if our worries and fears have not been pulled from the table. Perhaps this is why the Apostle Paul described God’s voice as a peace that surpasses all understanding (Phil 4:7). And I could go for some more peace in my life, how about you?

Some of you may recall that at on the first Sunday of this year, I offered those who came to worship a New Year’s gift: it was the gift of two precious minutes of quiet in an otherwise busy holiday season. Today, I offer you an opportunity to that same gift. Two minutes of sacred space in the otherwise noisy lives we lead to pray. And I would invite you to consider trying contemplative prayer—praying without need of expressing words our thoughts. Instead, perhaps you would let this be a time of releasing yourself from those things that have been weighing on your heart and mind, that you might begin to touch base with your quiet center, where God’s presence dwells in you.

I will set my timer for two minutes, so you can even release the need to watch the time, if you can.

I would invite you to get comfortable in your seat, to breath in deeply and exhale out some the tension your body is holding. Take these next two minutes, to make yourself available to our Lord.

{ … two minutes of silence … }

Holy One, we had just begun to settle into the silence, and just like that we are back to our words. Lord, as the week rolls on in all its busyness, we pray that we might find a way to back to the silence, so that we might touch base with your voice, which calls to us softly and tenderly. Amen.

John 12: 20 – 26
Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. ²¹ They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” ²² Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. ²³ Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. ²⁴ Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. ²⁵ Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. ²⁶ Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.

“Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”

Those are heavy words we just heard from the scriptures—from Jesus, no less. Typically, if someone tells you that they hate their life that should raise a red flag. If a friend who is healthy tells us that their life will be over soon, we’re justifiably alarmed and would seek outside help for intervention. In an age where there is growing public discourse about illnesses like depression, a person who speaks about their own death prematurely worries us. We wonder if they have given up on hope.

But perhaps we can forgive the Light of the World for being a little dark here. After all, anyone reading the gospel of John must know that we are approaching the final act. In the previous chapter, the funeral of Jesus’ friend, Lazarus, takes an unexpected turn as Lazarus miraculously walks out of the grave. And now that he is out each morning taking postmortem jogs in the park, rumors of Jesus are all over the regional tabloids. But up to this point in the Gospel of John, Jesus has been telling his listeners that the time has not yet come. “The time for what?” you ask. Jesus doesn’t explain. Perhaps because it’s a forecast that nobody would have believed even if he would have told it plainly. A young man in his early thirties, his acclaim expanding—we heard today that even foreigners, some Greeks, are coming to his interns to make an appointment. And now Jesus says “The hour has come.” The thing that he is expecting, like seeing a storm cloud rolling in that is now is ominously close. Jesus death on the cross is only about a week away.

It is in the context of this rising tension in Jerusalem, that Jesus unpacks this strange teaching: A kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, and it is buried in the soil. And at first…nothing. But then from that death, almost invisible to us in the earth, a new thing begins to break into the light. You might recognize here that Jesus had a thing for parables that included seeds. They seemed to him a great illustrator for matters of faith. In this case, the real purpose of a grain of wheat is what is in question. He says, “Look, the virtue of a grain of wheat is that it can give birth to newness of life; it can bring forth a bountiful harvest. But it can only do so by giving away its life as a seed. We know this to be true: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over.” (The Message) A seed can give way to things that are much bigger, much grander than itself: a towering oak, an impossibly strong cedar, a field full of gluten, as is the case in Jesus’ illustration. This, he says, is the true nature of our purpose: to diminish ourselves as the primary actor, so that a gracious and loving God can use us to produce something grander and more beautiful.

What do you think? Can you imagine your life to be a grain of wheat? I can tell you this: if left to my own devices, I probably wouldn’t have self-selected a seed as the illustration for my life. I might have likened my life to something more impressive, like a mountain, or more enduring, like a shining star. Instead, the parable says that ours is that of the tiny grain of wheat, and our path the humble path of Christ; to give up our lives in sacrificial love so as to fulfill our true purpose.

This reckless, sacrificial love is what we see on full display in Jesus living. In fact, Jesus is obedient to embrace sacrificial love even to the point of suffering and death. He demonstrates for us God’s way which is strength through vulnerability. Power through what appears weak in the eyes of the world. Justice through love, mercy and forgiveness. And he calls those who would follow him to the very same kind of living, which–if we are honest with ourselves—is easy to hear and believe…but to actually live that out, sounds a bit (what should we say?) risky.

This weekend I drove to the Horseshoe Canyon Ranch to witness an annual rock climbing tournament. This unique competition attracts climbers from all over the world, as the best of best dress in festive costumes and attempt to climb as we many routes as they can in 24 hours. Appropriately named for the grueling task, the 24-hour Horseshoe Hell was truly a sight to see! I enjoyed walking alongside the high sandstone bluffs of the ranch, taking in both the exceptional athleticism of the climbers and some pretty fun people watching!

Following the competition, I saw a father/daughter duo out on the bluff. The young girl—maybe 10 years old—had climbed up most of a route, but was clinging extra tightly to the rock face and crying. Her father, who had her taught on the rope, was yelling up the face of the cliff with an encouraging, if excited, tone: “It’s OK, just lean back and let go. The rope will hold you.”  His pep talk was not persuasive. Remaining frozen on the wall, the young climber shouted back with her one-word retort “No!”

“You’re OK!” the father started back in. “You know that the robe is going to hold you, just like we practiced a few feet off the ground.” But she wasn’t having any of it. “Sweetie, you won’t be able to hold on forever. At some point, you’re just going to have to risk it!”

Eventually, and essentially out of sheer exhaustion, she did let go and returned safely to firm ground; the rope holding just as promised. And this scene stuck with me. On one hand, you can believe the rope is going to catch you… But when it comes to putting your life on the literal line that is something you must risk. There is a difference between propositional belief in something and risking your life on it. On what narrative are you risking your living? What do you trust enough to lean the whole weight of your life on it?

Consider for a moment the resurrection. Like the seed that finds newness of life after giving up its own. What a wonderfully beautiful story and a compelling concept. I have heard many speak about believing in the resurrection, which is fine and well. But resurrection isn’t really something to which one mentally ascribes. It is something you must risk.

Ask those people that ran away from the tomb that first Easter morning, and I don’t think you are likely to hear them talking about belief in the resurrection. If you follow their lives a bit further—the women, and Peter, and the other disciples—to find out what the ripple effect of that empty tomb was on their lives you are not likely to encounter at the word belief as much as you are likely to encounter the word risk. Their story is told to this day not because of what they believed about resurrection. That would not distinguish them from most people. Instead, they leaned into it, gave their purpose over to it, risked their status on it, and, truthfully, many of them lost their heads because they came to the conclusion that Jesus wasn’t held by death anymore and he was still on the move among the breathing. And that is something you cannot simply believe to be true. That is something that you must stake a bit of personal risk on. Those disciples didn’t go to the ends of the earth without risk to themselves in the name of the resurrection. They embarked on something that is truly the root of faith: to give one’s self over to something much bigger, much grander, than one’s own safety or happiness.

This week, a fellow HACCer sent me a quote from Teddy Roosevelt**, who said “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” Friends, we can dock the ship of our lives harbor by holding tight to the life we seek for ourselves; to find ways of ensuring that we can preserve it for as long as possible, but that is not what we are built for. We find ourselves still clinging tightly to a small vision for our lives than risking our living on resurrection.

We are told to fight, to stand up for ourselves. To battle, and struggle for what is rightfully ours and our respect and a secure future. This is the glory and victory of this world. But how much different is the glory and wisdom of risking one’s living on sacrificial love? That we might be drawn more deeply into the kingdom of God through risking our lives on God’s way of love for, service to, and sacrifice on behalf of those around us.

I’m fortunate to see a good measure of sacrificial love around me. I have seen families where parents give up a whole lot of themselves so that their children might flourish. I’ve witnessed spouses who set aside their own wants or needs to help the other become who they are meant to be.  I’ve seen it in this congregation, even in the simple act of giving up the seat we would have for ourselves so that a newcomer could be welcomed. When children are welcomed, even when they fuss. When we reach beyond our shyness or our fear to speak out against the suffering of others or the injustice in our communities, especially when it is a well-known fact often times that can mean putting your life on the line.

But Jesus makes it clear: when all the safety nets are taken away, when the security measures of comfort and protection you’ve put in place must be abandoned to show Christ’s love, when the things you thought would destroy you are staring you in the face, do not fear falling to rock bottom. Don’t shy away from leaning the weight of your life on sacrificial love. There is something that will catch you. The One who has ushered you into life will catch you on the very floors of death.

Friends, we can try and cling tightly to ones own wants and desires—to our self-centered way of living. And it’s scary to give it up; to lay it down; to let it go. But let’s face it: you can’t hold on forever. At some point you’re just going to have to risk it. And when you do, I pray that you will remember the words of our teacher who went before us: “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.”

**The quote was received as attributed to Roosevelt. It is more accurately attributed to author and entrepreneur John A. Shedd.

1 Corinthians 12:12-26 

¹² For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. ¹³ For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.

¹⁴ Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. ¹⁵ If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. ¹⁶ And if the ear would say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. ¹⁷ If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? ¹⁸ But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. ¹⁹ If all were a single member, where would the body be? ²⁰ As it is, there are many members, yet one body. ²¹ The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” ²² On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, ²³ and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; ²⁴ whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, ²⁵ that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. ²⁶ If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.

{{Start with an introduction about where this sermon started, being in Colorado w/ my boyfriend who is med student, discussing creation and the human body. Then my encounter with a story about a young gay man physically assaulted this week in Blackwell, OK as the church attempted to lay hands on him to “pray the gay away.” This story forced me to reimagine the sermon direction for this morning.}}

Diversity is something every church and corporate entity wants to claim as a value and market it to their audiences. But doing the work of diversity is so exceptionally hard, because it requires honesty, vulnerability, a willingness to make mistakes, and to extend grace when mistakes are made.

{{Pause and offer a prayer.}}

Did you catch the feel-good story of this week?

It all started when a boy’s teacher posted the story about the Tennessee-obsessed student.

“This particular child came to me and told me that he wanted to wear a University of Tennessee shirt, but he didn’t have one. We discussed that he could wear an orange shirt to show his spirit. He told me every day leading up to it that he had an orange shirt that he was going to wear”, Snyder said in her post.

When the day finally came the boy showed up to school wearing his orange shirt with a piece of paper attached to it with his homemade design of the University of Tennessee logo drawn on.

But when the boy went to lunch, things apparently took a turn for the worse.

“After lunch, he came back to my room, put his head on his desk and was crying. Some girls at the lunch table next to his (who didn’t even participate in college colors day) had made fun of his sign that he had attached to his shirt. He was DEVASTATED,” said his teacher.

Taking things into her own hands, his teacher then took to the internet to see if she had any connections to the University of Tennessee to help make the shirt she planned to get him “a little extra special.”

The post almost immediately went viral among Vols fans and, before she knew it, she was contacted by the University of Tennessee informing her that they wanted to send him and the rest of his classmates a care package in support of her student.

The story, however, does not end here.

The University of Tennessee offered this young man a full scholarship. They also decided that they would take the boy’s design and make it an official school shirt with a portion of the proceeds being donated to STOMP Out Bullying, a national non-profit organization that is dedicated to eradicating bullying of all forms.

“More than 50,000 shirts featuring the boy’s design have been pre-sold by the VolShop,” the school said. “All proceeds from the sale of the shirts will go directly to the charity Stomp Out Bullying. The university will cover the cost of the scholarship separately. Orders will begin shipping later this month.”

University of Tennessee chancellor, Donde Plowman, tweeted the news when the official campus store sold out of more than 16,000 T-shirts. Demand for the inspiring hand-drawn shirt was so high that the school’s website even crashed.[1]

It’s a heart-warming story, as we are reminded of how we humans can take action to transform something horrific into something beautiful. We’ve been long over due for a reminder of this kind – with the slew of mass shootings by white-nationalists the past few months and this week’s commemoration of the 9-11 terror attacks.

But even within this redemptive story about a young boy’s tshirt design, we bear witness to our ability to do harm to one another, even at an early age.

Why is it so hard for us to get along?

From the elementary lunch room to the world stage, and every social interaction in between—we seem to have a hard time getting along. Sociologists believe part of our nature developed a natural tendency to find ways to exclude those who don’t belong to the tribe—in order to squelch diversity in pursuit of uniformity the establishment of social norms and morality.

In many ways, this pressure to assimilate into the larger community group was necessary for survival. We see stories about warring tribes and pressures to maintain cultural identity littered across the Hebrew Bible – the Exodus Story, and many of the Prophets, tell of Israel’s challenge to maintain their identity in the midst of persecution.

In fact, the truth be told, this is a recurring narrative across the human experience –

• The development and maintenance of Roman Imperial power.
• The Christian Crusades of the Medieval periods, ensuring Christian access to the Holy Lands.
• European Colonization of the New World and the Doctrine of Discovery
• The slave trade and the curse of Ham
• The Trail of Tears
• The attempted systematic extermination of the Jews through the Holocaust
• The Japanese Internment camps
• Jim Crow Laws and Segregation

And these are just the examples I can come up with off the top of my head. Here’s the challenge, with engaging these topics.

The more time that separates us from the actual historic events, the more easily we can create a narrative that vilifies the actors in these stories. Movies are made, history is boiled down into a single meat-narrative, and the obvious good guys bad guys emerge.

However, the closer we are to a divisive hot button issue, the more difficult it is to develop consensus on who is on the correct side of history… The Holocaust, Segregation, and the Trail of Tears were not perpetuated by people who believed themselves to be evil or mean. In fact, the society in which these actors lived granted permission for these horrific acts to take place.

Fellow DOC pastor, Rev. Dr. Phil Snider made quite the social media splash back in 2012 with a speech he made at the city council meeting in Springfield, MO, where he serves.

“Any accurate reading of the Bible should make it clear that gay rights goes against the plain truth of the word of God,” he began.

“It’s not that we don’t care about homosexuals, but it’s that our rights will be taken away, and un-Christian views will be forced on us and our children, and we’ll be forced to go against our personal morals.

“The liberals leading this movement do not believe the Bible any longer. When you run into conflict with God’s established order you run into trouble… Our city is in the gravest danger that is has ever been in in its history.”

“You see the right of segregation. The right of segregation is clearly established by the holy scriptures both by precept and example,” he continues, before dropping a few jaws in the audience.

“I’m sorry I’ve brought the wrong notes with me this evening,” Snider explains. “I’ve borrowed my argument from the wrong century. It turns out what I’ve been reading to you this whole time are direct quotes from white preachers from the 1950s and the 1960s all in the support of racial segregation.”[2]

The sermon title is “Loving Diversity.” I’d imagine there are some that after hearing Phil’s words, are finding themselves feeling a bit uncomfortable. Please don’t check out on me, yet. If I’m being completely honest, I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable, as well.  This is why getting into the grit of a diversity conversation is so blasted hard. It requires vulnerability, honesty and a whole lot of grace.

The early church was also struggling to with this diversity issue. Jesus flipped the script on what it meant to be a child of God. The Jewish tradition took deep pride in being God’s set apart people, and their whole culture was built around this identity. So, when Jesus began spending time with the undesirables and unclean of his day and taught those people that they were indeed also beloved children of God, the walls that once set apart the Jews and the Greeks were dissolving. This was radical, and it is why we see Paul teach on this topic within multiple letters he wrote. In our text today, Paul says,

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.

You see, the early church didn’t have years of church history and tradition to help them understand what it means to be a follower of Jesus. They were having to learn and unlearn at the same time. They were having to learn what it means to be a part of this new community of radical hospitality while at the same time, unlearn the established societal norms and morals that governed social interaction.

In our text for today, Paul is offering his followers a metaphor to try and help them imagine what this new Christian community is to look like –

Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot were to say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear were to say, ‘Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members, yet one body. 

For Paul – the secret sauce that is going to make this new community flourish is grace and humility offered in authentic relationship as they journey this process of learning and unlearning together.  A church father put it this way – “in the essentials, unity. In non-essentials, liberty. In all things, love.”[3]

{{Dick’s Story}}

I share this story, not because Dick changed his understanding of homosexuality and the Bible. For today, I share it because of his prayer, “God, if you can’t change my son, then change me.” The grace and humility embodied in this prayer birthed new life, because it placed relationship above being right.

Loving Diversity—it is the absolute hardest and the most essential work God has called us to do. And to be successful, then must commit ourselves to the truth that we are all in this together. As it is, there are many members, yet one body.  Look around this sanctuary. We need each other, every single other. Our success is immensely dependent on us getting this right. And this is part of what I love about Harvard Ave Christian Church.  We try our best to get this right, even when it is hard. We try our best to embody our denomination’s mission statement: “We are Disciples of Christ, a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world. As part of the one body of Christ we welcome all to the Lord’s Table as God has welcomed us.”

My prayer for us is that we continue to extend the grace needs as we journey the road of learning and unlearning together.

[1] https://news.utk.edu/2019/09/12/admission-and-scholarship-given-to-young-vol-fan/
[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtN9JSxsmzE
[3] In original form, attributed to St. Augustine of Hippo. Slightly modified (“…in all things, charity.”), ascribed to Alexander Campbell, founding father of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).