The Stories of Jesus – The Parable of the Sower
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Matthew 13:1-9. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Matthew 13:1-9. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Matthew 17:22-27. Rev. Kevin Howe, preaching
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Mark 16:1-8. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Rev. Courtney Richards, preaching
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Mark 8:31-37 // Mark 11:1-10. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Nehemiah 1:4-11 // Psalm 51:10-12. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Romans 12:2 // Colossians 3:12-20. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Luke 18:9-14. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Hebrews 12:15 // 1 Corinthians 13:4-6 // Luke 15:25-32. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Mark 1:9-15 // Psalm 62:1-2. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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A brief time of reflection for Ash Wednesday, which begins the Christian season of Lent … a time for looking inward to consider our faith, our witness, and the ways we connect with the ministry and life of Jesus Christ.
Participate as a morning devotion to begin your day … during the day on your own or with family … share with those who might need and find this moment meaningful … or close the evening with this reflection.
Remember that you have come from the dust, and to the dust you will return, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection. Repent, and believe the good news. Amen.
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Mark 9:2-9. Rev. Courtney Richards, preaching
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Isaiah 40:21-31. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Jeremiah 17:5-8. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Joshua 1:1-9. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Matthew 7:21-27. Rev. Kevin Howe, preaching
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John 8:12. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Ezekiel 36:26, Ephesians 1:18. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Mark 1:1-8. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Isaiah 64:1 – 9. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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1 Samuel 1 : 9 – 28. Rev. Courtney Richards, preaching
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Matthew 25:14-30. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Mark 6:30-44. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Mark 6:30-44. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Mark 2:1-12. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Matthew 22:34-40. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Matthew 14:22-33. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Matthew 6:25-34. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Luke 5:1-11. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Romans 12: 9 – 21. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Romans 12: 9 – 21. Rev. Kevin Howe, preaching
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Romans 12: 9 – 21. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Romans 12: 9 – 21. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Luke 15: 11 – 32. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Luke 7: 36 – 50. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Jonah 1: 1 – 3. Rev. David Emery, preaching
SERMON ONLY video below, following the worship bulletin.
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Luke 8: 26 – 39. Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Exodus 3: 1 – 12 . Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Romans 8: 26 – 39 . Rev. Courtney Richards, preaching
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Romans 8: 5 – 6 . Rev. David Emery, preaching
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Romans 8: 1 – 4 . Rev. David Emery, preaching
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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.
Join Children Worship & Wonder, telling one of our favorites, the parable of the mustard seed.
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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP
> Call to Worship :: from Jan L. Richardson, Freedom in My Bones, August 2010
> Welcome :: Rev. David Emery
> Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘If My People’ (Jimmy Owens) :: Kelly Ford, vocal; Rick Fraley, piano; Susie Monger Daugherty, organ
> Scripture (Galatians 5: 13 – 26) & Sermon :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘Peace Be Still’ (Hope Darst/Mia Fieldes/Andrew Horst) :: Colt Stubblefield, reader; Andi Gross, vocal; Tom Jurena, piano
> Communion :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘America the Beautiful’ (Samuel Ward) :: Rick Fraley, piano; Erica Parker, cello
> Benediction :: from Frederick Douglass
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 :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> Call to Worship :: Coppelia, Canaan, Cambrie, and Anna Chebny
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘Beautiful Things’ (Lisa Gungor/Michael Gungor) :: Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert
> Scripture (Acts 3: 1 – 10) & Sermon :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘I Walked Today Where Jesus Walks’ (Greg Nelson/Gloria Gaither) :: Kelly Ford, Rick Fraley, Erica Parker
> Communion :: Rev. Courtney Richards; Steve Ray
> communion music :: Isaac Herbert
> Benediction :: the Chebnys
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 :: Rev. David Emery
> Call to Worship :: from John O’Donohue, Eternal Echoes
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘Breathe On Us’ :: The Rising Band
> Scripture (Acts 2: 36 – 41) & Sermon :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘I Surrender All’ :: Chancel Choir ensemble
> Communion :: Rev. Courtney Richards; Rev. Darlene Martinez
> communion music :: Susie Monger Daugherty
> Benediction :: ‘The Lord Bless You and Keep You’ :: Chancel Choir ensemble
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.
Enjoy this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling a wonderful story of Peter healing a man in Jerusalem.
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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP
> Call to Worship :: Rev. David Emery
> Scripture (Acts 1: 1 – 11) :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> conversation with Phil Armstrong, 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre Centennial Commission
> ‘We Will Stand’ :: Phil Armstrong, Kelly Ford, Donald Ryan
> Sermon :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘Love Does’ :: Isaac Herbert
> Communion :: Rev. Courtney Richards; Susan Gross
> ‘Go’ :: Kelly Ford & Donald Ryan
> Benediction :: Rev. David Emery & Addie Timberlake
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 :: Rev. David Emery
> Call to Worship
> Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘10,000 Reasons’ :: Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert (and Autumn!)
> telling the story of Pentecost :: (from Acts 2) Dr. Richard Ward, Phillips Theological Seminary
> Sermon :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name’ :: Kelly Ford & Vicki Smith
> Communion :: Rev. David Emery; Neil Gilpin
> communion music :: Isaac Herbert
> Benediction
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 the ascension (and getting ready for next week: Pentecost!).
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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP
> Welcome :: Rev. David Emery
> Call to Worship :: Dan & Cheryl Pease; Ashley Pease, Ezra
> Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Kevin Howe
> ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’ :: Kelly Ford & Vicki Smith
> Scripture (Philippians 4: 4 – 9)
> Sermon :: Rev. David Emery, Rev. Courtney Richards, Rev. Kevin Howe
> ‘Happy Day’ :: Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert
> Communion :: Rev. Courtney Richards; Dan & Cheryl Pease
> communion music :: Vicki Smith, organ
> Benediction :: a sabbatical blessing for Rev. Howe
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
Harvard Avenue master gardeners, hobby horticulturists, flora and fauna aficionados … or just folks who love pretty plants. THIS is your week to shine!
This week’s sermon theme – In the Meantime: Plant A Garden – is just for you, and we can’t wait for you to share pictures of your garden! (or someone else’s!) Show us what has been planted, and what has grown, around you!
Post to Facebook and Instagram, and hashtag it: #PlantAGarden – #LoveStaysHome – #BEingHACC so we can find each other! (And, as ever, send your pics to Courtney, if it’s easier.)
> 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, 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 appearing to the disciples by the sea.
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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP
‘In the meantime’, how are you ‘making the most of it’? Did you repurpose a table to set up a home office? Have you baked your first ever loaf of bread? Adopt a dog so you can keep each other company? Is your family having ‘who can wear their pajamas the whole day’ contests? Find a flower growing that you don’t remember planting there?
Look around at the people and things of the moment, and share pictures of your “MOST”!
> Welcome :: Rev. David Emery
> Call to Worship :: Nancy Pittman
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer :: Rev. Kevin Howe
> ‘Blessed Assurance’
> Sermon (text John 21: 1 – 17) :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘Waiting for My Real Life to Begin’ (Colin Hay) :: Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert
> Communion :: Rev. Courtney Richards; Ashley Gibson
> ‘Both of Us’ll Feel the Blast’ (Waterdeep) :: Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert
> Welcoming New Members
> ‘Your First Day in Heaven’ (Hamlin) :: Todd Maxwell, Kelly Ford, Ron Lee, Barry Epperley, & Donald Ryan
> Benediction :: Nancy Pittman
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
Find our *Connection Card* to share attendance, concerns, and celebrations so that 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 are brought forward through online giving or mailed 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 Jesus appearing to Thomas.
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Today, as we hear the story of Thomas, we realize his questioning actually shows us how to be faithful. This week’s photo offering borrows from our sermon theme picture: **Show us your question mark!** Draw one and take a picture. Build it out of coffee cups. Lay your children on the floor in the right shape. Line up those flower pots. Thinking about a new quarantine cut? 🙂 Have some fun!
We all have questions; let’s see your question marks! Post to Facebook and Instagram, and hashtag it: #CanWeBeHonest – #LoveStaysHome – #BEingHACC so we can find each other! (As always, you can just send your pictures to Courtney, too.)
> Call to Worship :: Andy & Jennie McMillan; Addie, Kendall, Embry
> Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘Honest’ (Evens/Seibold/Wilson/Noel) :: Isaac Herbert
> Sermon (text John 20: 24-29) :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘Why?’ (Harris/Koch/Clark) :: Kelly Ford & Rick Fraley
> Communion :: Rev. Kevin Howe, Jodi Howe; Bob & Sue Flint
> ‘How Great is Our God’ (Tomlin) :: Rick Fraley
> Benediction :: Bill & Betsy Richert
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
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 Easter morning.
> Scripture (Matthew 28: 1 – 10) :: Rev. Kevin Howe
> Call to Worship :: Colt Stubblefield
> ‘Living Hope’ (Phil Wickham) :: Rising Worship band
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer :: Rev. Darlene & Zoey Martinez
> Sermon :: Rev. David Emery
> ‘Joyful Joyful, We Adore Thee’ (arr.Maddux/Ryan) :: Kelly Ford & Donald Ryan
> Communion – Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘Behold the Lamb’ (Townsend) :: Rick Fraley
> Benediction
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
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.
> Gather elements to serve as your bread and cup, to be shared during today’s reflection.
> text : John 6: 22 – 35
> music : ‘Be Near to Me’ (Enter the Worship Circle) :: Rising Worship Band; Isaac Herbert, leader
‘Do this in remembrance of me.’
All are welcome.
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 link to send a ‘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.)
Your tithes and offerings can be offered through online giving
, or mailed to the church address. (Mail is collected daily.)
You can also find a 15-minute video of this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, this week exploring the story of Zaccheus.
+ Welcome & Call to Worship :: Rev. Courtney Richards
guitar : Isaac Herbert
Here we are again … together, apart. Not distanced, but in solidarity: Here we are to worship. We’re so glad to have this podcast, a few moments to breathe, sing, pray, sit, listen, be. We hope you’ll use the virtual Connection Card email. Let us know you came to worship today, and share any prayer concerns, joy and needs and news that you might have, so our pastors and staff, elders and prayer groups, can care for you in this season.
Perhaps you want to pause already before we go further. Find a candle and bring it to where you’re listening. Get your Bible so that you can read the scripture with us in a few minutes. Find the right place to sit and listen with your heart. Close all the other apps, put down all the other devices. Take that pause now, if you’d like. We’ll wait.
And now here we are to worship. Here we are to say that God is still God. Here we are, beloved of God, beloved to one another, in our homes, creating sacred spaces, finding sacred moments … together, apart. Here we are. To worship.
+ Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Kevin Howe
Let us pray together.
Holy God, Giver and Author of Life, Maker of all Creation, we gather our minds and hearts together today in your Spirit, to seek refuge from the storms of life. In you we find strength for our living, joy and energy for new tomorrows. Lord, grant us your peace. Fortify our faith.
We name this day that there have been many times when the tragedies in our lives and on the news overwhelm us. And Lord we confess that our hope can begin to falter in your good news. We see troubles many and bitter, and yet Lord, you restore life.
You have been our refuge and strength, our rock in times of need, and we ask Lord that you continue to make your presence known among our lives and in our world, especially for all those who suffer this day. There are many who need your healing touch, God, and we ask that you would enfold them and all of us in your never-failing care.
Lord use us to be instruments of your hope and love with the world, and may we continue to adhere to the ways of Jesus Christ your son, who taught us to pray saying…
+ The Lord’s Prayer
piano : Susie Monger Daugherty
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
+ Reflection :: shifting toward delight :: Rev. Howe
In the 58th chapter of Isaiah, the prophet pleads with the people of Israel to delight in the Sabbath and to delight in the ways of the Lord. And so my wondering today is this: How does one make a shift to delight?
You know, often we tend to view delight as something we have no control over; we either find something to be delightful or we don’t. And it’s far easier to view things this way, because if enjoyment is something for which we have no control over, then we need not entertain the idea of trying something again that we did not like the first time. If we have no control over that in which we find delight, we can simply double down on our expressions of displeasure and disinterest in activities or circumstances that we did not previously find to be delightful.
I came into this season of social distancing and quarantines with a strong predetermination that these practices would be ones in which I would find no delight. And that was destined to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, as I was bound and determined to find everything unpleasant about these circumstances for which none of us have control over.
Then about a week back I came across an article on the internet that invited me to see my circumstances in a different way. The article was entitled “QuaranTraining,” and it spoke of the creative ways that people from within the mountaineering and rock-climbing community were choosing to fully embrace their time at home. Here is a community of people who much prefer travel and the outdoors to the confines of home. And yet the article contains images from climbers all over the world who are finding that there are in fact many ways to train for their sport of passion in their homes and apartments. Parents beware! The images show people scaling bookshelves, hanging from the underside of their stairs, setting protective gear between cabinets—and not for the sake of security but rather for a light-hearted laugh. One man suited up in the attire he would use for scaling the highest peaks in the world, so that he could climb his six-foot ladder and cleaning dust-bunnies from the crown moulding!
Rather than stew in resentment about not being able to participate in their outdoor pursuits, the community is finding ways to lean into the discomfort of these new circumstances, and is even finding some delight in it. Where there was once the mundaneness of home, there was new adventure. Where there was once lemons, now lemonade.
A great deal of suffering in our lives is bound up in our struggle to preserve our predetermined ways of thinking, feeling, and acting in the world. Because it is rare that the circumstances of our days align with our notion of what we would have for ourselves, it can be a continual struggle not to sit our own self-imposed quarantine of resentment toward how things are unfolding. But our faith calls us to continually refresh the way we see our circumstances, particularly about how we see adversity in our living.
I think about the Apostle Paul’s words in the 12th chapter of Romans, where he says
“Do not be conformed to the world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
It takes a real measure of faith to renew one’s mind – to free ourselves of our preconceived notions about how things should go, in this world in which we have very little control. But our faith offers us this beautiful invitation: To choose a new way of seeing our circumstances, to take up Christ’s invitation to lean into adversity with the confidences of God’s care and God’s presence. And when God is in the picture, there is always the audacious possibility that we will find delight.
This is my hope: That we will lean into God during this season, to find comfort and security in God’s presence, so that we may see our lives and circumstances anew, open to the radical possibility of delight.
+ ‘Precious Lord, Take My Hand’ :: Avenue; Barry Epperley, director
+ Scripture :: Isaiah 58: 1 – 14
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?6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
8 Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator[a] shall go before you,
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
9 Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
10 if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday.
11 The Lord will guide you continually,
and satisfy your needs in parched places,
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water,
whose waters never fail.
12 Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to live in.13 If you refrain from trampling the sabbath,
from pursuing your own interests on my holy day;
if you call the sabbath a delight
and the holy day of the Lord honorable;
if you honor it, not going your own ways,
serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs;
14 then you shall take delight in the Lord,
and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth;
I will feed you with the heritage of your ancestor Jacob,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.
+ Reflection : Prepare: delight :: Rev. Richards
We do not like being told what to do. We just don’t. The pioneering spirit of American lore is ingrained in us. (We ignore the parts of that history that are problematic.) We’ve spent our lives, and certainly our adult years, with incredible benefits and privileges. (Even the times that we’ve been down and out, or left behind, or gone without, we were still so far ahead of the curve …) We’ve also been told, and come to believe, that in this country, in this society, in this church, in this family, we can be and do anything we want.
And right now? In this moment in world, national, state, city, neighborhood, family life? It’s just not true. We cannot do and be everything we want to … right now. We cannot see all of the people we want to see – at least not the way we’re used to seeing them. We cannot do all of the things we want to do – at least not the way we’re used to doing them. We cannot go all of the places we want to go – and even the places we can go are fraught with restriction and limits.
We don’t like limits. We do not like being told what to do. It’s cramping our style, and changing our plans. It’s having a financial impact, and an emotional one. This has disrupted our schedule, our work, our school, our homes, our love, our grief, our health, and our spirits.
And?
It is making us sit still. And listen. Carefully.
We are getting a right-in-our-face lesson about caring for our neighbors. And learning that our definition of neighbor has always needed a little expanding.
It is making us think about our choices.
We are being forced to consider what is important, and what is not, and why we’ve always thought it was.
It is making us make things.
Phone calls to people we would usually just see. Appointments with coworkers we would ordinarily just go talk to. Meals with ingredients we didn’t even realize were in our house, let alone could go together!
This season has sparked some of the most creative communications – from drivewalk chalk, to posters in the window, to combined technologies across miles and time zones.
We’re expanding our understanding of education, what it is and how it happens and who’s involved. (And when we said over and over that we HAVE to figure out how to pay our teachers the money they deserve, we were absolutely not kidding.)
More of us are finding ways to move our bodies, even when our social movement is restricted. From breathing exercises, to living room yoga, to backyard catch, to neighborhood walks with dogs that are wondering why they’re suddenly not the ones who have to ask to go outside!
We’re picking up food from local businesses, and writing actual letters and using actual stamps. We’re cleaning out closets and dropping off donations. We’re paying attention to how we interact, and we’re being intentional with our words and with our movements. And we are remembering that everything we do can be done with someone else in mind.
And we’re finding – at least we’re trying to find – ways to reset our spirits. We’re digging out music we haven’t listened to in a while. That stack of books we’ve been staring at is actually getting read. We’ve rediscovered our love for crosswords, and jigsaw puzzles, and coloring books. And we are gathering with our church friends: listening to worship, reading prayers, doing video call bible studies, and calling and texting and emailing just to say hello.
Is not this the fast God chooses? That the oppressed would be released, that the lost would be found, that the discarded would be regathered, that the sabbath would be honored and the rhythm of life would be that which honors the best of who we are and who God intends us to be?
As you read and heard our Isaiah text today, adding verses as we have each week, and completing the chapter this time, we may at first think ‘Delight?! Where on earth can we find that right now?’
But it’s right there, in the text, and in us:
When we actively choose not to go our own way, but to honor the sabbath, to remember God’s holiness. When we feed on the heritage of our ancestors and delight in the keeping of God’s intentions for us … not for us as individuals, but recognizing that God’s desire and delight is for all of us, for everyone of us, all together.
So this week, while we are still sheltering, still safe, still healthy, still at home … where will you find your delight? Where will God’s delight be revealed to you?
Will you find a word here in Isaiah, or in the Psalms, or in a Gospel, and pray that word over your family? Will you write it on a post-it note … or sit it at your desk … or tuck it in as a bookmark … see it and repeat it and hold it close as strength and guide?
Will you remember, in the moments when anxiety kicks in, when fear comes too close, when case reports and patient counts become too real – will you remember that everything you feel is fine to feel, and normal, and part of this whole wild process. And will you remember that God is still, at the same time, right there with you?
Will you sit at an ordinary meal, and see it as communion – a sharing in the body of Christ? Whether by yourself, or with whoever else is sheltered with you, can you see that bread, that cup, that plate, those gifts, as the peace of Christ given to you, the salvation of Christ for your and for all? Can you even say those words, to yourself and to each other, calling each other by name … These are the gifts of Christ, for you
These are my prayers for us today, in this season that is not at all what we thought it would be. On this last Sunday of March, Kevin and I planned to lead worship out of this interim season the way we led into it: sitting side by side. But we are in spirit. And we are in spirit with each of you, rejoicing to welcome our new Lead Pastor, Rev David Emery, and know that you are praying with us for him as he leads us through this next moment and he joins us in worship next week.
So these are the gifts of Christ, given for you. These are the things I’m praying:
That we would delight in the Lord.
That we would take nourishment from all that has gone before us.
That we would honor God’s intent for us by living and loving with intention and compassion.
That we would trust, and not be moved.
+ ‘Those Who Trust’ :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader
+ Benediction :: Rev. Richards
guitar: Isaac Herbert
Our words of benediction today, from Quaker singer/songwriter Carrie Newcomer. We’ll link to this full piece in the transcript; she is well worth your attention.
Now I don’t know and never will
What rises in the evening still.
How empty cups keep getting filled
How healing comes and hope rebuilds
Today I sense that all is near
Evermore and soon to be
Within us and between us is
Is everything we need.
(Carrie Newcomer, Everything We Need)
Go in peace, beloved of God. Go and stay : stay at home, stay in health, stay with God. Amen.
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.
+ 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?
6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
8 Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator shall go before you,
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
9 Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.
If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
10 if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday.
11 The Lord will guide you continually,
and satisfy your needs in parched places,
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water,
whose waters never fail.
12 Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to live in.
+ 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.
+ Welcome & Call to Worship :: Rev. Courtney Richards
Our highest call as people of faith, as those who follow the ways of Jesus, is to love. For now, love looks like an empty sanctuary. It looks like love of neighbor, over love of self. It looks like concern for the greater good, over doing what we’d rather. We know that faith is active, that it is lived out, that it moves and breathes in the world. But today – for a number of days we don’t yet know – we’re moving differently, and breathing slower, and we’re doing all of this each in our own place. Yes, it is strange. And it’s something we’re still sorting out. What we know for sure is that sanctuary is more than a room. It is the soul-deep truth that we are held and loved by the God who made us. For now, love looks like an empty sanctuary. But God is here, wherever we are, and sanctuary is wherever we find it.
+ ‘Sanctuary’ :: Rev. Kevin Howe
+ “Pandemic” (Lynn Ungar 3-11-20) :: Rev. Darlene Martinez
What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath –
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny that now.)Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.Promise this world your love –
for better or worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.
+ Pastoral Prayer / Lord’s Prayer :: Rev. Howe
Holy God, Word among all words,
you were there in the beginning.
You remain still the most important word
that is spoken into our lives;
one of grace and love and mercy.
We give thanks for the word of Good News
that you have imprinted on our hearts,
and we ask that you give us awareness of that Word this day,
and the strength and courage that comes from knowing You are with us.
Take our words and live your grace through them.
Transform our words and change our lives through them.
Take our voices and use them to speak out against the injustices
that are out of line with what You would have this world be.
And when our words are too deep to speak aloud,
we pray that your Spirit will speak them for us,
so that all the words of our mouths
and the meditations of our hearts
will be acceptable in your sight.
We lift these things to You, O God,
Word beyond all words.
Amen.
+ ‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness’ :: Kelly Ford and Mark DeLuca
+ from ‘For Courage’ (John O’Donohue) :: Rev. Martinez
Close your eyes.
Gather all the kindling
About your heart
To create one spark.
That is all you need
To nourish the flame
That will cleanse the dark
Of its weight of festered fear.
+ Reflection :: “change” :: Rev. Howe
Change: the only constant everyone agrees upon and that everyone resists. Every day—at church, at home, at work—we are expected to adapt, to modify, to alter, to change. We know beyond a shadow of a doubt there is absolutely nothing in this world that is not changing, and for the most part, we fight every minute of that change. Especially, when it comes to deeply instilled routines and patterns of being.
Even trying to putting on our socks in a different order can make us feel like we’re starting our day off on the wrong foot. There are actual physiological explanations about the neurological connections in your brain that explain why this is so discombobulating, but the bottom line is: having to learn a new way of doing things—a new way of communicating, a new working, a new way of being church, does not come without its fears and anxieties.
Fear and anxiety are natural reactions when we cannot see the future or know for sure what will happen next. But the invitation to follow Jesus is an invitation to trust God with an unknown future. And this commitment comes with a promise. The promise of the gospel is that we can choose abundant life over our fears of what will come next. It is a promise that God will walk beside us and will equip us to be faithful even when our circumstances demand that we live into new ways of being and doing.
Our current context requires that we do things a new way. It‘s unchartered territory for many communities of faith, but the promises of God remain: God takes the people who are willing to lean in to the gospel during the changes of life, and with them God does beautiful, beautiful things.
In this time, what new and beautiful things will God do through you?
“Behold: I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” – Isaiah 43:19
+ 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?
6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
8 Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator shall go before you,
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
9 Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.
If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
10 if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday.
11 The Lord will guide you continually,
and satisfy your needs in parched places,
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water,
whose waters never fail.
+ Reflection :: “prepare: satisfied” :: Rev. Richards
We’ve been reading Isaiah 58 together this Lenten season. Beginning with vs. 1 – 5 on Ash Wednesday, we’ve added verses the last two Sundays. Today, our new verses, verses 10 and 11 … satisfying the needs of the afflicted, the Lord guiding us continually, the spiritual strength and refreshment of never-failing waters.
Wow. I feel like the fact that this happens to already be our text for today … for today of all days, for all that our worship on this morning changes and means … it is a sermon in itself, just as it is.
It is impossible to shape a theological reflection, to consider a scripture and what it might say to us, and not address the events of the day. That’s part of the purpose, right?
Here is text, a sacred word from within our faith history … words spoken to and about God, words gathered to represent God’s speaking to us, words shaped and retold by people who encountered God and wanted others to know what it meant and that it mattered.
We take these sacred texts, and we consider how others have shared them … who was the original audience? What was going on that the speaker or writer was trying to address? How were these words held or shared within the community? How have other audiences absorbed these same words in the generations since?
And then we do the work of the ‘so what?’ … so what does this mean for us? All these generations removed from the original scene, entire millenia past the prophet’s first speaking, what do we do with a call to fasting, to compassion, to justice, to mercy?
We sit in our homes, on a spring Sunday morning, and listen to worship we can’t see, with people we won’t join for a while, and imagine a place and a day when our familiar room is filled again with laughter and song and familiar greetings and ritual practices.
What do we do with this sacred text, these words of the prophet?
We get out our church directory, and we pick up the phone, and we call the person we usually sit next to, and we ask how they are, and how they feel, and what they need.
We keep our eyes open for new ways to be together … for writing notes to people we haven’t seen in a while … for texting happy birthday wishes and anniversary greetings. We take advantage of the technology at our fingertips to see each other’s faces even when we can’t be in each other’s spaces.
We read that book we’ve been meaning to. We choose a scripture to calm our spirits. We search out music that brings meaning. We watch our children, and our friends, and our neighbors, create new things in the midst of this wild and unknown season.
We remember the meaning of a fast. That Ash Wednesday started us into a season called Lent, where we’ve said from the beginning that it isn’t a diet plan, it isn’t about giving something up to get credit for being good at being good. We hear the words of the prophet bringing the word from the Lord that the fast to seek is one that clears distraction, and sets aside personal privilege, and brings forth community, and empowers those who need encouragement, and cares for those who need help, and does it all in the name and for the sake of the One who is in and above and beyond all that we could ever fear, or know, or imagine.
This feels like a very dark time. And in so many ways it is. In biblical imagery, darkness is often a way to name what feels like the absence, instead of the presence, of God. And so light is its opposite; light is the image that brings God closer to us, and us closer to God.
So maybe right now, wherever you are, whoever you’re with, maybe right now you can light a candle.
Sit for a minute with that light.
Take a slow breath in, and then let that breath out.
Feel the yoke of worry release from your shoulders.
Break free of the urge to dismiss, and demean, and even just to be frustrated.
Breathe in, looking toward that light.
Unburden your spirit of the evil and distraction that wants to rest there.
Later today, maybe even in just a few minutes, when you’re washing your hands – again – for those 20 seconds … consider that blessing of water that never fails. One of our great resources in this public health moment is the simple task of hygiene – of opening a faucet, of using soap, and washing our hands. As the water runs over your skin, as it does its work on you and for the health of the community, sing a doxology, give thanks.
This is a season of uncertainty and chaos. It can also be a season of creativity and wonder. Of inspiration and miracle. Of God’s breaking in and light coming forth. That is the promise of our faith, and the foundation of our life … that God will make a way, where it seems there is no way. The words of the prophet remind us, when we focus on the work that is ours to do, when we remove the distractions that tell us we can’t do it, then the Lord will be satisfied and we will be strengthened, and the life-giving waters of grace and mercy will flow with abundance.
Our time spent physically apart from one another does not mean God is apart from us. God is closer than ever, and the Spirit is at work to bind our hearts with steadfast love, with relief for our parched and anxious souls, with streams of life, which never fail.
+ ‘My Feet Are On the Rock’ (I Am They) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader
+ Benediction :: Rev. Richards
Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping;
that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest in peace.
Lord, you now have set your servant free
to go in peace as you have promised;For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior,
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:A Light to enlighten the nations,
and the glory of your people Israel.Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit:
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever.Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping;
that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest with peace.
(The Song of Simeon)
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?
6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
8 Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator shall go before you,
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
9 Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.
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 – 7
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?
6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
Over dinner recently, a teenager I know entertained her dad’s friends by imitating him, repeating the phrases used in their house most often:
Where does that go?
Why is that light on?
Are you done in that room?
Where does that go? {That one is repeated fairly often.}
We all need course correction from time to time. In our daily habits, in our personal relationships, in our local and national organization, sometimes just in our own self-understanding.
In biblical history, in our faith history, that is where prophets come in. (And no, if you see him sometime soon, I did not just equate the father of that teenager to a prophet. Don’t let him think I did.)
Isaiah is one of the ‘major prophets’ we turn to, who had a great deal to say about where the people of Israel were, and how they were behaving, and what they should actually probably be doing instead. We are a few days into the season of Lent, when we take time to look more closely at our spiritual practices and see where we can more closely shape ourselves into what God has in mind.
‘Lay down your burden.’ ‘Take up your cross.’
In the New Testament, we take both instructions from Jesus … but they seem contradictory. How can we follow them both at once? Perhaps we can take this less as pressure and more as permission: to not do it all but to do what we can, to know that who and how we are IS what Jesus desires, and that God’s grace will do the work to make us work as we need to in the world.
The Christian recognition of Lent begins with Ash Wednesday and moves through 40 days: a season of releasing that which controls us, those things to which we cling too tightly, anything that keeps us from depth of experience and fullness of faith.
As we look toward the coming-again Christ, this Savior reborn in resurrection, how do we overcome fear and death to bring about new life? How do we prepare ourselves? What do our hearts need to be ready for a Messiah?
The prophet Isaiah has guidance to offer. We’re going to spend this month’s Sundays looking at Isaiah 58. Just this one chapter, which we started on Wednesday night, and we’ll continue to add verses each week. We want to take a slow walk through a significant text, taking a careful look at the things that make for holiness, preparing to live life that brings us closer to God.
Prophets have ‘uncommon access’ to God’s will and intent. We see them in roles similar to the work of shamans in other cultures.
Prophets aren’t predictors or fortune tellers. They know the future God will bring, but not because of a crystal ball. “Rather, the prophets know in deep and intimate ways about the character of God”, about the ways God has worked and still can work in the world, reminding the people to align themselves with that.
Sometimes they come from outside the normal scene, to speak a new word into community. New
insight or caution and correction can encourage and empower transformation that isn’t otherwise possible with someone you know. But sometimes they are part of a culture and community, and so speak into social setting as advocates for things that are in line with God’s will.
Prophets speak as the word of God and spirit of God moves them. The poetry of prophecy reveals the reimagination of life when lived in God’s attention, purpose, and intent.
The declarations of the prophets are generally about judgment and deliverance: Judgment against those who resist will surely end badly. But deliverance says that “in, through, and beyond judgment, God will work newnesses that are beyond {anything imagined}.”
The most important part of prophetic declarations is that they reorient us: They set the entire world as the arena of God’s faithful work, showing how different life can be when God, and God’s will for the world, is the deciding factor in our action and life together.[1]
The season of Lent is about spiritual disciplines and the work of preparing, of opening our spirits for deeper encounters with God’s longing for us.
In the gospels, we receive instruction from Jesus about the ways we can prepare to be as God desires us. Give, pray, and fast.
When you give charity, he says … act like you’re not giving. Don’t show it.
When you pray … go into your room, shut the door, and do it there. Don’t let people hear you.
While you’re there praying … quit going on and on, just pray and get on with it. God already knows.[2]
This paradoxical, upside-down nature of the gospel keeps us guessing and sometimes it’s hard to know what we’re supposed to do and when and how. Generations before Jesus, those who taught and spoke into his own ancestral community – these prophets – like Isaiah – had something to say about the practices of fasting and giving as well.
As we’ve said, Lent has traditionally been marked by penitential prayer – study, self-reflection, the who-aml-and-what-have-I-done kind of prayer. But the extension of that – the enhancement of it – is fasting.
Fasting, in this sense, is not the lose-10-pounds-in-3-days Hollywood juice cleanse. The idea of fasting is removing distractions. That’s where ‘giving things up’ came from. While it is theoretically our understanding all the time, we take this 40 day season to look more closely, to be sure that nothing is in between us and our goal of being closer to God. We need to abstain from things that get in the way. And things are always in the way.
But when we remove them – when we fast from what distracts us, when we create a space – God’s hope moves in. We admit that we’re not who we should be – and there is room for God there. The whole entire idea of Lent in the first place – the whole idea of reflection and discipline and penance – is that in the end we are something better, somewhere closer to God, somehow truer to ourselves, than when we started.
Here’s the catch: Sometimes it’s our fasting itself that gets in the way.
What’s the question we ask during Lent (assuming we know what Lent is and that we’re maybe supposed to do something with it)? What do we say? We talked about this a few days ago at Ash Wednesday worship.
“What are you giving up?” we ask
Do we ask – What do you want God to make of you?
Do we ask – How can I pray for your spirit to be renewed?
Very rarely.
We say, with more than a little anguish and more than a little self -righteousness: “I can’t have cokes.” Or “We gave up bread.” Or “I’m not spending money on that.” Or “Why does Girl Scout Cookie Time have to come during Lent?!”
We often fast like it’s a badge of honor. Like it’s about us. It has been said that “Lent wasn’t created to resurrect failed New Year’s resolutions, but to put to death the very thing that makes resolutions necessary.”[3]
If whatever we think we’re supposed to be giving up is keeping us from paying attention to what God is trying so very hard do in our lives … if we’re so busy talking about the fast we choose that we aren’t actually fasting toward faithfulness, then maybe we should give up giving up.
Just a few chapters ahead of where we read from Isaiah today, the ones who were to be on watch over a lavish banquet God had prepared, had left their posts, and let it be devoured by wild animals. As today’s chapter opens, the prophet is told to warn and proclaim loudly, shouting out and lifting his voice like a trumpet.
After God’s word to the prophet about his responsibility to speak, the voice changes, and the prophet addresses the people themselves, with the twin calls to justice and righteousness the clear focus.
The people feel God has let them down, that God hasn’t seen their acts of faithfulness, or noticed how much they’ve done; they think God hasn’t cared about their fasting. The prophet doesn’t give them sympathy, but says basically ‘You’re right. God doesn’t care.’ Because there is a vast difference between what you say you’re doing to set things right with God, and the fact that right in the midst of your community, actual injustice still exists.
When fasting becomes just ritual, the results aren’t honored. The fasting that is done should lead to justice for the community, not credit for the individual. “Fasting that doesn’t alleviate these conditions, but worsens them, stands under prophetic condemnation. Fasting is meant to be a response of penitence and contrition, seeking God’s favor. Such attitudes are inconsistent with oppression and disregard for those in need.” Saying we’re seeking God, and striving for holiness, and longing for God’s presence – whether for the first time or for a long time, for 40 days or 40 years or just for 40 minutes on a Sunday morning – saying that’s what we’re doing doesn’t matter if the results do not show in our community.[4]
The prophet’s focus is on righteousness and justice. Righteousness means right relationship with God. This can only be found by investment in community, showing attention especially to the needs of the poor and oppressed. Those who are righteous live as contributors to community, to improve and carry on the community’s well-being.
This means recognizing our place in systems of oppression. It means admitting that privilege isn’t just a buzzword, but a reality. In Proverbs, the word righteous refers especially to those who live with integrity, whose very presence and actions contribute to the stability of the community.
Righteousness is taking care of the community, and is the primary marker of what God’s heavenly reign looks like.[5]
And so here at the start of Lent, only a few days out from being marked with ash and oil, having blessed the dirt and remembered our beginnings in it …
We are here to confess our sin. Sin, not in the sense of actions that are ‘bad,’ or even in the sense of inaction being harmful. Sin in the sense of separation. Sin as a state of being. We are here to confess that we are not always very good at this human being job of ours. We are here to say that we do not always get it right.
And God is here to remind us that sometimes, though, we do. And to remind us that always, God does. God gets it right, and trusts us to live toward righteousness and justice.
Frederick Buechner says
Justice does not preclude mercy. It makes mercy possible. Justice is the pitch of the roof and the structure of the walls. Mercy is the patter of the rain on the roof and the life sheltered by the walls. Justice is the grammar of things. Mercy is the poetry.[6]
So we are here for both, in this season of Lent, these weeks in which we prepare. We are here for righteousness and hope, we will fast for justice and mercy.
We are here to turn over our need to judge. We are here to sacrifice our need to be right. We are here to remember that being privileged is not the same as being entitled, and that being here first doesn’t mean we’re the most important ones here. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our superiority complex, and receive the mercy of humility and gratitude.
We are here to relinquish our spiritual pride. We are here to remember that our faith was given to us as a gift, and we attend to it imperfectly, at best. We are here to rein in our quickness to make demands of others, or dictate to them a standard we ourselves refuse to uphold. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our arrogance, and receive the mercy of forgiveness and compassion.
We are here to cast out the demon of careless words. We are here to admit that sometimes we say things because we know they’ll make a point, and sometimes we say things not giving any thought to how they sound, or what they imply. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our carelessness, and receive the mercy of wisdom and thoughtfulness.
We are here to do away with the sense that we are not worthy. Even in the midst of remembering our flaws, let’s keep in mind that light still shines through cracked windowpanes, and blades of grass come up through broken sidewalks. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our self-doubt and shame, and receive the mercy of wholeness and new life.
Buechner goes on to speak of this freedom in faith, the freedom Isaiah reminds us to proclaim:
We have freedom to the degree that the master who we obey grants it to us in return for our obedience. We do well to choose a master in terms of how much freedom we get for how much obedience.
To obey the law of the land leaves us our constitutional freedom, but not the freedom to follow our own consciences wherever they lead.
To obey the dictates of our own consciences leaves us freedom from the sense of moral guilt, but not the freedom to gratify our own strongest appetites.
To obey our strongest appetites for drink, sex, power, revenge, or whatever leaves us the freedom of an animal to take what we want when we want it, but not the freedom of a human being to be human.
The old prayer speaks of God ‘in whose service is perfect freedom’. The paradox is not as opaque as it sounds. It means that to obey Love itself, which above all else wishes us well, leaves us the freedom to be the best and gladdest that we have it in us to become[7]
We will spend forty days seeking forgiveness and justice, and we will leave having received mercy and freedom at Easter. We are marked, on Ash Wednesday and always, not so that others will ask and give us credit, but so that during Lent and well beyond we see, and we ask, and we know that God is our God, and we are God’s people.
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?
Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free…
[1] on prophets, Walter Brueggemann, Reverberations of Faith: A Theological Handbook of Old Testament Themes (WJK 2002), p158-161
[2] Matthew 6, my very loose paraphrase
[3] This was quoted by someone I read but do not know. It was cited only as ‘C. Holtz,’ so I cannot fully reference the source, but so appreciate the reflection.
[4] Christopher R. Seitz, ‘Isaiah’, New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary (Abingdon 1996), pp498-503.
[5] on righteousness, Brueggemann, pp177-178.
[6] Frederick Buechner, Beyond Words (HarperCollins 2004), p209.
[7] Buechner, p119-120.
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 4th 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
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
1 John 4:7-12
Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. 8Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. 9God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. 10In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. 11Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. 12No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.19We love because he first loved us. 20Those who say, ‘I love God’, and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. 21The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.
At the center of the Christian faith, there is a story. It is the story of God’s unending love for the world. It is the story of the sovereign God of the universe choosing to come close enough to touch, and hold, and embrace, and deny, and betray, and crucify. We Christians tell the story of a God who is not distant and unapproachable, but who is available to each of us so that we may know that we are loved. But this divine love story is not just one that is to be told. It is one in which we are called to live. You and I are a part of the story of God’s love for the world.
During this sermon series, we’ve looked at four Greek words that are often translated into the English word, “love.” And we’ve aimed at faithful reflection on each—teasing out the differences so that we might better understand the complexities of loving relationships and make good on our call to love God and love neighbor. And so we’ve considered storge, or familial love—the kind of love that takes place through healthy family relationships. We’ve reflected on phileo, brotherly love, as it has been referred to, or that tie that binds us to those in whom we find deep and abiding friendship. We have spoken of eros, the love expressed through intimate, physical relationships. And today we conclude our series by considering the word agape.
Agape is a word mentioned often in the New Testament and refers to the love that God exercises towards the world through Christ. Agape is unconditional love that transcends and persists regardless of circumstance as noted in the ways that Christ has suffered for love of the world and of us. Agape is not an abstract proposition. God’s love is not simply a theory. This love is about doing. We see that in Jesus. His love was not abstract, but rather concrete, active, lived love. And it is love that is bound to transform those who take it seriously.
During the brief time that I lived and worked in Atlanta, I attended a congregation there and was engaged in a Sunday School class with other young professionals. We met each week before worship service for prayer and bible study, and we were quite content with the rhythm and nature of our brief time together each Sunday. That is, until one day a visitor showed up to class. He was another twenty-something like the rest of us who had apparently been visiting many different churches around the area. And when we asked him if he’d be willing to share a little about his search for a community of faith he said to us, “Well, it’s been pretty interesting. I’ve gone to some churches and I heard a lot about Jesus but very little about the world. I’ve gone to other churches and I heard a lot about the world but not much about Jesus.” Then he continued, “Last Sunday in this congregation, I heard a lot about Jesus and a lot about the world. But here’s my question: if I hang out at this church, will I meet people who are like Jesus?”
Well, of course, we were all taken by surprise at this serious, yet simple question. And I looked into his eyes for any signs that he was just being cynical or accusing. But I have to tell you, what I saw were honest eyes asking a clear and earnest question: Does following Jesus show?
That question has stuck with me through these years. Is our love of God, our commitment to Jesus Christ, visible in the way we live? Many in our time are justifiably skeptical. They have heard messages of exclusion and judgment thinly covered in Christian language. They’ve seen acts of hatred done in the name of Christ and watched churches preach love while practicing condemnation. Does following Jesus show in the way that we live our lives?
According to our passage this morning from 1 John, there is a straightforward and unambiguous way to determine this. The test is this: Do we love one another? It is as simple—and as difficult—as that. Do we love one another?
Back in the day, before memes became the popular means for communicating all of life’s clichés, there were bumper stickers. I still see a few vehicles out on the roadways that have their back end wallpapered with these stickers, offering those of us behind them the opportunity—or misfortunate—of reading whatever the driver thought was worthy of risking the resale value of their car. There have been a few that have stuck with me over the years, one in particular that left me with a bit of sticker shock. It said, “I love my wife, I love my dog; but everyone else can go to …” – well, you can guess the destination. And there I was at the stop light thinking to myself, “My wife, my dog”… that’s a pretty short list to have to keep track of.
You know, for reasons I can’t begin to explain, there are so many folks who believe that it is perfectly okay for us to pick and choose—among various lists and categories—those whom we will love and those whom we will not. But agape does not take into account these categories that we construct. If we are to follow the example of Jesus, we are not called to just love those that are easiest to love, or those most capable of responding in kind. Our faith proclaims an all-encompassing love accompanied by sacrificial acts.
For years now, one of the ways that this congregation has taken action toward loving all people has been through our collaboration with Week of Compassion. To get everyone up-to-speed, WEEK OF COMPASSION is the relief, refugee and development mission fund of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Our support of Week of Compassion has enabled us to show compassion through disaster response, humanitarian aid, sustainable development and the promotion of mission opportunities.
The impact that we have through Week of Compassion is great and widespread—both here and abroad, but I thought you’d be interesting in learning that Week of Compassion helps to fund a program called Global Mission Internships, which allows young folks between the ages of 21 and 30 the opportunity to serve alongside one of our many international mission partners.
To place young adults in the missionary context allows them to explore ways that we can extend the love of God to others across the globe. It is a powerful program. We currently have a couple from within our congregation that is serving through this program. Dusty and Kelsey Riebel just began serving alongside on of our denomination’s partners based out of Quito, Ecuador, and I very much look forward to hearing from them about how the Spirit is at work in that place.(1)
From 2007-2009, I also served as Global Mission Intern, thanks to the support of Week of Compassion. I was able to follow a calling to ministry alongside our sisters and brothers in Honduras; an experience that has deeply shaped my faith. And it was during my time there that my eyes were opened to the nature of agape love in a way it had not yet been revealed in my life.
I was on my way to meet with local leaders of a small, far flung village that was located in the heart of the Mosquito Coast, a massive expanse of rainforest most famously highlighted in a strange Harrison Ford movie of the same name that came out after the original Star Wars movies. There, in the jungles of La Mosquitia, there are no roads, the river is the highway—and long dugout canoes, called pipantes, are the means of transportation to your destination. These pipantes are impressive vehicles but, being wood, are also vulnerable to the occasion encounter with rapids that come at the rainy season, like the ones that flipped the vessel that I was traveling in…dumping us passengers and our contents into the quickly moving waters. I was soaked, but worse yet-already two days travel into the jungle, I was without my pack–no snacks, no clothing, no money…just little ol’ wet me.
I arrived at Krausirpe that afternoon and, in this strange twist of events, my first impression to these folks was no longer that of long-expected guest coming to offer support and guidance—I was first and foremost a stranger in need of help. I was the one who needed tangible expression of God’s love, and the community did just that for me, caring for me with food and supplies until my departure.
What I learned from that trip to the jungle, and the humble village of Krausirpe, is that it’s easy to forget that we are also the neighbor that stands in need of God’s love from others, and it is beautiful to see the face of Christ in those around us.
It is something that I hope that we are able to do for those around us, because we are called to pay God’s love forward to those around us. It’s the notable turn that agape takes in the scriptures. Notice that the passage this morning does not say “since God has loved us this much, we also ought to love God.” (That would be the logical conclusion to the sentence.) But what does it say? “Since God has loved us so much, we also ought to love one another.” (1 John 4:11) This is the important turn of agape love—the love of God is not reciprocal. But then again, how could it be? We humans could never love God as God loves us. Of this the author of 1 John proclaims that God’s love is made complete when we, in turn, pour out love to those around us. It is then that God is made known in us—and divine love’s intention complete—when we pay it forward in concrete acts of compassion, justice, and kindness towards others.
Author, journalist, and radio host, Krista Tippett wrote that “When all is said and done, none of us will be judged on how much we accomplish but on how well we love.” (2) And so it is for church; we will be measured by love—how much of God’s love pours back into the world. And I’m convinced that there has never been a more important time to live out of that call.
We’ve spoken often of the divisive rhetoric and hateful actions that threaten to tear us apart. In such a time as this, an abstract love is simply not enough; we are called to more than that. And to attempt to love the world as Christ has loved us is a difficult, soul-searching, life-changing demand. Loving like Jesus requires each of us to question our intentions, and actions, and priorities, and commitments—to ask ourselves, “I wonder if God sees it that way? I wonder if I’m investing my whole heart and soul and mind in ways that God would intend?”
Attempting to model agape—unconditional, sacrificial love—is perhaps the single greatest challenge we are issued as disciples of Christ. But, friends, here is what I know: you can quote scripture until you are blue in the face, shout out pious proclamations of pure love for Jesus, you can boast and brag about how much faith you have, or how devoted you are to the idea of God’s grace and love, but simple fact remains that the only real evidence of our love of God we have to offer is the life we live. Can we love one another as Christ has loved us?
At the center of the Christian faith, there is a story—a story of which we are a part. It is the story of agape—of God’s unconditional love for the world that we are called to share as best we know how with every bit of creation. Church, may we be defined by nothing less than love.
(1) Keep up with the Riebels on their Facebook page, and at their blog.
(2) Krista Tippett, Speaking of Faith: Why Religion Matters – and How to Talk About It. (Penguin Books, 2008) p111
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.
Romans 12:3-10
For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgement, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. 4For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, 5so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. 6We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; 7ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; 8the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness. 9 Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; 10love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour.
[singing]
Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.1
For many years that song was the way that this congregation responded when someone would come forward and stand here where I am this morning to join this community in membership. The song’s words “Blest be the tie that binds” are an affirmation of just how powerful our connection to one another can be when we take seriously Jesus’ call to love one another just as he loves us.
If you’re at all curious, the song was written by a pastor named John Fawcett, who served a poor congregation in Wainsgate, England in the middle of the 18th century. John had come to form deep and meaningful bonds with the motley crew from this town that one writer described as being as “poor as Job’s turkey.”2 So, understandably, John Fawcett was hard-pressed to provide for his family while serving that community.
Well, one day, a large church in London came asking for John to serve their congregation. It was a move that offered his family a chance at financial stability. So John agreed and was set to go. But on the day of their departure, seeing the deep sadness of those impoverished folk that he had come to love; the despondence of those who he had come to call friends, John is said to have turned to the crowd and pronounced from atop the wagon, “We’ve changed our minds! We are going to stay!” And he did. Serving alongside those people for 54 years. Sacrificing the shot at financial stability, for love of the poor folks of Wainsgate. Even establishing an education center for the community’s children out of his home.2 “Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love!” he wrote.
To me, it is always awe-inspiring to consider what some people will do for the sake of those they call dear friends. I hope you can think of moments in your own life, when a friend has shown just how unconditional their love for you can be.
The Apostle Paul, whose writings make up a sizable portion of the New Testament, spent his years considering the impact that these sorts of loving relationships could have on Christian believers. Today, nearly two thousand years later, it’s easy for us to make the mistake of reading his letters as though they were dissertations designed to shape Christian theology for all time. But really, the letters of Paul were written to Christian communities who struggled with how to live together. Take a look, and you will see that behind all those theological treatises is a care and concern for building Christ-like relationships. Paul wanted to help people see how they could come to work out meaningful and loving relationships in Christ…which are the building blocks of the community we call “church.”
In the passage from Romans that we just heard read, Paul paints a picture of church at its best. And in verse 10 of his appeal, Paul says “love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor” and in the koine Greek with which his text was originally written, that statement uses variations of the Greek word phileo.
Now, I am to understand that you are all experts on phileo because you saw the Super Bowl commercial, right? Which highlighted the four primary words used in ancient Greek that get translated to our English word “love.” And in this sermon series, we are taking time to look at these four words, not because of the commercial, but because doing so gives us some means of teasing out and making distinctions about different types of love; especially, since love is such a primary focus of our faith.
Phileo is the Greek word that describes a sort of love that has an emotional connection that goes beyond acquaintances or casual friendships. It suggests relationships that our bound tightly together in enjoyment, appreciation, and deep care—hence the translation in this text as loving each other with mutual affection. In other translations, it says “Be good friends who love deeply” (MSG); “Love each other like the members of your family.” (CEB); “Have kindly affection one for another with brotherly love, in honor preferring one another;” (KJV).
We seem to understand that there is a sort of deepening of love between friends when we use a phrase like, “I love you like a brother/sister/sibling.” That is phileo, and it is an important type of love to the Christian community because it is a deep part of what it takes to embody the way of Jesus in the world. In fact, it’s the only way; We cannot learn to love, or forgive, or show compassion, like Jesus taught, unless we commit ourselves to the messiness of human relationships. And so my word of encouragement to you this day is to expand the circle of those you call friends and work towards deepening those relationships.
But there is something else that must be said here, because we usually lean towards forming friendships with those who are most like us (or at least appear most like us, outwardly). We are encouraged by what is modeled to us in our culture and through the metrics of social media to cluster in comfortable enclaves of sameness, and to avoid the discomfort of difference. This lie has been handed to the church to some extent as well, sell visions of church as a tribe of like-minded individuals defined by a static set of convictions and a uniformity of perspective. This concerns me. The perception that the church is a club for likeminded people who already have it all figured out creates a barrier to meaningful community and radical hospitality.
And after all, we tell ourselves that birds of a feather flock together. But birds flocking with cats, impossible, right!? It seems for Yasha the parakeet and Fozi the housecat.4 It seems a meaningful friendship for them.
Or how about Anjana the chimp with her tiger cubs Mitra and Shiva?5
Or the friendship I am most delighted in, that Bubbles the African elephant and Bella the black lab have formed?6
Yes, turns out, they have more to bond over than you thought they might at snap judgement, like a mutual love for water and general aquatic antics.
But I digress. This is perhaps an entirely too cute way of trying to get at something far more serious: don’t buy the lie that is handed to you by our culture which says you only stand a chance with those that think and feel and act and vote like you. Many are finding it easier to end relationships than to listen to a different point of view. What was once disagreement has become outright disdain. And it’s so easy for churches to become conformed to this view of the world; a world of us versus them, polarized extremes, fractured relationships, shouting matches, hatred spewed on social media. God forbid we ever become so puffed up with pride in the church that we forget to listen to brothers and sisters who do not agree with us.
Rachel Held Evans, was a theologian and writer who tragically died last year at the age of thirty-seven. She was full of love for the church and, out of that love, she challenged the church to deeper engagement. In one of her blog posts she wrote, “Let’s learn to argue better. I have no problem with Christians arguing with one another. Really. We’re brothers and sisters, for goodness sake! Of course we’re going to argue…But surely we can allow differences to exist without questioning one another’s commitment to the faith and without rooting for one another’s demise.”3
I hear the Apostle Paul’s words echoing in my head, “Do not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgement…For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we—who are many—are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us…”4 I get that this is not an easy time to belong to people who don’t already share all your opinions or take part in the same social enclaves. To be conformed is easy. It is comfortable. It is tempting. It is not faithful.
Living out phileo also means that we will belong to others—other perspectives, other backgrounds, other ideologies, and, yes, even other political parties. To form loving relationship with those that are different than us is to assemble the Body that Paul speaks of. And seeking to build abiding friendships like this is to the greater lie of an age that pushes isolation, division, fear, and anger.
The Apostle Paul seems to believe that the faithfulness of our living is determined by the quality of the relationships that we form. So what if we did what Paul says? What if we loved with mutual affection? What if the church was a place where we were so friended up in deep and abiding ways that we could tell our stories and be ourselves without fear of rejection or judgment? What if we were to invest in relationship in such a way that we were able to really rejoice with those who are rejoicing and truly weep with those who are weeping? Oh, how desperately the world needs those who want to build loving friendships!
Listen; belonging to this congregation is no spectator sport. It is in our core values here at Harvard Avenue Christian Church—when we say “Beloved,” we mean to say that we are ready to do the work of building relationships grounded in love—that in deep friendship, we find profound fulfillment, greater joy, stronger character.
And this is what gives me hope about the future of the church. Because the community called the church—with all its flaws, imperfections, limitations, and faults—can be a holy place of building deep and abiding relationships of mutual affection. It can be community that outdoes itself in honoring one another as the beautiful children of God that all people are.
I believe that this community here at Harvard Avenue has learned something about the goodness of phileo. And we’re still learning. We’re continuing to learn that we need one another. We are learning that the impulse to divide is a snare that leaves us all short of God’s vision. We are learning that genuine community does not require conformity. We are learning that the God whose grace and mercy brings us together is far more powerful than all that seeks to separate us. In other words, we are leaning that we belong to each other. For as siblings in Christ, we are bound together.
[singing]
Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.
Oh Lord, may it be so in this place.
1John Fawcett. “Blest Be the Tie that Binds” 1782.
2 Dr. Michael Hawn. History of Hymns: “Blest Be the Tie That Binds” June 13, 2013. https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/resources/history-of-hymns-blest-be-the-tie-that-binds
3 Ibid.
4 https://www.thedodo.com/cat-bird-best-friends-2295178086.html
5 https://scoopempire.com/unlikely-animal-friendships-that-will-make-you-melt/
6 https://www.boredpanda.com/elephant-dog-friendship-bubbles-and-bella/
7 Rachel Held Evans. “Liberal Christianity, Conservative Christianity, and the Caught-In-Between.” JJuly 16, 2012. https://rachelheldevans.com/blog/liberal-conservative-christianity
8 Romans 12:3-5
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:
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
Ephesians 3: 14 – 21
14 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, 15 from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. 16 I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, 17 and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. 18 I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.20 Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.
Somewhere in my early high school years, we realized I needed glasses. Conveniently, one of our church members, who also happened to be one of my best babysitting customers, was an eye doctor. So off to Dr Blair we go. Several rounds of ‘Is this better? Or is this better?’… ‘A? or B?’ later, and I’m on my way out the door with glasses.
Shortly thereafter, I graduated to contacts. I was also graduating high school, and I think those things were related.
I’ve been putting contacts into and taking contacts out of my eyeballs for … a lot of years. Every day. And for the longest time, when I needed a new prescription – because once all of that college reading and seminary paperwriting kicked in, and all of the reading and screentime that the last 25 years of ministry has involved, I needed a new prescription – I would still make the trip to see Dr Blair. Yes, at home in El Paso. Visit the Mom, see the eye doctor. Because when you find someone you trust to do things to your eyeballs, you stick with them. And because of the Favorite Babysitter status I’d earned with his daughter (who was by then, of course, an adult), I still got a “student” discount well past my student days. God bless him.
Dr Blair retired last year. I mean, of all the nerve.
Also last year, I finally got so annoyed with the contacts I was wearing, and the glasses that were at least three prescriptions old, that I made a quick stop here in town … and I now wear multifocal contact lenses. This is both incredibly weird, and really great. I get, theoretically, how bifocals work on actual glasses lenses. You’re looking through a lens that’s sectioned off and it corrects for what you need corrected. But when that lens is a liiiittle piece of plastic that goes onto the surface of your eye? I mean, how does it know what you need?! But it does.
At the same time, I’ve started giving my eyes a rest on the weekends. (I know, I should probably give other things a rest as well.) And here’s what I’ve learned: I can become unreasonably annoyed by even the smallest smudge on my glasses. You have to find something to clean the glasses with. And while sleeves and shirttails are convenient, they’re not always the best. Fabrics have different finishes and sometimes they leave more smudges than they clear. And carrying an actual for-real glasses cleaning kit is way too much responsibility for those of us who are only-occasional glasses wearers.
But here’s what happens. My friends who are legit glasses-wearers always have those cleaning kit things handy. And they share. And people will always offer friendly advice. Like the best cloth they’ve found to clean glasses. Have you tried this thing in particular? Or here, use mine. I even know one couple, who both wear glasses, and we were sitting around one night, and she was saying something and just took off her glasses, holding them off the side, and he just took them from her, took a cloth from his pocket, cleaned them, and handed them back. Never broke stride.
There’s the vision we have.
And the things we correct for.
And the people who make sure we have what we need.
Be loved.
Believe.
Become.
There’s where we start – we’re loved.
There’s where we go – to sort out what we believe.
And there’s the vision that the first two make possible. It’s who we become.
There is a physicality to vision, to what we see and what we don’t.
The same with the vision that God has of us, and for us.
There is a place and a time that God sees for our lives … here, and now, and always. It is easy in the life of faith to focus on the things to come … as if what we do or say earns us some future seat at a special event. But the gospel message of Jesus Christ is that heaven comes to earth … the kingdom of God is here, at hand.
There is a physicality to vision. Not just the thing we’re seeing, but the literal way we are seeing it, and where we are when it happens.
In this 3rd chapter of the letter to the church at Ephesus, we are basically overhearing a prayer. “For this reason, I bow my knees before the Father…” (Eph3:14)
But it isn’t a prayer of ‘help them get themselves sorted out so they all get to heaven’. It’s a reminder that God is already at work in us, not waiting on us to arrive for some reward, but here and now, where we are – as we are – God is doing God’s glorious thing. The word glory is even used! (Who got ‘glory’ as their star word this year? Anyone?)
This is a prayer we’re hearing, probably a letter that the early believers, figuring out how to be church, gathered in their secret places, would have read over and over and been able to nearly recite together by heart. They knew what it meant to bend their knees, to give themselves over to a spirit so powerful they had to just let go.
It may seem weird (if you think about it, that is) that a prayer that sounds like a benediction and blessing would be shared in the middle of a letter, with so much instruction and reminder still to come. It might have been the random writing choice of Paul – or one of his students writing as Paul (there’s some debate about that).
But I think it’s actually more strategic than that. In this season where we are challenged to be and do certain things in certain ways; when the world is trying to tell us what we’re worth and what we aren’t; when people we don’t even know decide they are the arbiters of our value as human beings … before we get to any kind of instruction about our behavior, our choices, our decisions, our practices … this letter to the Ephesians points out that FIRST we are to remember that we. are. God’s. beloved. Everything else goes from there.
Sally Brown wrote to preachers some years ago about this text:
The indwelling presence of God is sheer and utter gift, not a reward for merit. God chooses to live among us, God’s glory fills us. This is sheer grace, unimaginable possibility, life-giving hope.[1]
This prayer, that we would not just recognize but truly know the richness of God’s presence, beyond our understanding – as it is said, “surpassing knowledge” – is not just about something beyond our capacity to understand. It IS that tremendous. It is indeed. But it is also something, that we simply can’t contain. The spirit of God just IS.
Which perhaps is a helpful thing for us to keep in mind as we await and receive and respond to information today in our own congregational meeting! Well beyond any information we can gather, God’s spirit is at work. Has been, and is, and will be.
We can only sort of make out the image. We have to adjust the lenses, look through the right glasses, be in the right place to get the things inside our brain to register what is happening around us. Let alone to sort out what sort of vision we’re offering to others.
Our three BE core values have guided us for nearly a decade, and are still at the heart of who we’ll be for the decade to come. It sounds good to say them: be loved, believe, become. They’re simple and roll together easily. When you’re here you’ll be loved, as you are, for who you are, with all we are, as Christ commands.
Together, in the strength of community, we’ll explore what and how we believe, and why.
And as the world clamors to make us self-centered and self-interested, we will work to be just the opposite … to become who God has called us to be: engaged, compassionate, looking beyond ourselves, and looking with care on the world God so loves.
This is 3-Be vision.
This is what we’re asking you to be part of, with that additional insert in your bulletin today. How will you connect in this new year? What opportunity opens your eyes and excites your spirit? Add these to the offering plate or return them to the office and we’ll move right away to engage that vision together.
God has done and will do far more than we can ask or imagine. And when we get small glimpses of that, our imagination tingles just a bit, because we are here together:
We want to grow the choir, they said. And so we committed to excellent worship and meaningful music and now we need to figure out how to get more chairs up here.
My mother has died and my heart is broken, and so a family gathers, and friends gather with them, bringing food, and desserts, and standing to welcome, and for as long as you need.
We have 400 or more pieces of paper to hand out every week, and each of those bulletins also has an insert. And so every single week, friends sit in the office and get that folding machine going and the bulletin you have today is in your hands because of them.
Every time you gather, do this in remembrance of me. So Christ instructed his first disciples, and so disciples have done for generations since. And every week, deacons arrive before worship begins to be sure that communion is prepared, and offering can be received, and everyone who comes will find their way and their place.
Certain pants and shirts and accessories are required uniform at most public schools today. But for many, those pieces are too costly and families were straining to provide basics for their children. No scholar should go without, our Disciples Women said, and so a closet was cleared and clothing was purchased and our neighborhood students have what they need when they need it.
We are happy to help get the space ready for the holiday season, we’ll take our Sunday morning hour together to do it. And while that Sunday small group carried garlands up and down stairs, draped railings and mantel in greenery, some of them also noticed that a few folks were on their own, not connected to a group. And so they said Do you want to help? And they did, and so they did. And the laughter was great and the décor was beautiful.
Will you pray for me? For my nephew? For our friends? We are so honored when you ask. And if someone is going to ask, then they should know that someone actually prays. Your pastors, the church staff, our elders, and two prayer groups take the time to read, and listen, and bow heads and speak names. Prayer matters, and transforms, and we want you to know that.
We are preparing for a new year, and for a new pastoral leader, and we don’t know what all that will mean. And rather than step back and wait … the church stepped forward … with confidence and hope and made 2020 our strongest stewardship response ever, with total pledges that surpass last year’s budget, and continued, even in a transition year, to steadily welcome new visitors and new members, fully half of whom came into membership after the announcement and during the interim season.
“If there is a divine being who made everything, including us,” Rob Bell said, “what would our experiences with this being look like? The moment God is figured out with nice neat lines and definitions, we are no longer dealing with God. We are dealing with somebody we made up. And if we made [God] up, then we are in control. And so in passage after passage [of scripture], we find God reminding people that [God] is beyond and bigger and more.”[2]
While God is doing more than we can imagine, Ephesians also says that God is doing it through us. And if God is working through us, then we can do more than we can imagine.
God is more than our grief … God is our shield.
Christ is more than our teacher … Jesus is our shepherd and guide.
God is more than our worry … God is our calm.
Jesus is more than our uncertainty … Christ is our salvation and our rock.
The Spirit is more than a notion that wanders around and sounds like something good that we might like if we could find it. The Holy is right here. The Divine calls us to join in. To clear our vision, to drop our walls, to dance with joy.
God can do, has done, will do more than we can ask or imagine.
“I have been told that I need to believe in Jesus,” Rob Bell went on to say. “Which is a good thing. But what I am learning is that Jesus believes in me.”
I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, 17 and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. 18 I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
20 Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.
[1] Sally A. Brown, Preach This Week 7-29-12 http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1333 (the ‘not waiting on a reward’ part is hers too)
[2] Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith (HarperCollins, 2012)
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.
(manuscript to follow soon!)
Joshua 23:14
‘And now I am about to go the way of all the earth, and you know in your hearts and souls, all of you, that not one thing has failed of all the good things that the Lord your God promised concerning you; all have come to pass for you, not one of them has failed.
There he is perched, a hopeless and dejected young prince, gazing over the surface of a small pond. A look of disillusionment flashes across his face as he looks into the calm water only to be greeted by his own likeness mirrored back. “That’s not my father. That’s just my reflection,” he says turning to the one who had promised him an encounter with the dead King. And then, with wisdom that can only be found with the most learned of primates, Rafiki, the mandrill, immediately interjects, “No. Look harder.”
And sure enough, prince Simba’s reflection gives way a rendering of his father. And what follows is a scene that is engraved in the memory of every young, impressionable mind in 1994. Behold, the lion king, Mufasa, appearing in the thunderclouds to his successor. “Simba,” his voice thunders, “you have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me…Remember, you are my son, the one true king. Remember who you are. Remember…”
You know, it’s a shame how disappointingly prone we are to forget even the simplest of things, from time to time—not the least of which is who we are. If you are like me you find that in the hustle and bustle of our distracted lives, forgetfulness plagues us far more than we would care to admit.
( … it’s still edible! )
Now, the good news is that many slips of the mind carry with them only minor consequences. Like, for example, forgetting the chocolate in your car…
But then there are those times when our forgetfulness is a bit more embarrassing. Like showing up to the marching band competition only to realize that you left your instrument at home. Not to worry; just play it cool.
And then, there are those times when our absent-mindedness is a bit more costly, like that time you forgot to put the drain plugs in the new boat? Hmmm.
But friends, rest assured, you know nothing of the consequences of forgetfulness, until you have borrowed your wife’s cell phone and she says “The password’s my birthday!” …*sigh*. I am still digging my way out of that one.
Yes, we are disappointingly prone to forgetfulness. It’s one of the primary reasons that you and I are here this morning: so that we can remember of some things which we are inclined to forget; namely, who we are and whose we are.
The single verse of scripture that was read this morning, contains the words of Joshua. He was a central figure for the people of ancient Israel, becoming their leader after the death of Moses. And we pick up on Joshua’s story near the end of his life. He knows he is about to die and that there is going to be a season of transition for his people. And he knew that seasons of transition are always good season’s to refresh the memory about who and who’s we are. So Joshua gathers the Israelites together and starts in to his farewell address. He says “Look, I’m about to go the way of all the earth, so I need you to remember something. I need you to remember, in your heart of hearts, that not one of all the good things that the Lord your God promised concerning you has failed; all of them have come to pass. Not a single one of God’s promises has failed you.”
Joshua then goes on to set the record straight by looking over his shoulder into their collective past.1 “Once upon a time,” he says “God called to your ancestor Abraham and promised him that if he would go from where he was living to a place where the Lord would lead him, that he would become the father of a whole nation. Of course, Abraham and his wife Sarah had no kids and they were old (I mean really old!). But sure enough, God kept the promise, and they had a child, Isaac. And Isaac had children of his own: Jacob and Esau. And from there…just look how many of us there are!
“Or how about the time our people were enslaved in Egypt and God promised to liberate them? God called upon the unlikeliest of duos to help with the escape: a fugitive named Moses and his brother Aaron. But God kept the promise. And Egypt got hit hard with plagues and Moses got the people out of Dodge.
And remember just how intense the chase scene was? The Egyptian were in hot pursuit with chariots and cavalry, had our people pinned at the edge of the Red Sea! And your ancestors cried out to God…and God heard their cries. And the Lord made a way—right through the middle of the sea…and left the Egyptians waterlogged behind ‘em.”
Well, Joshua was preachin’ now. And he was going to drive the point home so he continued: “And how about that time we roamed around for 40 years in the wilderness. We were at our wits end, worn out and discombobulated, only to be bought into a land where people wanted to pick fights and curse us. But God promised us a land of milk and honey. And see here, that God has handed you a land for which you did not work, towns you did not build. And now you’re living the good life. Please, don’t you forget how faithful God has been to you. Not one of his promises has failed you.”
It was the Jewish philosopher and theologian, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who said that much of what the Bible demands can be summed up in one imperative: remember.2
Remembering who we are and whose we are as a people of faith, is about employing a certain kind of vision. A vision that involves looking our shoulders to see God’s proverbial footprints in the sand of our lives. When comes to our faith, remembering is more like an art form, than it is the rote memory of facts and figures. It’s about telling stories of the past—from our personal lives and our shared life together—that help establish a precedence or expectation in which to ground our living. When we recount the stories of God’s people in scripture and add to that our own glimpses of God’s good works, we are offered the chance to jog our memory about God’s track record of faithfulness to those who put their trust in God.
To remember that we are God’s and that God remains faithful to us, is truly a scandalous act of resistance in a world that tries to peddle us the lie that we are unloved and unclaimed. When we reach back to see that we are, in fact, all children of God, precious and cared for by our Creator, that allows us to operate out of love and justice for our neighbors and ourselves, in a world that so often functions out of doom and gloom. Recalling the stories of God’s accompaniment with God’s people, allows us to move into an uncertain future with the assurance of a long-established precedent; that God that has promised to love of this world and bring abundant life to it, and that not one of God’s promises has failed.
But if we don’t take time to stop and remember, it seems that our daily worries begin to erode our memory. Worry, it seems, has a way of making us forgetful. I don’t know about you, but I have found quite a bit to be worried about these days. I worry about the future of this country we live in. The future of the world. I worry about the future of this congregation. I even worry about whether our mostly unused milk jug is reaching its expiration date.
And in the thick of all this worry, I start looking for places to run and hide. Ironically, instead of using the past to remember the things that will give me the strength to move me forward through the storms of my living, I begin to use the past as a place to hide. I start running towards a half-truth of the past that I have created shaped in my mind and have come to know as “the good ol’ days.” A fairytale escape located somewhere in years gone by where everything was much better, easier, and far simpler.
I have to tell you, I started in using this small paper calendar as my go-to planner for this year, simply because it was lying around and seem the ideal practical size. Well, only about a week ago did I pay any attention the theme of the calendar. It’s titled “Simpler Times,” and has these pictures of beautiful paintings from artist Terry Redlin that invoke nostalgia for a bygone era. Images of summer fields with children in their knickerbockers, frolicking about; wintry wonderlands that strangely warm my soul.
On a particularly stressful day last week, I grabbed the calendar and was drawn in to the serenity of the cover picture: a winter scene, complete with a gorgeous log home—windows lit with warmth. A couple setting off in a horse-drawn sleigh, and children playing around a disgustingly perfect snowman. And I said, “Yes, take me there and double time.” The good ‘ol days. A simpler time.
And no sooner than I had mentally inserted myself behind the reigns of the sleigh, my mind followed the plot a bit further. “So, after this sleigh ride…do I have to get the horse back in the barn? And what am I gonna’ do to pay off the mortgage on that fancy cabin? I’m guessing the kids aren’t quite at night…so much for simpler times.
A desire to run and hide in the past is a temptation of every generation. When the Israelites where in the wilderness wandering about aimlessly, they started yearning for simpler times. They said to one another “This is brutal. We’re going to perish out here. Honestly, Egypt seemed simpler than this.” But the Lord wasn’t interested in sending them back to a terrible past they had conveniently reframed as the good ‘ol days. In their worry about the challenges of the present moment and fear about their future, the collective memory of Israel about the trustworthiness of God had become a bit fuzzy.
Our own worries, fears, and anxieties also carry with them a profound question of God’s trustworthiness. Can God be trusted with a world that seems out of control? Can God be trusted in a time defined by deep division and incivility? Can God be trusted with the future…with your future? Can God be trusted enough to release my stranglehold on control, through power and possessions? No matter how we ask it, the question is this: Can God be trusted?
Our answer to that question and our subsequent actions will hinge on whether we will take the time to look back over our shoulder and what we will choose to remember. What stories will you tell yourself when all seems lost? What will you choose to remember when the going gets tough? What will you call upon when the future seems far too uncertain?
As disciples of Jesus, we have been asked each time we gather together to remember him. That is at the heart of what we are about as a community. Our mission is one of remembrance of the Good News of who we are and whose we are in Christ. To let our living and the ways we respond to the world around us be directed by the remembrance of a trustworthy God who acts and speaks, who lives and deal in surprising and beautiful alternatives far beyond our small visions of what our lives and this world can be.
So, have a look over your shoulder. Do some searching into the past, uncover something that may help jog your memory this week. And I pray that you will come to remember in your hearts and souls, that not one thing has failed of all the good things that the Lord your God promised concerning you. Not one of them has failed. Thanks be to God!
1 Heschel, Abraham Joshua. God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism
2 Renderings of the stories from Joshua 24:1-12
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 3rd 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 4th 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:
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
Hebrews 11: 1 – 16
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. 2 Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. 3 By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.
4 By faith Abel offered to God a more acceptable sacrifice than Cain’s. Through this he received approval as righteous, God himself giving approval to his gifts; he died, but through his faith he still speaks. 5 By faith Enoch was taken so that he did not experience death; and “he was not found, because God had taken him.” For it was attested before he was taken away that “he had pleased God.” 6 And without faith it is impossible to please God, for whoever would approach him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him. 7 By faith Noah, warned by God about events as yet unseen, respected the warning and built an ark to save his household; by this he condemned the world and became an heir to the righteousness that is in accordance with faith.
8 By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. 9 By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. 10 For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. 11 By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old—and Sarah herself was barren—because he considered him faithful who had promised. 12 Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, “as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.”
13 All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, 14 for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. 15 If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.
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.
{{4:00pm}}
Two Sundays ago, as she was leaving the sanctuary with her friends for their morning of Children Worship and Wonder, Kaylee stopped at the back door and asked me a question: Remember last year at Christmas when I carried the Baby Jesus in? Yes, of course, I said. Wellll … and she tilted her head and paused and looked at me. Well … I wondered if I could do it again this year. But I want Sophia to do it with me this time. We want to do it together. Now, this is usually a pretty impromptu thing, and I usually try to invite different children every time, or at least in different combinations. But COME ON. Like I’m going to say no to that question! Can I carry in the baby Jesus, and can I have a friend do it with me?
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{{6:00pm}}
Earlier today, in thinking about who we would see at each hour tonight, and all of the roles that are played in making this service happen … deacons to serve communion, receive offering, hand out candles … musicians to move us through this special night in ways only they can … each of you, gathered here, making worship a true gathering of the faithful … I also thought about children to ask to carry in the Baby Jesus figure. And so I asked Bodhi and Parker’s mom if they would. And she immediately said yes, that they loved doing it last year. And I thought to last year, and them walking in together, brother and sister with such confidence and excitement. This is usually a pretty impromptu thing, and I usually try to invite different children every time, or at least in different combinations. But COME ON. On a night like this? You want to be READY. And they were. So could they do it 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 11: 2 – 10
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples 3 and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” 4 Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: 5 the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. 6 And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”7 As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? 8 What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. 9 What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. 10 This is the one about whom it is written,
‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’
You’ve made the trip into the attic, or the garage, or the basement, or the shed, to drag out all the boxes and bins and bags. You open each one, remember what’s been packed where, and remind yourself of where it sits or hangs or stands. Inevitably, something you know you had is no longer where you thought it was. And there’s one bulb out somewhere in the hundreds of them, and now that whole section is dark. Do you dig through for spares? Do you go get something new? Do you just cram another strand in there, or decide this year you’ll go without lights and next year you’ll fix it – knowing good and well that you’ll forget between now and next year and you’ll do this all over again. And as you unwrap each piece, you tell and retell the story that goes with it. And you find a place for everything. And inevitably the dog ends up in the Styrofoam, and the cat slips into the lowest tree branches, and you realize that it’s time to glue Joseph’s head back on (again), and you find a place to put the Baby Jesus figure so that he can make his appearance in the nativity on Christmas morning. (Hopefully this year you’ll remember where he is.)
And there’s the choir concert one night, and the band concert the next night. And your office party is a pitch-in lunch, and theirs is a dress-up dinner. And the babysitter’s at her friend’s party, so you hope maybe the college friend next door is home from school already. You thought you were so far ahead on the shopping and then you realize that you still haven’t figured out what to get your brother-in-law. And you forgot you need a Secret Santa gift for the teacher. And maybe something for the mail carrier; they work so many extra hours this time of year.
And everyone’s coming to your house for Christmas dinner because your sister decided to remodel her kitchen and of course it isn’t done yet. And is that a tickle in the back of your throat? Why are you so tired? Uh oh. A light’s on down the hall. Who’s gotten sick in the middle of the night? And why is there water on the kitchen floor? How does a refrigerator just suddenly quit working entirely?
So. Everyone’s feeling that JOY of Christmas, right?
Well, one of the things you managed to do in the middle of everything else that we think this season demands of us … you managed to get to worship today. That may have included its own series of comical events and annoying circumstances and even near-disasters, but you made it. You’re here. So maybe we can take a moment of pause together. And breathe. And consider. And refresh our memory, about the JOY.
Today’s text is a departure from the timeline. It’s a much later part of the story and maybe not one you would first think about when you think of this time of year. But it’s also a series of events that help us refresh our memory, and help us pause, and breathe, and consider the source of our joy.
John the Baptist was born just before Jesus. His mother Elizabeth was Mary’s cousin. We see in the other nativity telling, in Luke, that when a pregnant Mary visits a pregnant Elizabeth, the baby in Elizabeth’s womb leaps with joy as the two greet each other. It is one of the simplest and most beautiful moments of scripture. The gift of a child in Elizabeth’s age, and the gift of a child in Mary’s innocence, resonates in each woman’s spirit and they are deeply and wondrously linked from the earliest moments of their being.
John spends his life as a herald for Jesus: the one who goes before him to declare the way, to proclaim the good news of the Messiah, the one who will save the people. John calls the community to repentance and doesn’t sugar coat it even a little bit – they need to prepare themselves, be ready, be different, pay attention. He steps from the wilderness, from his locust-eating and hairshirt-wearing, and baptizes Jesus, as the skies part and the voice of God declares it all blessed.
This is no ordinary preacher, and no ordinary relationship. It is deep, and profound, and lifelong, and sometimes unexplainable.
In this text from Matthew, John has landed in prison … for telling the truth. King Herod had visited his brother, seduced his brother’s wife, come home and disposed of his own, and taken the sister-in-law as his new bride. John, not one to mince words, called him out on that debacle … and, as you might imagine, that didn’t go over well. So, here is John, in prison.
As he had traveled and preached and told the stories of Jesus and who he was for the world, John had gathered his own following, his own students and disciples. While in prison now, he had heard from them about the ways Jesus continued to teach and preach and heal, how he was drawing attention and gathering crowds and troubling the authorities and stirring up notice.
And John had to wonder: So why am I the one sitting here in this jail cell? After all this, is this what it’s come to? Has all of this been worth it? Or has it been for nothing?
But it’s for that very reason that John’s question strikes us as odd: He’s been right there the whole time, leading the way, clearing the path, setting things up, getting people ready, preparing them to hear the good news of God’s love from God’s own Son. How in the world does he still need to send his disciples to Jesus to ask that incredibly puzzling question “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”
But we ask it too, don’t we? Even from this side of history, even knowing how the story starts, and how it goes, and how it ends, and what it means. We still sometimes ask ‘Is this it? Is that what we’re looking for?’ It makes sense that perhaps we would wonder if we match up with Jesus’ expectations. We know the many ways we can fall short of following faithfully.
But this scripture, this moment with John in his prison cell, this moment when he’s seen and done and lead and heard and been part of all the ways that Jesus shows all of us to be: In this moment, John seems to make a way to say that maybe when we think we’ve met all that was expected of us, we will still find a moment to wonder if Jesus is matching up with what we expect of him?
But how does Jesus respond? Does he tell John’s disciples to get a grip, that yes of course he’s the messiah, haven’t we already covered this, haven’t you been paying attention? No. But does he just give them a simple and straightforward ‘Yes, I’m the one’? No. This is Jesus. You knew that wouldn’t happen. You ask him a simple question, you get a long and round-about answer. It’s his thing.
What Jesus gives to John in this moment … in the midst of John’s waning confidence and overwhelming sense of things being impossible … what Jesus gives John is permission to ask the questions, and the reminder that he already has the answer.
Debie Thomas wrote a beautiful essay last week called ‘Has It All Been For Nothing?’ and points out the generosity and beauty of Jesus’s response to the question John’s disciples bring:
… Jesus says: go back to John and tell him your stories. Tell him my stories. Tell him what your eyes have seen and your ears have heard. Tell him what only the stories — quiet as they are, scattered as they are, questionable as they are — will reveal.[1]
Lutheran pastor Rev Dr Janet Hunt said a few years ago:
Sometimes I simply find that I, too, simply need someone else to tell me what they know for sure.
And apparently that’s OK. For Jesus’ response to John’s question carries no judgment, no surprise, not even a small measure of wondering that John would wonder. It’s as though it’s to be expected that all of us — every single one of us — would need the witness of one another to bear us up.[2]
Jesus doesn’t answer John and his disciples directly. He gives them a recitation of his works. ‘You ask if I’m the one? Here is what I’ve done. Does that sound like the one you were looking for?’ They have to decide. Because Jesus doesn’t take offense … because he doesn’t come back with any sort of blame or shame, no accusation of a wavering faith … because Jesus knows how new and different and revelatory this kind of understanding of the world can be … he isn’t offended by John’s question. And he isn’t wounded by ours.
This takes the magic out of it … but not the wonder. This means we can ask our questions too, and still rest in the joy of a God who loves us enough to move among us again and again and again and again until we come to know what such love can mean. Discipleship and faith must constantly be renewed. Even John the Baptist had to ask the question. As treasured preaching professor Ron Allen says, “…God never gives up on offering the world opportunities to become more like the realm of heaven.”[3]
We are in a season called Advent – from the Latin word adventus, which means ‘coming.’ Christ is coming. The Light of the World, Prince of Peace. And isn’t THAT something we need? Isn’t that what we eagerly await?
Purple candles are lighted through the season – purple to signify royalty as we await the coming King. But it is also the color of penitence and reflection, and in earliest tradition, this was the case for Advent. Much like Lent, Advent began as a season of somber reflection, including fasting and increased devotion through prayer and discipline. It is a season of waiting and watching.
But at this point something happens. This third Sunday of Advent is Gaudete Sunday. The first word spoken in the ancient mass on this third Sunday in Advent is gaudete. ‘Rejoice.’ Gaudete in Domino semper. ‘Rejoice in the Lord always.’
Seven years ago, in 2012, it was my first Advent season here with you. Many of you will remember that in those days, to use a biblical phrase, in those days we were not worshipping in this space. This room was torn down the concrete and steel, being completely renovated into the sacred space we treasure each week. So during that season, we worshipped in Peake Hall. When you walk out of the sanctuary, there are two doors in front of you – one to the Library, one to the Chapel. Those were one room then, and none of the commons, gym, or education space was there. (I know, it’s weird to remember, isn’t it?!)
But that Advent, on the 3rd weekend, the weekend I was to preach, on the Advent theme of joy, something happened. That Friday, with a sermon already tucked away and ready to go, we were in offices and cars and homes and schools … and heard about children at a school in Connecticut. The horrific killing of 20 little ones, and 6 teachers. Sandy Hook. And 48 hours later, we were to gather in worship and talk about joy.
I think of that day often. The number of times we have gathered for worship and been forced to name another tragedy of violence in our nation … Sandy Hook Elementary School. Emanuel AME in Charleston. The Pulse Nightclub in Orlando. The campus square in Charlottesville. The Islamic Center in Detroit. The Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburg. So many. Too many to name. Too many.
As people of faith, as those who claim Jesus, as individuals and a community privileged to choose to follow the one we call Savior … in a world that would divide us, in a time that would have us choose sides, in a season of rancor and dissent and sheer inhumanity and injustice like we could never have imagined … as this community, in this moment, what are we asking of Jesus? And what is he asking of us?
Here’s what I said on December 16 2012, after Sandy Hook, and here’s what I’ll say today, in the middle of the chaos that is around us – and inside us – in seemingly every waking moment:
There is only one thing. There is only one thing that makes any bit of sense.
It does not explain why. It does not answer how. It does not promise never again. It does not make it all okay. But it is the only thing to say … the only thing that makes sense to say. And it is the very thing we say every time we’re together. It is the very thing we say in the fact that we are together at all.
God. Is. Here.
That’s it.
The Lord your God is in your midst. (Zeph 3:17)
How can we still read words of JOY today? How can we still light this pink candle? Why do we sing ‘Gloria’? How can we possibly ‘come with joy’
Because God is here.
God was there.
In every anguished cry, in every injured body, in every moment of panic.
In every act of bravery and compassion and selflessness and goodness and heart.
God was there.
And God is here.
In the tears we cry, the grief we carry for people we do not even know.
In our fear that this could be our child.
In our certainty that if it is anyone’s child anywhere, it is everyone’s child everywhere.And in our lighting of a candle,
and our singing of songs,
and our praying of prayers,
and our breaking of bread.God is here.
I heard a great phrase the other day: “Jesus did not come to meet our expectations … he came to meet our needs.”[4]
What do we need of Jesus right now? What does he need of us?
Joy, maybe?
In the midst of all the stuff from the attic, and the things on the calendar, and the preparation left to make, here we are, at the 3rd Sunday of Advent. JOY.
We are halfway there … we move from waiting for the Promised One, and we turn our hearts in expectation … we actually expect that Christ will come! And so on Gaudete Sunday, we ease our penitence, we breathe in celebration, we soften the color from purple to rose, and we rejoice.
We rejoice.
In the presence of God, we rejoice.
We rejoice in the presence of God.
[1] Debie Thomas, ‘Has It All Been For Nothing?’, Journey with Jesus, https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=1201
[2] Janet Hunt, ‘The Blind Receive Their Sight’, Dancing With the Word, http://words.dancingwiththeword.com/2013/12/the-blind-receive-their-sight.html
[3] Ron Allen, Working Preacher, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3091
[4] Ben Witherington, ‘Preaching This Week’, Working Preacher, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=778
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
Matthew 1: 1 – 17
1 An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham.
2 Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, 3 and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, 4 and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, 5 and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse, 6 and Jesse the father of King David.
And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah, 7 and Solomon the father of Rehoboam, and Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asaph, 8 and Asaph the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, 9 and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, 10 and Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, and Manasseh the father of Amos, and Amos the father of Josiah, 11 and Josiah the father of Jechoniah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon.
12 And after the deportation to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Salathiel, and Salathiel the father of Zerubbabel, 13 and Zerubbabel the father of Abiud, and Abiud the father of Eliakim, and Eliakim the father of Azor, 14 and Azor the father of Zadok, and Zadok the father of Achim, and Achim the father of Eliud, 15 and Eliud the father of Eleazar, and Eleazar the father of Matthan, and Matthan the father of Jacob, 16 and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah.
17 So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations.
Alright, everybody take a deep breath. We survived! If you recall, last Sunday I offered some advice about how to grab people’s attention in your writing and may I add to that by suggesting that starting with a list of names is not the best way to do that. But that is precisely what the author of the gospel of Matthew has done.
I can’t tell you how many times I have skipped over the genealogy of Jesus in my own reading of Matthew. Reviewing a list of names is not necessarily what I feel like I should be getting out of my time with the Bible. Surely there is something more important to attend to in the scriptures; it hardly seems prudent to spend our time stumbling through names we can hardly pronounce.
My first impulse would be to fast-forward to the next part of the gospel story, you know, the part where the plot thickens and a mother gives birth in a manager and there is this whole unlikely cast of characters gathered around them, and we are all back in this space lifting candles together, singing “Christ the Savior is born!” But we’re not there yet. We have this season in which we must wait.
There aren’t a whole lot of us that are good at waiting. I mean, it’s hard to wait for a green light these days without having a glance at the ol’ cell phone screen. And in this holiday season there are a number of things that we could potentially do to fill our time and distract us in our waiting: decorating the house, hitting the retail stores, watching sappy Hallmark Christmas movies with their myriad of variations on the same plotline. I bet we could put together a pretty comprehensive list of things we could do to distract ourselves from the seeming discomfort of waiting. And we would be the poorer for having done so.
As life throws more occasions at me where all I can do is simply wait, it makes more sense to me now than ever before that the Christian liturgical year begins with a season of waiting. Advent kicks off today, and it is a tradition that begs us to slow down. We are afforded this sacred space—this pregnant pause—to practice the spiritual discipline of waiting and have a closer look at the things we’ve missed in our otherwise distracted lives. That is our intention in this Advent worship series, to look at the things we’ve glossed over, and we begin at the very beginning of Matthew’s gospel, with the tree of Jesse—that is how many refer to the lineage that leads to Jesus.
Genealogy—the study of families and family history—has exploded in popularity these last few years with the dawn of ancestry.com, the largest of several online genealogical and historical archives. The company boasts millions of subscribers and a net worth well into the billions. Perhaps you, too, have swabbed your cheek in the name of science and to shed some light on your genetic stock. There have been some wild stories that have emerged from this genealogical endeavor. Families reconnected. People discovering that they have siblings that they didn’t know about. Adults and children alike uncovering that their biological parents may not be those who they have come to know as mom and dad.
For many of us, though, our desire to investigate our family tree is more of a psychological thing. We humans are have this inherent need to place our lives in the context of a story that is bigger than ourselves. And for many there is a sort of hope that if we can track down our ancestors we will uncover our roots, our past, and things we can take pride in; a family heritage that will assign more meaning to our living.
To the Jewish community, however, genealogies carried even more importance. This is why when you study the Scriptures, it isn’t long before you start running into them. Unlike many of today’s cultures, genealogies were critical in determining a number of things for the Jewish community. Ancestry determined one’s claim on land as well as one’s right of inheritance. Should a person come along and claim that they had a right to a property, or an estate, determination of the validity of that claim would be placed upon genealogical verification.
At that time, ancestry also established the basis of taxation. That’s why Joseph and Mary ended up in the strange predicament of having their baby in a back-country stable; because they were headed to pay their taxes in Bethlehem, as part of the house and line of David. You see, one had to go back to the ancestral grounds of his family, where their genealogical records were kept, and on the basis of those records, taxation was assessed. And here you thought that taxes have had a significant role in your life…but you weren’t born in a manager because of them!
Beyond all this, and even more importantly, any claim to the priesthood or to royalty, had to be verified by proof of the family lineage. So, if someone wanted to claim, for example, that they were—I don’t know—the Messiah (the chosen one)—they would need to be able to show royal pedigree going back to the great King David himself.
All this is to say that we see so many genealogies in Scripture because they were important in a different kind of way than we see them now. Still, I believe that if we were to take some time exploring Jesus’ family tree, I’m sure we’d uncover many things that are familiar to us.
For example, we love uncovering that there are famous people in our family, and Jesus’ happens to have connection to more than a handful of A-list celebrities. Matthew’s genealogy begins with one such man: Abraham. He is the grand patriarch of three of the major faith traditions in the world: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. His name is right up there with some of the most famous people of history. And yet for all that might be said of his reputation, it all began when he heard the call of God to “go,” and he went. He didn’t even know where he was supposed to go, but he went anyway. Funny how much that man trusted his God.
Of course, Abraham isn’t the only well-known celebrity in Jesus’ family tree. You’ve likely heard of Judah. Even if you haven’t heard his story, I guarantee you’ve heard his name. He gave his name to the people, Judeans—the Jews. He gave his name to the land, the land of Judah. He gave his name to the religion, Judaism. Judah was an important guy.
Oh, and there’s King David. He’s a guy you’ve likely heard about (he’s kind of a big deal). You’ll notice in the scripture we read this morning that the first part of Jesus’ family tree leads up to David, and the rest of the family flows away from him. David was a titan of a figure; a renaissance man in the truest sense of the word. His Facebook bio would have likely read: Shepherd, musician, poet, soldier, king. David was also a complex character; suffering from the same powerful contradictions we all do. He had this immense capacity to weep over his own sin and could be as cold and calculating in it.
We love having famous people in our family. But the flip side of that is that there are those in our families that…well…we wish were not! In your exploration of who you are related to, you are likely to come across some less-than savory characters. Jesus’ family has its share of them. There was Manasseh, who became king when he was just a spring chicken; age 12. This may not come as a surprise to you: he was a terrible king. He stayed in power though compromise and generally lacked conviction to stand for his people.
There was Tamar. You remember Tamar, right? She was bound and determined to get into Judah’s family by any means necessary. In her case, those means involved seduction…and a goat (hmm? Add that story to your Good Reads list). And then was Rahab, whose profession remains questionable and tends to get left out of the children’s Sunday School lessons. Look every family has some folks that are not held in the same esteem as the rest. And depending on the extent to which our families feel that they must protect the reputation of the family name, there will be efforts to try to write them out of the history books.
But people have been left out of family trees for lesser things. It is unfortunate that we don’t see any shout out to Abraham’s wife, Sarah, or his grand-daughter, Rebekah, or his granddaughter-in-law, Rachel. I regret that very much. You and I have heard a bit about their stories, but it is the reality that in those times, as it is often still today, a woman’s legacy rode on the name of the men in her life. But there are women in Jesus family tree. I already mentioned Tamar and Rahab. There’s also Bathsheba. Okay, she wasn’t mentioned by her name in our passage; she’s simply referred to as “Uriah’s wife,” and she was. Except King David sent Uriah off to die in war so that he could have an affair with her. But it is the offspring of Bathsheba that leads to Jesus.
Then there’s Ruth, the Moabite women who loved her mother-in-law so much that she has become the prototypical example of fidelity.
It strikes me that there are so many women mentioned in the genealogy of Jesus. It also strikes me that none of them are Jews. Did you think about that? Tamar was an Arab. Bathsheba was a Palestinian. Ruth was what we would call a Jordanian today. And I can’t help but wonder if it is not coincidence that Jesus of Nazareth, the one who would show God’s love for Jew and Gentile alike, would come from a family that is full of such a great diversity of nationalities.
Now, I would be remiss if I spoke of the Tree of Jesse without mentioning Mary and Joseph. Mary the mother of Jesus. Joseph…is he the father? Well, yes. And no. And yes. You know as well as I do that families are complex, even in Jesus case. We come to discover that family are those who claim us and care for us. Whether that family is genetically linked with us, or not, is often less important than some might make it out to be. However, with all the genealogical work that has been done over the last years, we are beginning to realize that perhaps we are connected than we would imagine.
If each of us were to trace our families back far enough we would soon uncover that we share common ancestors, at which point the fascination of our lineage wanes and the underlying truth starts to materialize: we are all related. Genealogists estimate that the most recent common ancestor of all humans lived just a few thousand years ago. Let that sink in for a minute. That means that there was someone, a specific man or woman, who probably lived in either Egypt or Babylonia during the classical period, to whom we can all trace our ancestry. And assuming an average generation time of 20 years, this means that we are all roughly 120th cousins.1 How about that, family!?
That’s pretty interesting, though our faith tells us as much. From the get-go the stories of scripture tell us that we are all children of God. And those stories tell us that families are much like our lives: messy and complicated. That is a very human reality. But this holiday season, when there will be lots of family activity, I pray that you will pause to remember that God has always been in the business of working in and among our relationships. And God chose to enter our human family and, in doing so, restored our place in the household of God. And that is the greatest family any of us could have asked for.
As we wait this advent season to celebrate the arrival of Jesus, I pray that you will take pride in who and whose you are in the family of Christ, and that you will carry the hope that comes with knowing that God is already at work among us.
Oh, and don’t forget to save room for Jesus at the family gatherings.
1 Nathan H. Lents, Ph.D. “The Meaning and Meaninglessness of Genealogy: Researching our family background is all the rage, but what does it all mean?” Jan 29, 2018
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.
Acts 9: 36 – 43
Now in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which in Greek is Dorcas. She was devoted to good works and acts of charity. 37 At that time she became ill and died. When they had washed her, they laid her in a room upstairs. 38 Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, who heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, “Please come to us without delay.” 39 So Peter got up and went with them; and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs. All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. 40 Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, “Tabitha, get up.” Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. 41 He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. 42 This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord. 43 Meanwhile he stayed in Joppa for some time with a certain Simon, a tanner.
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. So said the late great Arthur Ashe. Words for athletic endeavors like world class tennis … and for stewardship, generosity, and daily living.
Such generosity – where you are, what you have, what you can – was on full display the year that writer and film critic Sheila O’Malley was mourning the death of her father. She tells a story that’s worth retelling.[1]
The year after my dad died was so bad I don’t remember 90% of it. I moved to a new apt and was unable to unpack. For MONTHS. I was ashamed I couldn’t unpack. How can you be UNABLE to unpack? Just open the {darn} boxes. That was the year I cried for 19 days. Straight. /1
My good friend David – whom I’ve known since high school – knew I was struggling and he felt helpless. He said “you are loved” “we need you”. I was like, “Doesn’t matter, but thanks.” So he took a risk. It very well could have ended badly. I could have lashed out. /2
I could have been really REALLY offended. But he took the risk. He sent out an email to a group of local friends (w/out my knowledge) and said, “Sheila is struggling. She needs our help. Let’s all go over there and unpack her apartment for her. Bring food. Let’s make it fun.” /3
David sent me an email saying “will you be home Thursday night? Can I stop by?” I said “Sure.” Sitting surrounded by 200 unpacked boxes. /4
At 6 pm on Thursday night the doorbell rang and 10 of my friends barged in, bearing platters of food, cleaning products, and complete unconcern for my ‘wait … you CAN’T COME IN HERE I HAVEN’T UNPACKED YET” protestations. They ignored me and got to work. /5
They unpacked my boxes. They put away my 1,500 books. They hung pictures for me. They organized my closet and put away all my clothes. Meanwhile, someone set up a taco-making station in the kitchen. People brought beer. By the end of the night, my apartment was all set up. /6
I literally was unable to do THE SIMPLEST THINGS. And nobody judged me. They were like superheroes sweeping in. One friend arrived late, stood in the hallway, looked at me and said, “PUT ME TO WORK.” /7
One of my friends basically took over hanging all of my posters and pictures. “I’m really good at measuring stuff. Let me put all these up in your hallway.” I hovered, not wanting to give up control: “wait … put that one there maybe?” She said, “Go away.” I did. /8
And she was so much better at hanging stuff than I was!
Here are my friends putting away my books. /9
Here’s a break for dinner. Please note that my friend Sheila’s dinner plate is resting on my DVD player. /10
I was overwhelmed at the sight of all of my crazy friends turning themselves into Santa’s workshop. On my behalf. W/out asking me. They just showed up and barged in. I was embarrassed for like 10 minutes but they were all so practical and bossy I had no choice but to let that go.
At the end of the night, I looked at my friend’s husband – a quiet taciturn guy who drives a tugboat on the Hudson – practical, man of few words – and I just looked at him, speechless, not knowing how to say Thank You, especially to this tough resilient self-sufficient man.
He looked at me, saw the look on my face, understood the look, understood everything that was behind it – and said, “Listen, baby, what we did today was a barn-raising.”
That’s the end. The “ask for help” advice is well-meaning but not really thought through. There’s shame, there’s enforced helplessness, there’s the feeling you’re not worth it, etc. My friends didn’t wait for me to ask. They showed up. They took over. They didn’t ask.
When they all swept out of there 4 hours later, my place was a home. Not only was everything put away – but now it had a memory attached to it, a group memory, friends, laughing, dirty jokes, hard work. These are the kinds of friends I have. Be that kind of friend to others.
To reiterate: this plan could have backfired. I very well could have been offended, insulted, hurt. David took that risk. Being a friend takes commitment. A willingness to take that risk.
Commitment. A willingness to take a risk.
Sounds a lot like faith. Like faithfulness. Like generosity.
Tabitha is the only woman in the New Testament explicitly called a disciple.[2] In Acts – more formally called The Acts of the Apostles – we see the earliest formations of church, what it first looked like, right after Jesus, to be disciples: followers, those who learned from and were first to live out the ways of Jesus Christ. It is clear in this story that care for the community, specifically care for the widows, was a critical part of being church, one of the distinct characteristics of living in the ways of Jesus.
The disciples are so distressed at Tabitha’s death, they send two men for Peter. Her acts of charity, her good works, are obviously profound, far-reaching, and well-known. It’s been suggested that Tabitha was likely widowed herself, hosting a home for other widows, caring for them, particularly by sewing and providing clothes.[3] When Peter arrives to the house, the women who are with Tabitha, who have already prepared her body for burial, pour out their grief by showing him what Tabitha had done in her life – what she made, how she’d given, who she was.
Earlier in Acts, we see Peter called into the role of healing and restoring those believed to be lost.[4] Each time, not only is the person healed, but those who witness the healing come to believe in Jesus. In this way, Peter earns credibility and notoriety, which is why the disciples come to him about Tabitha.
An important thing to notice here: Peter prays first, and then resuscitates her. His healing isn’t magic, but evidence of his close relationship with Jesus. Peter only says two things: He calls her by name, and tells her to her ‘get up’. Nothing else. He is confident in the power Christ gave to his disciples to do their work, and he never tries to claim it for his own. Because of his work, many come to believe not in Peter, but in Jesus.
This story is about more than healing, though. It’s about a community’s chance – even in the midst of their grief – to remember someone because of their gifts.[5] And it is that story of Tabitha – her generosity – that is her legacy, just as much and more than her having been raised to new life. Where does this lead us?
Scholar and pastor Peter Gomes suggests:[6]
The question should not be ‘What would Jesus do?’ but rather, and more dangerously ‘What would Jesus have me do?’ The onus is not on Jesus but on us, for Jesus did not come to ask semidivine human beings to do impossible things. He came to ask human beings to live up to their full humanity; he wants us to live in the full implications of our human gifts, and that is far more demanding. Anyone can evade responsibility by attempting the impossible and failing; what Jesus asks is that we do what is possible, and that is the challenge that makes life interesting.
It has been said that Where love leads, love follows. The level of description of Tabitha’s death makes us consider what it means, why it’s included this way. We come to realize that it’s not just important to note what it meant to these women – to her whole community – that she died, but that what it meant that she lived. Hers was a life of generosity.
In praying before he tells Tabitha to get up, Peter isn’t doing the actual healing. “He acts as a channel through whom Jesus’ ministry continues.” Such stories in Acts never say that the disciples are replacing Jesus, or even equal to him – but remind us that they’ve carried on in his name, just as he gave them the power and instruction to do[7] – and it matters and it’s working!
You are well aware of the ways Harvard Avenue Christian Church carries on in Jesus’ name … the ways we take seriously the gospel good news of God’s love for all people, and Jesus’ call to go into the world as the kind of disciples who show that great love of God to others. We gather in this worship space every week to praise the One who brings us into being: to hear the word proclaimed, to soak in the overflow of the gift of music, to receive the simplest bread and cup, in the deepest confidence that we ‘get up’ transformed by those gifts.
You know that we’ve just finished a host week for Family Promise. One of the first congregational partners as this ministry took shape in Tulsa, we share in the care of families 4 to 5 times a year, offering shelter, meals, companionship, safety, and rest. Nearly 100 volunteer spaces each host week are taken by folks at Harvard Ave who’ve heard the call to ‘get up’ and whose generosity is their legacy.
You can see that in the last decade, participation in youth and children’s ministries has nearly tripled. We are serving not just ‘church kids’ but their friends, the ones they can’t wait to invite to join them from one week to the next. With more ways for families to connect, and more opportunities for our youngest faithful to deeply and truly know the love of God, Harvard Avenue takes our core values – be loved, believe, become – and says ‘get up,’ young faithful, and take those into your world.
You are well aware that over the last five (or more) years, this congregation has been the lead giver to the annual offering supporting Week of Compassion. Through our gifts to our denomination’s disaster relief, refugee resettlement, and sustainable development ministry, we extend the hand of Christ, we share in Christ’s ministry; when a neighbor, a sibling, a family member is down, we can say ‘get up’ – here is hope.
You are so familiar with all of these big ways that your gifts – your generosity – make ministry possible. You know what it means to hear Christ’s call: Harvard Avenue, get up.
But do you know what else your giving makes possible? When your pledge cards are turned in, and your pledges and offerings are kept up as contributions throughout the year, generosity spreads. Being generous makes us more generous. When we do what Jesus has taught us to do, others can see in us who Jesus is. Where love leads, love follows.
You create space for the fastest growing sport in the country, a hybrid of tennis, badminton, and table tennis. Dozens of people play pickleball here every week. Some of you sitting in the sanctuary this morning even found us first because of pickleball. And the pickleball faithful give back to the church: donations of school supplies, financial gifts, outreach support, sharing a good word about the church in the community … even moving tables sometimes when the need arises!
Harvard Avenue, get up.
You’ve made space for decades for women to gather each week to sew and serge and craft and be together. The Craft Crowd space is not just a creative gathering for their own work, but a generous one for the community. Just this week, more than 100 baby sets – bibs, burp cloths, and blankets – were delivered to Emergency Infant Services.
Harvard Avenue, get up.
You’ve inspired our church family to give in small quiet ways that are easy to miss: once a month shopping trips to pick up dinner ingredients to supply the evening meal at the Tulsa Day Center for the Homeless. Planting flowers and greenery around the Harvard Avenue sign. Making a gift to have live green plants placed and cared for in the commons areas and narthex.
Harvard Avenue, get up.
You are building relationships that are so deep that as soon as a concern is named, you’re asking how to help. When unspeakable tragedy lands in our midst, you are sitting right next to your friend to give whatever support is needed. When a name is spoken for a health concern or a loss or a celebration, your first response is to be in prayer. When there are Thanksgiving dinner tickets to be had, there is always someone who says privately, ‘Keep this, and let someone who may not buy a ticket come to the dinner on me.’
Harvard Avenue, get up.
You have created a place where seemingly simple gifts make a huge impact: a bereavement team that provides perfect receptions and care for our families at funerals; a cadre of volunteers that makes sure, every single Sunday, you have coffee, and tea, and donuts; a quiet and constant team of folks each week who fold bulletins, count offering, prepare newsletters, send reminder cards. All so that all of this … ministry … can happen, day in and day out.
Harvard Avenue, get up.
What Sheila O’Malley said of her friends swarming in to unpack her apartment was probably true of Peter stepping in to raise Tabitha … and is probably true of us when we are stepping out on faith, to be generous, to be faithful: this plan could have backfired. {Someone} very well could have been offended, insulted, hurt. But we take that risk. {Being generous} takes commitment. A willingness to take that risk.
We have pledge cards. We have online pledging. We need these from you, and soon. And we need your consistency in the pledges that go with them. It’s just a fact of ministry. And yet I can say with every confidence that I know you will respond. And I am so grateful to serve a church where that is true.
Here is mine. I’m putting it in the offering plate today.
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
Where love leads, love follows.
Harvard Avenue, all of us need all of us. We are praying. Christ is calling.
Harvard Avenue, get up.
[1] Sheila O’Malley @sheilakathleen https://twitter.com/sheilakathleen/status/1005116845240848385
[2] Carol Newsom & Sharon Ringe, eds., Women’s Bible Commentary (WJK 1992), p309-310
[3] Barbara Reid, New Interpreter’s Study Bible (Abingdon 2003), p1975
[4] Temple beggar (3:1-8), Aeneas (9:32-35)
[5] Robert Wall, New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary: Acts (Abingdon 2002), p160-170
[6] Peter Gomes, The Scandalous Gospel of Jesus (HarperOne 2007), p69-79
[7] Matthew Skinner, Intrusive God, Disruptive Gospel (Brazos Press 2015), p74-77
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.
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:
sometimes we go through the location:
Wherever we start and however it goes, we have to eventually get to the so what of the text.
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.
Exodus 34: 27 – 35
The Lord said to Moses: Write these words; in accordance with these words I have made a covenant with you and with Israel. 28 He was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights; he neither ate bread nor drank water. And he wrote on the tablets the words of the covenant, the ten commandments.29 Moses came down from Mount Sinai. As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God. 30 When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him. 31 But Moses called to them; and Aaron and all the leaders of the congregation returned to him, and Moses spoke with them. 32 Afterward all the Israelites came near, and he gave them in commandment all that the Lord had spoken with him on Mount Sinai. 33 When Moses had finished speaking with them, he put a veil on his face; 34 but whenever Moses went in before the Lord to speak with him, he would take the veil off, until he came out; and when he came out, and told the Israelites what he had been commanded, 35 the Israelites would see the face of Moses, that the skin of his face was shining; and Moses would put the veil on his face again, until he went in to speak with him.
“Have they said how much longer you’ll be here?”, I asked.
Probably two more weeks, she said.
“Good. So they’ll get you nice and strong before you go home.”
Yeah. I was worn out yesterday. They worked me hard. She pushed her hair from her forehead and patted her cheek.
“I guess that’s the idea, right?
I started with just two or three steps the first day. Then I went from here to the door. But yesterday they had me go the whole way to the other end of the room. That’s a long way. I was worn out!
“I bet you were! Good for you, building up like that!”
*
I was awake, and I was dressed, and I was home. But I didn’t remember leaving the show, he said.
So where was your car?
Still at the garage. So that was good. I hadn’t driven myself home.
Right. That’s a good thing.
But at that moment, that’s all I knew. That, and that I absolutely could not drink anymore.
*
I was in church every Sunday and every Wednesday for as long as I can remember, she told me. I was 27 years old before I saw woman in the pulpit.
*
He said, I grew up here, just a few miles over, and no one ever talked about the fact that a whole neighborhood burned down that night.
*
“Where did you learn what you think you know?”Earlier this week, in a room of almost 300 people, mostly white, or presenting white, but with a large number of Native Peoples recognizable among us, she asked that question. Where did you learn what you think you know? Crystal Echo Hawk, a Pawnee woman, asked … and let it sit there for a minute.
The evening’s conversation was about representation, and storytelling, and accuracy of presentation, particularly how Mollie Burkhardt’s story will be told as the moviemakers unfold the pages of David Grann’s Killers of the Flower Moon. It’s Scorcese, and DiCaprio, and DeNiro (so far), so there’s good reason to hope for the best. But it’s Hollywood, and there’s money – and history and experience – involved, so there’s also good reason to wonder and speak up and watch carefully.
Where did you learn what you think you know? And when it comes time for what we know to change … when it’s time to get stronger, or to change a behavior, or to see a new face, or to hear the real story … how do we do that?
Ohhhh, we don’t like it. Change. Our first reaction to that word is to flinch, and entrench, and clench our teeth.
How many church people does it take to change a light bulb? … CHANGE?!!
How many church people does it take to change a light bulb? … Well, first we have to form a committee…
How many church people does it take to change a light bulb? … No one knows. It’s been burnt out for years.
Ouch. Those are pretty snarky. And we’re immensely blessed with a church community here at Harvard Avenue that has changed a lot in our 60 years, and we have come out stronger for every step. And at the same time: It is who we are, it is how we are sometimes. We can be change-resistant. What if we have to give up what we know? What if we don’t like what comes in its place? Do I have to do something? Can I just let everyone else do it without me? Can you just wake me up when it’s over?
When we stop – when we still our panic, and stop – to consider it, the call of faithfulness is simple: Love God. Love others. And yet, we know that living with such simplicity and clarity, moving from day to day, is much more complicated. We live in a society – no matter how old we are, what experiences we have, how discerning and savvy we may be – our society is filled with distractions, competing ‘values’, and varying instructions. How are we to sort it out? Where do we look for a true read, a real understanding, of our role in the world, and our call to be faithful?
Two weeks ago, we started this sermon series: ROLE CALL. We’re trying to slowly walk through those questions together. On World Communion Sunday, we talked about the mystery of God’s work through Christ, and our remembrance of that work when we gather at the table. When we trust that God is with us, and that we are with God, we can make room.
Last week, we took … two minutes … and we admitted that once we make room and gather everyone to the table, it’s the perfect time to listen. To hold onto the stillness, to separate from the swirl and the noise, and to find God’s voice. What filters through? What do we hear calling out to us? We may actually hear God speaking through all the chaos, but will we actually listen?
When we pull up another chair to the table, and we make room and take time to listen to the God who draws us together, we can’t help but notice that it’s changed us. And what changes in us will draw out changes in others. Sometimes that clarifies our role; sometimes it becomes a little more challenging. What does it mean to be called to something new – a new idea, a new place, a new role, even simply a new sense of ourselves as people of God ?
For Moses, it meant a shiny face.
A shiny face? That doesn’t seem like much.
Oh, but there’s more. (You knew there would be more.)
Ready? Here’s the short version. Where we pick up the story in Exodus 34, Moses has been once to Sinai, receiving the tablets, inscribed with God’s commandments, to guide the lives of the faithful.
The people are waiting, at the foot of the mountain, and Moses is slow in coming. Moses was going to talk to God, we thought, but it’s been a while and we don’t know what’s going on, they said, so let’s just make our own God and call it a day. So they do. Of course they do.
And it doesn’t end well. God sees it, tells Moses to go get his people. And Moses goes and in his rage he smashes the tablets with the commandments (and I know that now you’re all picturing the scene in the Mel Brooks movie, so go ahead…).
Somehow though, sommmehow, Moses steps into the middle of all the running amuck (there is a translation that actually says Aaron let them run amuck). Moses says ‘Who is on the Lord’s side?’ … and some people show up. They want to try again.
Moses goes back to God, and pleads their case there on Sinai. And God,
merciful and gracious,
slow to anger,
and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation, (34:6-7)
hears the plea, agrees not to destroy the people for their faithlessness, but tells Moses, ‘Seriously this time. Tablets. Commandments. Take them. Observe them. And get these people out of here.’ So, preparing to depart for the promised land, Moses returns to the people.
And his face is so shiny they are scared to come near him.
What. Is. That. About.?!
Rav Alex Israel suggests the glow of Moses’ face is to indicate that the holiness of the first tablets is matched in the second.[1] Even after as huge a transgression as creating and worshipping an idol in place of the one true God, the covenant is fully renewed in the face – literally in the face – of God’s generosity and love.
I had the chance to hear World Cup soccer gold medalist Abby Wambach speak on Friday night. She admitted that after 30 years as an athlete, competing with, and winning over, the very best in the world, scoring more goals than any other player ever … when she retired, and then started back to normal physical activity: it was hard. Incredibly hard. As she said, “Anyone else not like running? {lots of hands went up} Right. I mean, I like having run. Just not the running.”
And that’s the thing. It is WORK, right? It is work to renew this covenant. To come back from the times we stray from what God has in mind for us … from the idols we create … from those moments when we think we know best, for ourselves, and for everyone, and if they would only just all do it our way … To come back from that, to what GOD has in mind for us takes some work.
After all, the second time around, Moses has done the work to argue for a second chance for these people who are running amuck, AND this time he has to hew the stone for the tablets, AND this time he does the writing down of the commands. The shine of his face is evidence of his work to uphold the covenant. We, too, will look different for having done our work.
Writing the commands down makes them tangible, solid, lasting for generations. But it doesn’t mean that those who read them will always be the same. Our task now, our work now, among the thousands of generations to which God has promised faithful presence, is to hold true to that which is fundamental, even while the specifics of who and where we are has changed wildly from the original instruction.
The commands are part of Israel’s release from Egypt, part of their new freedom. They create “alternative community”, something beyond their restrictive life under Pharaoh. We step into their legacy, through generations, and understandings, and changing worlds, and differing circumstance. We bring all of who we are under the watchful care of a God who “enacts liberation and has ordered heaven and earth” itself for our benefit and well-being.[2]
Why wouldn’t Moses look different after being in the presence of God like that? Why wouldn’t we?
As scholar Robert Alter says,“The presence of God makes Israel’s life distinctive. Indeed, God’s presence makes all creation different.”[3]
God’s presence makes all creation different.
Do you know someone who glows like that? Who has done the work and has the shiny face to show for it? Where does that come from, and how do we get it? Where do you need it, right now, in your life? In your world?
Is it huge, all-in change that needs to be made? Is it the internal version of … buying a new chair, and then rearranging your whole house? I mean, if you’re going to get the chair, it will really fit better in that spot. So that means moving the table that’s there to the other side of the room, but then the desk and lamp are in the wrong spot. Okay, so you switch those and then the artwork doesn’t look right anymore so you move that over, and then you have holes to spackle and paint to touch up. Which really is something you’ve been thinking about anyway; maybe it should be a different color entirely. (Listen, I know some of you, and I know it’s not just me. Don’t deny.)
Or do you really just need to go slow with your change? Is the full U-turn more than you’re ready for right now, and the 3-point, or 5-point, or 10-point turn is more your style? Inch by little inch, you’ll get that thing turned around, but you’ll do it your way and it’ll still work just fine, thank you very much.
We’re people who do both, right? Sometimes one, sometimes the other.
The world feels like it’s Aaron and the people just running amuck and melting down their jewelry and creating idols and doing their own thing and no one knows what’s supposed to happen next. So do we need big, sweeping, upend it all and get on to the new land kind of change? Or do we need to just find our lane, our thing, in our place, at our ability, and work for the good of the people right around us?
Is it maybe both?
Either way, we’re bound to be shining from it.
It’s not all glory, all the time – the glow comes only after wrestling and struggle. In Exodus, there has been a deeply sinful moment, a true separation from everything God is and offers: an idol was created, and worshipped, and given the attention that is due only to the Creator. And yet, God’s mercy was full, and God’s people remained – and are still – in God’s care.
And the people knew that because it was written all over Moses’s face. As John Wesley said, “he carried his credentials in his very countenance”[4]
God comes close to humanity, establishes relationship, and offers liberation. The response of Israel – the faithful response to all that God has done, and does again, and continues to do in us – should be one of gratitude. “And [for the people of Israel] that faith was expressed in obeying the laws of the covenant and in facing the future in the confidence that Yahweh would be with, and go with, the people.”[5]
The confidence that God would be with, and go with, the people.
We, here, are in a long process of change. It feels slow at times. We have entrusted a group of people to engage a process on our behalf, to tell our church’s story to those who are interested in hearing it, in such a way that their imaginations might be sparked to consider: What would it mean to lead the ministry at Harvard Avenue Christian Church? Whew, it’s hard work.
I hope you are joining me in praying, truly and often, for our Search Team members and for the great work they have agreed to do … not for us, not even for this church, but for the very good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ. That’s a lot.
And there is a lot that happens that we do not see. We are taking a few weeks to respond to a survey. We are emailing it to you, a few times. And we have hard copies of it for you, if you’d rather. And we will wait for you to return it. (And we will remind you along the way.) This is where our part of the work is done, and while we’re all having our say, the Search Team is listening carefully and prayerfully, and finding the best ways, and setting up the next steps, to bring us face to face with the very best partner for the work God has in mind for us.
And when the work is done, won’t we rejoice in the shining of our faces? Haven’t we been – aren’t we right now? – in the very presence of God? Can you tell when you look around?
And won’t our faces shine … not just with the sweat of hard work and busy-ness … but with ‘the credentials in our very countenance’: The unmistakable look of a people that have been, that choose to be, squarely in the presence of the living God.
When the sky is clear and the stars are sparkling, and it’s one of those low and full nights, someone will always catch a glimpse and say ‘Look at the moon!’ Now, when it’s 105 degrees and we’re all radiating with summer combustion, no one ever says ‘Look at the sun!’ But the moon doesn’t give out its own light; it reflects the light of the sun that we didn’t think we were ready to encounter, that we were impatient with, that we were frustrated by. That’s how the world works.
We are reflections of the holiness we encounter. Even the holiness that we try to deny, and melt down like jewelry, and turn into something else entirely. But holiness won’t be denied. Our faces will be changed by it.
Are you up for it?
Do what works for you: Go all in and rearrange the whole darn house, or make that 5 point UTurn and get to where you need to be.
Either way, you are God’s beloved. Shine on.
[1] Rav Alex Israel, Virtual Beit Midrash, ‘The Face of Moses’, https://www.etzion.org.il/en/face-moses
[2] Walter Brueggemann, Reverberations of Faith (Westminster/John Knox Press, 2002), pp50-51.
[3] Robert Alter, The Five Books of Moses (WWNorton & Co, 2008), p512-513.
[4] John Wesley, Notes on the Bible, http://www.ccel.org/ccel/wesley/notes.ii.iii.xxxv.ii.html
[5] Bernard Anderson, Understanding the Old Testament (Prentice Hall, 1986), p106-107.
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.
Luke 22 : 14 – 27
When the hour came, he took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. 15 He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; 16 for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” 17 Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves; 18 for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” 19 Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” 20 And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood. 21 But see, the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table. 22 For the Son of Man is going as it has been determined, but woe to that one by whom he is betrayed!” 23 Then they began to ask one another which one of them it could be who would do this.24 A dispute also arose among them as to which one of them was to be regarded as the greatest. 25 But he said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. 26 But not so with you; rather the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves. 27 For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.
It snowed in El Paso. When I was … 8 or 9 maybe? … as I remember it, it was maybe even spring and not winter … it snowed in El Paso. Our usually full sanctuary, several hundred folks, was down to a couple dozen that morning. I mean, it was a Sunday morning late season snow in the middle of the desert. That’s a thing that makes you stay in your house! So this small gathering moved out of our pews and onto the chancel. And worship that day was reading scripture, and singing songs we all knew, and passing around a loaf of bread and a cup of juice. That’s how I remember it anyway.
Five or six years later, it was summer, at the church camp near Carlsbad, New Mexico. Standing at Black River, which cut into the camp property. A bunch of teenagers … sweaty in the desert summer, striped with sunburn, dotted with chigger bites and calamine lotion, taking cubes of bread off a cafeteria issue plate and dipping them in sun-warmed grape juice, held awkwardly in junior high hands. Renee, Ginny, Eddie, Jeff, Julie, Gina, Randy, Chris, Lisa, Georgia, Mark, David, all of my friends were there. Standing in front of each other, trying not to giggle, because you know it’s a serious thing, but also you’re 13 and everything makes you giggle.
A decade and change later, back at that same chancel in that same El Paso church, I stood behind a communion table to preside for the first time as a minister. Wearing the robe my dad had just put on me, and the cross my mother had just placed around my neck, standing next to the elders who had prayed at the front of that church since I was a child, I offered the invitation for the first time as Reverend Courtney Richards. That meant something. Still does.
At General Assembly in Nashville in 2011, with thousands of Disciples from churches all over the country and even the world, standing the floor of the convention center during worship, I moved to take communion from a deacon holding an enormous basket of bread, and then stood in front of a seminary classmate, by then a regional minister, and he put his hands on my shoulders and prayed for me. For my ministry, for my life, for my direction and purpose. It remains a thing we mention to each other quite often, but still can sometimes barely talk about.
In our tradition, we usually baptize around 5th grade or so, and many students then take communion for the first time. When our students, during that 5th grade year, close their Pastors Class together, they create a small worship service. And they always want to serve communion, to their classmates and their parents and their faith partner elders. They take it so seriously, with such pride. Not just holding the bread and the chalice, but watching each person, moving from their hand to their mouth, as the gifts are received. They know.
Our littlest ones do too. In a church like ours where people have come from all kinds of churches and backgrounds and practices, many of our very young children participate in communion already. And in Children Worship and Wonder, they share a ‘feast’ each week. Along with their storytelling and wondering questions and engaging responses and prayer time and offering, there’s a little feast. Mostly goldfish crackers and water in small cups. But they know. It means something to sit down with people, and say a prayer, and share.
This is what Jesus is doing. It’s all Jesus is doing. In a story that is recounted differently in each of the four gospels – small nuances of placement, and wording, and the order of things, and the number of cups – all Jesus is doing is saying : Sit down, take this bread, share the wine, pay attention to this moment, it matters. And you should repeat it whenever you can.
That’s what we’re trying to do this month in the sermon series we’ve named ROLE CALL.
In August, we opened a new season in this church’s life, an interim season toward the calling of a new Lead Pastor. We moved into the first weeks of this in-between season, and took the first month to remind ourselves that we are at our best when we are together, that we are the people we claim to be in our core values, people ready to Be Loved, Believe, Become.
In the second month of our interim season, we marked the season of Creationtide, and took every angle we could to explore what it means to honor our Creator, caring fully and well for all of creation, and how we can join in as co-creators, building together the world God has in mind.
Here we are now, rooting ourselves into the fall that seems to have finally (mercifully) arrived. What is our role, our task, our call as believers? If we carry these core values … and we are invited into the wonder of God’s creation … what is our task, our responsibility, our curiosity, our ROLE, in all of it? The world is full of distractions and our days are filled with both meaningful and missed opportunities. How can we sort out what is ours to do – and what is not – in our role as children of God, followers of Christ, the fellowship of the Holy Spirit? Where do we even begin? And what makes us think we can?
Jesus.
This is what Jesus is doing. It’s all Jesus is doing. Sitting with his disciples – his closest companions, his dearest friends, his most faithful followers, and yet even they in so many instances weren’t entirely sure what was happening. But he said, Come. Sit with me. Take this bread. Take this cup. Remember this moment. And then do it again.
This is World Communion Sunday. Today, Christians the world over – in churches of every kind, in buildings of every variety, in languages of every sound – are sharing communion. For us, in the Disciples church, that may seem like a strange thing to celebrate, since we have communion as a central part of our worship experience each week. But it’s a thing that’s worth commemorating, an experience worth marking – that for a Sunday, this Sunday each year, everywhere in the world, we’re all sitting down to supper together.
Last night I attended an author event hosted by a local bookseller. Several friends from this community were there too. And toward the end of the event, the host asked the author one of my very favorite questions … Where do you find hope? It’s a simple question, and not, at the same time. Where do you find hope?
It’s not asking, what are you wishing for? What do you expect or need? That’s not it. Where do you find hope leans toward something different. It suggests that hope is an active thing, engaged and moving in the world. And the question implies that hope is something we move toward, something we find, not something that just sits around. Where do you find hope means that there is something for us to engage in … look for … pursue … The question assumes that we will be the hopeful.(1)
So the question came: Where do you find hope?
And she faced the room, and held her hands out and said, Right here. That you’ve all chosen to show up. On a Saturday night in Tulsa. When we’re so used to hiding behind our screens and staying in our homes, you are here, bodily, with other people, in the same room, for a reason.
That’s it, right? That’s where we find hope. When we could be anywhere and do anything, and yet we choose: to show up, together, in the same room, for a reason.
It’s no small thing to be here. Not just today, on a sort of stormy, not quite sure what it’s doing, Sunday morning. But here you are. When I first started in full time ministry, the church I served in Indianapolis was a little more than ten years old. One of the great stories of its founding was the story of Ruth Henry.
At that time, when a church was ‘planted’ by the denomination, there is a plan and process designed where the other Disciples churches in the area help it get started by providing ‘seeds’ in the form of money toward the new mission, and members to be the start-up congregation. So the church was started, meeting in living rooms and community centers and school cafeterias, and eventually building a sanctuary in the suburbs where it’s grown and thrives today.
When that sanctuary went up, a woman named Ruth Henry came for worship. She was a lifelong Disciple, and lived in the assisted living center down the street. The bus would bring her over each week and take her home an hour later. She said to the senior minister, on the day she came forward to join the church, ‘I’ve been in church a long time. I’ve done everything you can do in a church, served in every way. I can’t do that anymore. But I’ll be here. I’ll bring my offering. And I’ll be here.’
And until the day she was called to eternal life, resting now with the saints, Ruth was there. In her pew. Ready to worship. Always a kind word. Every week. Because Ruth knew that it matters that we show up, and sit down, and share the moment together.
And that’s what Jesus is doing in this meal we now call the Last Supper, the Lord’s Supper, eucharist, communion. That’s what he’s saying: Be here. Share this. Come back. It’s praying with author and priest Brennan Manning when he says, “Lord, when I feel that what I’m doing is insignificant and unimportant, help me to remember that everything I do is significant and important in your eyes, because you love me and you put me here, and no one else can do what I am doing in exactly the way I do it.”(2)
You may have noticed, if you’ve been around this church, or any Disciples church, very long, that we have a distinct symbol. A logo. It’s a chalice. this Disciples movement took shape from the early 1800s, we gathered in worship and always shared communion. It is open to all who come, no matter your membership, affiliation, longevity or status in the community. You will often hear us say, This is not our table, it is Christ’s table. Jesus is the one who invites us. That’s what the chalice reminds us of.
As the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) took shape, and after 150 years decided that some kind of denominational structure and shape might be a good idea, there was also the call for a unifying symbol. Some way to mark communities as connected to one another. And so with a couple of suggestions and a sketch on a napkin over lunch – I am not making that up – the red chalice, with the sideways cross, became our marker, our sign, our connecting and gathering point.
The chalice symbolizes the central place of communion in worship for the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). The X-shaped cross of the disciple Andrew is a reminder of the ministry of each person and the importance of evangelism. (3) The saltire, the x-shaped cross, is a nod to our Scottish Presbyterian heritage (the same x-cross is on the Scottish flag) and overlays the cup of Christ, which we raise every time we are together.
The chalice reminds us that we receive a gift at the table, remembering Jesus gathering with his disciples and giving new meaning to bread and cup. And it tells us that we have work to do, that the cup isn’t just ours to hold, it is ours to share.
Here’s something I want to be sure we see in today’s text. In the midst of everything we like about it and all that it shapes and frames for us, there’s a small piece that it’s easy to miss: Everyone is there. Everyone. It’s a Passover meal, so yes, as good Jews, they would all have gathered. As those invited by Jesus to be part of this inner circle, to come and see and witness and walk together, they were all there, yes. But don’t miss that one verse: But see, the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table.
They are ALL there. Everyone is at this table.
The disciples.
Judas.
Us.
Jesus doesn’t say to him, No, you can’t be here. I know who you are and what you’ll do later tonight and you’ve really got some nerve showing up here, betrayal on your mind, thinking you can sit with the rest of us. Jesus doesn’t reveal who the betrayer is. He doesn’t unleash any wrath, he doesn’t encourage any mob mentality, he doesn’t vent any anger, even when – knowing what he knows – he really very well could have.
He says: This is my body, for you. This is my blood, for you. The one who will betray me, this is for you. I will do what I have to, because this is for you. Too.
And when I see that verse, and I think about Jesus being there, and I think about how I often come to this table, carrying my grudges, harboring my resentments, making my list of things that should be and things that should not be … none of that is about the people on those lists. And none of that is about Jesus. And if ever there were a time, a moment, a ROLE, where it should be all about Jesus, it’s at this table.
If we’ve made it about how we feel about a thing, then we’ve made it not about Jesus.
If we’ve made it about who we think is good and not good, then we’ve made it not about Jesus.
If we’ve made it about what this person does that we like or don’t like, then we’ve made it not about Jesus.
If we come to this table because it’s just the thing we do at that point in worship and we don’t, every single time, think about the fact that this is a gift and a privilege and a responsibility …
If we come to this table and we think that there’s someone in this room, in this world, that Jesus would not welcome to sit right here with him too …
then we’ve made it our table, and not the Lord’s Table.
We’ve made it a feast of pride, and not a banquet of grace.
We’ve made it what we want it to be, and not what Jesus says it is.
BUT !
BUT …
When we prepare a meal to have in the freezer just in case we hear of someone who could use a little extra.
When we sit on the floor with a child and take in rambling stories and hand out goldfish.
When we see a person in the same place every week and then realize they’re not there for a bit and call to check in and say hello.
When we offer a ride to church, or a book to read, or an umbrella in the rain, or a hello at the door.
When we know it’s a season of in-between and we bring our offering and get ourselves here anyway.
When we see something that needs doing and instead of telling someone it needs to be done we take care of it ourselves.
When we hear something we disagree with and instead of walking away, we ask to know more.
When we feel like there isn’t a place for us, but we remember the time someone pulled up a chair.
When we decide instead of rushing in and rushing out, we’ll take time to say hello, and goodbye, and linger over the joy of a table’s feast just a little longer …
Then we’ve played our role.
We’ve made room.
We’ve made it about Jesus.
“This is my body, which is given for you.
“This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant
Do this in remembrance of me.”
If there’s bread, and a cup, there’s a feast.
So make room.
(1) This phrase is borrowed from Jamie Tworkowski, founder/director of To Write Love On Her Arms (twloha.org)
(2) Brennan Manning, Souvenirs of Solitude
(3) disciples.org/our-identity/the-chalice/
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.
Ecclesiastes 3: 9-22
What gain have the workers from their toil? 10 I have seen the business that God has given to everyone to be busy with. 11 He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. 12 I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; 13 moreover, it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil. 14 I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all should stand in awe before him. 15 That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by.16 Moreover I saw under the sun that in the place of justice, wickedness was there, and in the place of righteousness, wickedness was there as well. 17 I said in my heart, God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for he has appointed a time for every matter, and for every work. 18 I said in my heart with regard to human beings that God is testing them to show that they are but animals. 19 For the fate of humans and the fate of animals is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and humans have no advantage over the animals; for all is vanity. 20 All go to one place; all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again. 21 Who knows whether the human spirit goes upward and the spirit of animals goes downward to the earth? 22 So I saw that there is nothing better than that all should enjoy their work, for that is their lot; who can bring them to see what will be after them?
A man I’ve known since he was a high school church camper is now the morning anchor at WFAA in Dallas. He’s also in Los Angeles this weekend to host Backstage Live for the Emmy Awards tonight. He’ll greet the winners and catch the quips and chat on livestream with the people we all watch on tv.
Dozens of men and women I know here are at doors each Sunday morning, greeting everyone who arrives, and saying goodbye as they head home.
Is one kind of greeting more meaningful than the other?
One of my high school classmates is now a Broadway actor. Except for social media (for which I’m grateful!), I haven’t seen him in 30 years. This week, I’ll get to see him in the role of a lifetime: Miguel de Cervantes/Don Quixote, in a touring company of Man of La Mancha. I’ll hear him sing ‘The Impossible Dream’. My heart cries with joy and pride just thinking about it.
One of my friends here holds babies in the church nursery, week in and week out. She sings with them, and tells them about Jesus. She tells them the stories of a lifetime.
Is one kind of performance more important than the other?
A dear friend from my Indianapolis life is an extraordinary writer: she ghostwrites for others, she coaches writers and speakers, she writes and publishes children’s books especially focused on minority and marginalized communities. She’s recently spent a year travelling the world with a group of artists and creators of all kinds, spending a month each in 12 countries, deepening their resources for creativity and productivity.
A woman here writes out postcards every week, to be sure that our children’s ministry shepherds, storytellers, worship assistants, and Sunday School teachers know that it’s their turn to serve, and where to find their materials and supplies.
Is one kind of writing more worthwhile than the other?
This is not to say that you should be impressed at how very remarkable all of my friends are … although, I DO think all of my friends are quite remarkable! This is all to say … this is the wisdom the teacher in Ecclesiastes is trying to draw out in our text this morning:
What is our work? What has God made us to do? In this world, in this created order, in this place we inhabit, what IS ‘our place‘? What is ours to do … and what is not? Given all that God has done … in us, around us, before us, and sometimes in spite of us … what is God even now trying to do with us? What is our way of ‘being in the world’?
This book’s title, Ecclesiastes, comes from the Greek translation of the Hebrew word Qohelet. Language study suggests that Qohelet is a title and not a name: It means something like ‘gatherer of an assembly’, referring to one who ‘taught the people’. So Teacher or Preacher is a common word for it. (You can see all these words in this week’s GPS insert.)
As we are taking this season of Creationtide to explore the Wisdom in Creation, the wisdom of this book comes from the Teacher’s taking traditional theology – talk about who God is – and combining it with questions in contemporary life – asking what God does.[1]
In the public radio and podcast world, Krista Tippett hosts On Being, where she asks a wide variety of guests what she calls the ‘animating questions at the center of human life’: What does it mean to be human, and how do we want to live?
That’s what Qohelet, the teacher, is doing in this text.
We’re familiar – through scripture and through folk song – with the first eight verses of chapter 3, right?. ‘For everything there is a season … ‘ We know that poetry – it reads well, it sings sweetly, it will now be stuck in your head for the next who knows how many days …
But the prose that follows the poetry is less familiar; the challenge which some of your study bibles will subtitle ‘the God-given task’. Sounds ominous, doesn’t it? I’ll admit that when Kevin and I were crafting this sermon series and this was the text he suggested, I thought it sounded great, like a fun challenge, the chance to explore an unfamiliar text and open it up for the congregation … until I realized he meant he wanted ME to do this one, while he’s out of town for the weekend celebrating is birthday and anniversary. Well played, my friend; well played.
So back to the question: What is our work? What is – or what should be – our way of being in the world?
There are not a lot of things I can say absolutely for sure when it comes to God. That may be a surprise to you, and even hard to hear from your pastor and preacher, but it’s true. The Divine Mystery is just that … a mystery … and I find it enriching, and exciting, and wondrous, and constantly capturing my attention: Who is God and how does God work and what will God do next? It’s part of what makes life at Harvard Avenue so rich: God has done such deep remarkable wondrous work here over the last 60 years. What does the Holy One have in mind for our next 60? How will we be loved, what will it mean to believe, who will God empower us to become as we move forward together? I don’t know. I don’t. But WOW is it fun hanging out with you while we live into it together!
So there are not a lot of things I can say absolutely for sure when it comes to God. But here’s one of the few I can: I am absolutely convinced that our work, our way of being in the world, is NOT to be God. Let me say that again: God has given us work to do. And that work is NOT to take God’s place.
And whew! Aren’t we glad for that? I mean, sometimes we’re doing well just to get ourselves from one day to the next … can you imagine where you’d fit in being God, too?! Right.
A friend shared with me this week what he sees as his work in the world: Know that God loves me, and God loves everyone, and I should too. And when I start to wander from that, figure out how to get back. He didn’t know I’d include that in a sermon today, but really it just about covers it, don’t you think?
Think of the verse we’re all fond of quoting as a favorite, Micah 6:8 – What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God. Those are all good things to do. Those are all action words: do, love, walk. Those are all great ways to consider our work, our being in the world.
And not one of them says: Be God.
That’s where the teacher in Ecclesiastes is taking us, too. God has done and is doing more than we can imagine. That doesn’t mean there’s nothing for us to do … it means our primary job is to live in the joy of living in God. That’s it.
We make it about everything else. We often make it about everyone else. But Theodore Roosevelt (who’s given credit for this reminder) is right: “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Sit with that for a minute. Comparison. Is the thief. Of joy.
We’re so busy, so often, with making sure we’re doing it right that we completely miss the fact that what God wants for us, and wants of us, is joy. It sounds easy.
My friend Kellie, a Buddhist practitioner, and a writer who always has just the word I need, offered this reflection. It hit me pretty squarely … maybe it will speak to you too:
We like our wisdom packaged in easy-to-follow, step by step formats that give us handrails to hold. We want our experiences to line up in columns and rows with emboldened headers and the ability to hit the “sum” button and see exactly what our life totals out to be.
I’ve been a dedicated spreadsheet girl all my life.
I’ve tracked diets and recipes, exercise plans, computer game scores, plant watering schedules, budgets and baseball stats, comic book titles and tea leaves. …
One day I was deleting old files and I saw how many lovingly created, half-filled, completely forgotten spreadsheets I clicked into the trash. They were the usual suspects: exercise tracking and budget watching, calorie counts, a book reading list, meditation times, a list of places to submit my writing, how many vegetables my garden grew in 2014, and more. So many little digital boxes. So much life left undone.
Was I lazy or just bad at follow-through? …
I needed to examine what caused each list to fail and find the common denominator…by putting them all on a spreadsheet. I jumped off my cushion, ran for the computer, and clicked the icon I loved most: Blank Workbook.
“Maybe, just maybe,” my spirit cried out as I sat before the empty grid, “this is the problem. Maybe human beings don’t fit in small boxes, and human life isn’t designed to reach a sum total. Maybe I’ve been squeezing my soul into a cell format, instead of expanding to feed my soul. Maybe I should go off-grid for a while and see what a real, untracked life can do.”
I went free range. I stopped tracking. I started being.
Free range life is not the same as an unexamined life. It doesn’t mean you stop caring, stop trying, or give up new habits and ideas. It doesn’t mean you quit checking your bank statement and leave the grocery store with a whole cart of sugary “this-looks-good.” It simply means you aren’t obsessing, categorizing and judging every penny, cookie and thought. You aren’t agonizing every missed meditation as a blot on your practice. It means you are spending your time living, not counting. It means you are as generous with yourself as you try to be with others.[2]
Be generous with yourself. Know your place (in the good way); know what is yours to do … and what is not! No one is saying, pay no attention to anything. Details don’t matter. BUT it is ALSO true that we can get so wrapped up in the busy work of being what we think we’re supposed to be that we end up being little more than what one of my staff colleagues this week labeled as “God’s little helper”. As a minister I once worked with often reminded us as pastors: “We’re in sales, not in management.”
Now yes, of course, we talk quite often about being the hands and feet of Christ in the world. Yes, we share an understanding that being faithful means being part of the world around us. Yes, we learn from scripture, from discernment, from experience, from prayer, what it means to take the lessons of faith and tradition and apply in this much-evolved and constantly-changing world.
To think we’ll just separate ourselves, ignore the difficulties of the world, and retain our joy is just … well, it’s just impossible. It doesn’t make sense. We are IN the world. We are in God’s world. So how can we co-create with God? How can we rest in the joy of relationship with God and trust that to carry us forward?
Maybe it means we don’t have as much control as we’d like. As the text says: We cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end. But maybe it’s good to offload that weight, to throw out that sense that it’s all on us every second of every day. Maybe we can repeat from Ecclesiastes: That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by.
God seeks us out. God wants to be in relationship with us. If we learn that that is true – if we believe that it’s the case – then why on earth would we make it harder for God to reach us by building walls of do-it-ourself-ness? Of arrogance? Of pride? Why would we separate ourselves, by thinking we know more and are in charge of everything, over against the God who created us, loves us, and wants nothing more than to be in relationship with us, and desires nothing so much as our thriving, our flourishing, our joy?
A former youth minister in Jacksonville Florida, who pursued training in chaplaincy, and also in mixing drinks, now creates events and writes prolifically under the title the Bar Chaplain. He says he saw with his own eyes that ‘the Holy Spirit will follow us anywhere’ and has created space for ‘questions, conversation, and collaboration’ that never would have happened in traditional church settings.
Tom read Ecclesiastes (which the church he previously served suggested he should just avoid preaching on), and borrowing a few thoughts from writer and speaker Rob Bell, and contemporary Christian song ‘Breathe’, he offers this reflection:
In spite of all this smoke filling your attention, calling to your heart, and obscuring what may lie ahead,
Know that God’s heart is for you.
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has also set eternity in the human heart;
Yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. (Eccl 3:11)
Eternity is in you
Because God is with you
And though you may not understand
And you may long to hold onto the vapors of this world,
There is something so much better
If you will simply look beyond this cloud.Think of it in these terms:
Breath is an ongoing metaphor for God’s Presence and Spirit and Life.
Breath and Wind and Movement of the air—
It was Breath that God Breathed into Adam,
Filling his lungs and invigorating him with Life;
Inhale,
Exhale,
The Rhythm of Life repeating;
And at death, the last act is to exhale that Breath,
As if to return it to God.
“The Giver of Breath” is a title repeatedly given to God,
And “Breathing his Last” is repeatedly a euphemism for Death.
Breath is Life,
And It is God’s Gift to us,
And each time we Breathe, we ought to think of that Gift,
But now consider this:
Sometimes, that warm holy Breath
Comes into contact with something else,
The cold air of our earth,
And when that interaction occurs,
What does it produce?
Vapor.
A cloud.
A beautiful but temporary obscuring presence
Where the Exalted meets the Earthly,
And something ethereal and exquisite emerges
With elegance exceeding expectation
But only
For an instant.This is Life.
Enjoy its beauty.
Appreciate its joy.
But trust that there is greater still
When that cloud at last dissipates.[3]
Let’s enjoy the gift that’s here, the Ecclesiastes Teacher says.
There is nothing better than that all should enjoy their work, for that is their lot. … God has made everything suitable for its time. God has put a sense of past and future into their minds. I know that there is nothing better for them that to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live.
We are to be about the work of living with joy.
We are to be about the work of offering that to others.
It is not our work to tell someone how to find their joy.
It is our work to show them where we find ours.
If we’re doing it right, that should be convincing enough.
[1] Eunny P Lee, ‘Ecclesiastes’, New Interpreter’s Study Bible (Abingdon, 2003)
[2] https://thetattooedbuddha.com/2018/07/09/stop-making-lists-and-tracking-your-life-live-it/
[3] https://www.barchaplain.com/?p=29
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 –
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).
Psalm 104: 24 – 35
O Lord, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom you have made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures.
25 Yonder is the sea, great and wide,
creeping things innumerable are there,
living things both small and great.
26 There go the ships,
and Leviathan that you formed to sport in it.
27 These all look to you
to give them their food in due season;
28 when you give to them, they gather it up;
when you open your hand, they are filled with good things.
29 When you hide your face, they are dismayed;
when you take away their breath, they die
and return to their dust.
30 When you send forth your spirit,[a] they are created;
and you renew the face of the ground.
31 May the glory of the Lord endure forever;
may the Lord rejoice in his works—
32 who looks on the earth and it trembles,
who touches the mountains and they smoke.
33 I will sing to the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praise to my God while I have being.
34 May my meditation be pleasing to him,
for I rejoice in the Lord.
35 Let sinners be consumed from the earth,
and let the wicked be no more.
Bless the Lord, O my soul.
Praise the Lord!
It was a science story made for the headlines: a monster, more than a thousand years of mystery and maybe, finally, an answer.
Neil Gemmell had that potential for publicity in mind when he led a team of scientists to look for DNA from the elusive Loch Ness Monster — and again when that team announced Thursday that a large eel could be behind all the speculation.
“I am unashamedly using the monster as a way to attract interest so I can talk about the science I want to talk about,” the geneticist and professor [said].
More than a thousand Loch Ness Monster encounters are recorded in an official “Sightings Register.” The reports go back as far as 565 A.D., when an Irish saint is said to have saved a man from being attacked by a river monster. …
In fact, after Gemmell’s announcement landed, British Prime Minister Boris Johnson said he “yearns to believe” in the Loch Ness Monster, according to PA Media, which reported Friday:
The Prime Minister said he had wanted the mythical creature to be real when he was child, adding “part of me still does.”…
Gemmell and his colleagues say they can use science to rule out some of the ideas after analyzing DNA in 250 water samples from Loch Ness. …
“The remaining theory that we cannot refute based on the environmental DNA data obtained is that what people are seeing is a very large eel,” the team wrote on its website explaining the findings.
It’s still unclear, the scientists said, whether the loch contains an eel big enough to account for descriptions of a monster. …
Gemmell is not sure he will be involved in any further investigation to back up the eel hypothesis. He said he’s achieved what he wanted with a project that’s captured the public imagination like no other study he’s published. Last year, he said, the scientists’ work at Loch Ness generated about 3,000 media stories within a few weeks — before they had made a single finding.
At first, Gemmell said, he worried that an exhaustive investigation into Loch Ness was silly.
But then he talked to his 9-year-old son, who told his friends, who thought the project sounded awesome. After seeing the children’s fascination, Gemmell realized that taking a serious scientific look at the famous loch could stir up public interest in techniques to track biodiversity.
Gemmell’s team took advantage of “environmental DNA,” the genetic material that creatures leave in their surroundings. This “eDNA” lets scientists learn about habitats without disrupting them and harming the animals they’re trying to study…
The strategy will “make a real difference in how we monitor and protect the world’s increasingly fragile ecosystems,” they write.
A Travel Channel documentary on the team’s work airing in Britain and the United States later this month will bring the project to an even broader audience.
“Loch Ness attracts people in a way that few other things ever could,” Gemmell said.[1]
We are almost comically eager to find proof of power and wonder in the world, aren’t we? We are ever so hopeful for something to see, something to hang onto. Especially as life feels more chaotic – though, truth be told, it always has been, just differently – we long for that which can settle us, calm us, give us rootedness and strength – in our spirits, in our families, in our communities, in the world.
News flash, says the psalmist: Look around. Look around! (And all the HamiltonHeads are singing ‘How lucky we are to be alive right now!’)(Which is true!)
Psalm 104 opens – and closes – blessing God for … being who God is. The psalmist looks around and simply recites what he sees as evidence of the wonder of God at work in the world:
And then, just in our verses for today, we get to:
and ending, as it began, with blessing the Lord.
The psalmist’s point is this: We need only to look at what’s right here around us to know that GOD is around us, in us, beside us: creating, filling, empowering, renewing.
We’re looking for evidence of who God is? We have it.
Present. Powerful. Absolutely steady. And yet still somehow always moving.
What we see of the natural created world – the power of wind, the persistence of water, the sustenance of roots, the vastness of sky, the color of wildflowers, the grandeur of mountains, the wideness of plains – is what we see in God: the power of forgiveness, the persistence of grace, the sustenance of compassion, the vastness of possibility, the color of diverse gifts, the grandeur of overcoming death, the wideness of mercy.
All we need to know of God, we see in the created order. And that includes the human part of the world. We are listed among the psalm’s elements within creation, that which reveals the Creator. But very intentionally, I think, AMONG it … not ahead of it, not over it, not set apart from it. Among creation is humanity.
What we see in each other can show us the face of God as well.
My dear friend Bill Stagg died Friday night. A life lived at greater speed, with more heart, and deeper love than any dozen people I know, the last few years of Bill’s life were in the mountains of Colorado.
I met Bill and Kim years ago when I lived in Indianapolis. In a long chain of one friend who introduced a friend who brought another friend who found yet another for the circle, Bill and Kim – and it is always Bill-and-Kim – were hosting a house concert the night we met. Fans of live music, especially blues and guitar, Bill and Kim gathered friends, who gathered friends, who rolled up living room rugs and opened up back yards, who brought snacks and iced beverages and were all immediately the dearest of friends, and felt like family, because loving people well means doing everything you can to get them together and to help them do the things they love most and be the people they’re made to be. I met them that night and we had already been dearest friends for our entire lives.
Recently retired from a decades-long career in the national offices of the FFA, Bill and his beloved Kimberley found a beautiful place in Ridgway, with a porch for gathering, and a view for cherishing, and trails for wandering, all while music would play. The last year of Bill’s life, esophageal cancer wracked his body, but never his spirit. Even with surgeries and feeding tubes and fistulas and emergencies and uncertainties and setbacks and months in the hospital and few days at home and small improvements and returning troubles, Bill’s spirit remained strong, his friends remained close, music remained central, and love carried him til the last, and carries those of us who loved him, still.
Who is your Bill Stagg? Who sees you as theirs?
What we see of the natural created world is what we see in God. What we see in each other shows us the face of God as well.
How are we gathering people in?
What do we say, by what we do, about who God is, and who God loves?
How are we welcoming those who come to us? Are we making room, getting the music going, seeing that there’s enough to go around, making every effort to help folks meet each other, and rejoicing when they back the next time?
What do we say, by who we include, about who God is, and who God loves?
Do we show others what it means to be outspoken, courageous and hopeful?
What do we say, by what we say, about who God is, and what God loves?
As the natural created order does for us, are we – creatures ourselves, part of the created order – are we revealing the Creator to all who stop to look around? What do we say, how far do we go, to reveal the wideness, the wildness, and the wonder of who and how and what God is, and what God loves?
Scholar of the Hebrew Scriptures, and professor to generations of preachers, Walter Brueggemann points out that in this psalm, the name of God is almost entirely absent. The Holy One is addressed in the opening and closing lines, but aside from that, the weight of the text celebrates the “order, symmetry, and majesty of creation” – it reminds us of what we learn of the Creator when we experience the Creation.
In this poetic recitation, as the elements of nature are paired with the nature of God, we see that “the whole world is daily dependent on God’s sustenance, God’s face, God’s presence, God’s breath. The world is impressive and to be celebrated. But it has no independent existence. … All of that is daily gift.”
When we remember this – when we remember how well God has provided for us in the world, and how the promises of God’s provision are as full as the sea and as wide as the heavens – we, with the psalmist, are “moved to spontaneous wonder, gratitude, and praise.” This psalm reminds us that these gifts are daily, moment by moment, for us, from the gracious hand of the Holy. This psalm reminds us to take “a personal delight in God’s goodness.”[2]
The idea here isn’t to say that God is pulling every lever and turning every dial. Instead the intent is to root ourselves in knowledge of the Creator … not just knowing about the Creator, but everything that exists – including nature, including other people, including us – is our way of knowing, being in relationship with, caring about, being cared for by the One Who Creates and sets in motion everything in the world, from the smallest to the largest detail.
It is easy, in the busy-ness and strain of day to day life – waiting for test results, praying over strained relationships, making hard decisions about care-giving, or being in a position where someone else is making decisions for you, parenting young children, parenting adult children, choosing as best we can for health and finances and futures, and doing it all amid political chaos, social instability, and flat-out dangerous days – it is easy to retreat, to close our eyes, to harden our hearts, to numb our spirits … to see and feel and do less and less for fear that things are only going from bad to worse.
This psalm says otherwise. And this psalm says that the world shows us otherwise. IF WE WILL SEE IT.
The psalmist does! “The fundamental aim [of the psalm] to give thanks and praise is never lost because it is both the beginning and ending word (‘Bless the Lord, O my soul’).”[3] (41)
When we care for the earth with simple recycling, gardening, planting trees, and paying attention to how we spend and what we consume … we are honoring the Creator and saying that we know our place is among the created order, not on top of it.
When we take Kevin’s suggestion from last week and take a hike … or just simply go outside and look around, look up, look out, instead of always only staying in and looking down … when we take the advice of the National Park Service when they say that nature makes you smarter, stronger, healthier, happier, and more productive[4] … we are connecting one on one with the very earth that sustains us. When we take someone with us, the benefits more than double.
When we show our respect for a place, and for the people in it …
when we park farther away so that someone who needs the shorter walk can have the closer spot …
when we arrive a few minutes early and stay a few minutes late so we have a full experience and not just the bare minimum …
when we hold a tray to serve, instead of simply passing a tray to move it along …
when we make a pledge and bring an offering, and consider it an act of worship and not just a financial obligation …
when we ask ‘how are you’ and take a moment to really listen to an honest response …
we are adoring the Creator and tending to the very soul of the human creation.
“In [the middle of our text today] the Hebrew verbs are in what scholars call ‘the imperfect form’. This implies action that is not yet complete. … creation is not just an ‘event’ of the distant past. It is something that goes on even now. In the words of this psalm God continues to bring creation to fullness through sustaining it, providing for it and enjoying it. In our own life-building activities, our ‘mission’ in Christian terms, whether it be in creating opportunities for life-giving experiences or in opposing wickedness and evil where we find it, we participate in God’s ongoing creative activity.”[5]
When we hear the oceans crash, or stand in awe of surprising stillness, we remember God’s power.
When we make use of the gifts we’ve been given, we remember our own.
When we see the colors of a sunrise, we are in awe of God’s handiwork.
When we offer and receive the gentle gifts of listening and caring, we remember that we are artists too.
When we study the words of scripture and recall the stories of faith, we are reminded of God’s work in the world, and in people, in all times, toward God’s purpose.
When we not only welcome but encourage and celebrate the gifts, wonder, and full participation of young and old, women and men, gay and straight, able and challenged, like us and not like us, the questioning and the confident, we are doing the work of God in the world.
O Lord, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom you have made them all;
The earth is full of your creatures.
These all look to you to give them their food in due season;
When you give to them, they gather it up;
When you open your hand, they are filled with good things.
I will sing to the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing my praise to my God while I have being.
May my meditation be pleasing to him,
For I rejoice in the Lord.
Bless the Lord, O my soul. Praise the Lord!
[1] “The Loch Ness Monster is still a mystery. But scientists have some new evidence for a theory.” https://www.washingtonpost.com/science/2019/09/06/loch-ness-monster-is-still-mystery-scientists-have-some-new-evidence-theory/
[2] Walter Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary, p31-32
[3] Patrick D Miller Jr, Interpreting the Psalms, p41
[4] “Nature Makes You…” https://www.nps.gov/articles/naturesbenefits.htm?fbclid=IwAR3lqxbS77jtkmuVd66TwvVr1NPIKuibqFm3ln7BjNVH18U7z7Ofnbs0vYc
[5] Year C: Day of Pentecost, May 19, 2013, Psalm 104:24-34, 35b – http://hwallace.unitingchurch.org.au/WebOTcomments/EasterC/PentecostPsalm.html
It started innocently enough. Just a cursory glance at my inbox for an email I was expecting. But then I clicked on a Labor Day shopping offer that just seemed too hot to pass up…which turned into a thorough research project on, you guessed it, the best high-altitude camping tents, and the reading of no less than three blogs on navigating the world’s highest peaks, a Web-MD debriefing on the tell-tale signs of high-altitude sickness, and the most nutrient rich foods by weight. And by the time that this unplanned, two-hour internet session had come to a close, I had very little to show for it beyond strained eyes and some intriguing facts about mountain goats (they can jump 12 feet in a single leap!?). I had been sucked into the void. But what can I say, you know how these things go—just another typical day in the age of information.
You and I presently live in a time where we have more access to information than any other generations before us. Wanna’ know what the weather’s like today in coldest town on earth? Just enter Yakutsk, Siberia into your weather app. Curious about how your friend’s daughter is adjusting to her first year of college? Check out the pictures on her Facebook profile. Want to impress your dinner company with the perfect home-made macarons. Rest assured, my friends, Pinterest has you covered.
We have access to almost anything we want to know, literally, at the touch of a few buttons. But somewhere in the midst of the DIY projects, 24-hour TV news cycles, and top tips for keeping your hair shiny, it seems to me that we’ve become distracted from that which is truly important in our living. We’re inundated by information and knowledge and yet, ironically, we are paralyzed by it, highly anxious about it, intellectually lethargic because of it, and impulsive in our consumerism (mountaineering tents, anyone)? And with all this information and a Google-estimated average lifespan of just under 700,000 hours, we are in desperate need of something that can curate our experience; something that can help us navigate the chaos and clutter of the world. We require something that can speak to our purpose; something that could help us in aligning our paths with what God intends for our lives. Tell me, where is true wisdom when we need it?
It was the ancient Greek philosopher, Plato, who suggested that wisdom begins in wonder. Poet Christian Wiman wrote, “Wonder is the precondition for all wisdom.”1 And the sacred text that we know as the book of Proverbs says it this way: “The fear [or perhaps better translated the wonder and awe] of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. Our belief in a sovereign and gracious God is rooted in this overwhelming sense of surprise and admiration that we call wonder. I don’t normally make it a habit to quote the dictionary, but The Oxford English Dictionary has a delightfully succinct definition for wonder. It says wonder is “a state of bewildered curiosity.” I love that! When was the last time you felt this bewildered curiosity? What impact did it have on you?
Bill Brown, Old Testament professor, has written at length about his concern that the community of faith has surrendered wonder to the age of information. He says,
“What’s more, we tend to think of wonder as immature. Somehow, we adults have deluded ourselves into thinking that wonder is reserved only for children. Wonder is something we outgrow, to be replaced by knowledge and wisdom. But the thing is: wisdom has everything to do with sustaining a sense of wonder… Put simply, wonder is what takes your breath away and gives it back. In common with all experiences of wonder is what wonder does to the one who experiences it: wonder places you on the boundary between fear and fascination, between awe and inquiry, between perplexity and curiosity.”2
What takes your breath away and gives it back? What places you on that boundary between fear and fascination? For the Psalmist, it was the incredible power of God revealed in the extraordinary beauty of creation: fire and hail, snow and frost and stormy wind…mountains and hills, fruit trees and cedars…wild animals and all cattle…” The list goes on and on, beginning and ending with words of gratitude for God’s creation. This gratitude, like wisdom, is born in awe and wonder of God’s creation.
This week, we dive into the liturgical season known as CREATIONTIDE. It’s a season for reflecting on God as Creator and on God’s good creation. And one of the things that sticks out to me in the Bible is how often creation is named as embodying the wisdom of our Creator God. Jesus was always pointing at nature to illustrate faithful living. He asked folks to observe the lilies of the field, or about what it means to lose life then gain newness of it, by observing the process that a grain of wheat undergoes. The Apostle Paul fleshed out what it meant to be the body of Christ by naming how a real body functions. Scripture is crammed full of holy wisdom that is drawn from God’s created order. And so today we launch into this Creationtide series on journey to seek the wisdom in creation. We’ll be looking at biblical stories that draw upon creation to teach us something about God’s ways and how we might faithfully embody that wisdom in our own lives.
In our scripture passage this morning, we heard directly from none other than Lady Wisdom herself. The sacred text known as Proverbs was written under the authorship of the wise king, Solomon, to one of his sons, both as a manual on leadership best practices, but also on how to find a virtuous wife. And while most of the Book of Proverbs feels like a long list of fortune cookie saying and snippets of advice that we might find on the internet, a closer examination reveals the presence of an image that dominates and frames the entire book. That image is the personification of wisdom.
As we read along, we come to understand the young princess’s search for a virtuous woman as a metaphor in our own search for the virtuous woman known as Lady Wisdom. Here wisdom is named not as a rule book or a tradition passed down by elders, but as a living presence that is on the scene before any other of God’s creation came to be. Lady Wisdom says
“The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago… When he established the heavens, I was there, when he drew a circle on the face of the deep, when he made firm the skies above, when he established the fountains of the deep… then I was beside him, like a master worker; and I was daily his delight.”
One is reminded of the opening lines of John’s gospel, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God,” in the beginning. The writer of Proverbs claims that wisdom, is like a maiden that God created to care for creation, long before we humans showed up on the scene. She is an animating voice, older than the mountains and seas, that glories in the logic and guidance of our Creator God. And she is not just a side character in the story of our faith for she speaks words of grave importance us. She says, “Whoever finds me finds life and obtains favor from the Lord; but those who miss me injure themselves; all who hate me love death. (Ps 8:35-36).” In other words, seeking wisdom is not an auxiliary task, but a matter of finding abundant life or flirting with death.
The good news for us is that Lady Wisdom goes on to invite any and all with an equal opportunity to share in her divine direction and with no price tag. Proverbs makes it clear that she is not selling a secret or starting a school exclusively for monks and mystics. Her offer’s not only for the smartest of us or the aspiring philosopher. It is for anyone who is willing to heed her call. Whomever will listen to her announcement—they are the ones that will receive the gift of her divine direction that she has been sharing since the dawn of time. Wisdom invites whoever has eye to see and ears to hear her call.
But we do live in the age of information. And there are many voices that call out to us, vying for our attention. And the louder we turn up the TV or the phone and surround ourselves with information that we know already tells us what we want to hear, the less use we have for the voice that called Jesus into the wilderness and sustains the path of the wise. When we become invested solely in those things which we humans have created, we miss the voice of wisdom calling from within God’s creation.
You know, these days we’re always being told that nature is good for us and that we should spend more time in its company for the sake of our health. But what’s not pushed enough is that nature is extremely important to us as a source of nourishment for our souls. The Celts spoke of two sacred books: the little book which is the Bible, and the big book, which is God’s sacred word in creation. And when we open our eyes to the wonder in God’s creation, we find its pages are filled with wisdom. In the cathedral of the wild, we hear Lady Wisdom calling.
Many indigenous American tribes, even some who call this area home, have passed along wisdom and stories to their youth that they experienced as having been received from the natural order. From eagles, rivers, and the changing seasons. And the future of their tribes had to protect this wisdom passed down as more vital than the next hunt or harvest. A tradition of wisdom was necessary to guard the next generation from folly, greed and violence with others. The Ute nation makes use of a prayer that includes these words3:
“Earth teach me quiet, as the grasses are still with new light. Earth teach me suffering, as old stones suffer with memory…Earth teach me caring, as mothers nurture their young…Earth teach me freedom, as the eagle that soars in the sky. Earth teach me acceptance, as the leaves that die each fall. Earth teach me renewal, as the seed that rises in the spring…”
And I don’t have any problem with the understanding that wisdom is like a soft voice, woven into the created order; speaking to us beyond language, whispering insights to us like the dew that falls upon grass. In fact, what we see around us might be as clear as an answer as we get from the Great Comforter and Counselor, Lady Wisdom.
But she will not force us to heed her call. In fact, it is the case that our way of living and operating as a people and as a society is daily proving to be disrespectful in many ways to the rest of God’s creation and the wisdom therein. And if we don’t take stance of respect and care for the earth a place on which we are only guests for a short while, we might lose these lessons the earth has to teach us. And then what good would it be in speaking of the majesty a lily or the great might of the cedars of Lebanon if there are none remaining.
When we carry a respect for God’s creation around us and invite ourselves to see it with the wonder and awe that inspires us to recall our Creator, we place ourselves in a position to glean its wisdom. When we are intentional about observing the dew that perches on the blades of grass, we expose ourselves to a lesson on the value and beauty of the little and passing things. When we see the unhurried motions of three-toed sloth, we receive an invitation to slow and calm our own lives from our frantic pace. When we meditate on the enduring qualities of granite mountains, which operate on a timeline wildly out of proportion to our own, we are imparted with the wisdom that everything that preoccupies us will eventually fall away. When we stare up into a star-lit sky, we are offered the much-needed and humbling perspective that in their company we are not the center of the universe. There is wisdom in God’s creation, and when we approach it with awe and wonder, it is enough to make wise ones of us all.
So here, in the midst of a beautiful Labor Day weekend with lovely weather, here’s my invitation to you: why don’t you go take a hike? Get away from the world of your own making. Be filled with bewildered curiosity at what you experience. Let the awe and wonder of God’s creation take your breath away and give it back. Sit out and watch a sunset with reverence—let it be your teacher. Take a prayerful moment in the morning to look out a window and give thanks for the gift of what you see there. Because there is wisdom there and she’s calling to you through the white noise of our living. “Who will hear my voice?” she asks. And our answer will depend, in part, on whether or not we take the time stop and smell the roses.
1 Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss: Meditation of a Modern Believer.
2 William P. Brown, Lost in Wonder, Found in Wisdom. Eerdmans, 1996.
3 “Earth, Teach Me,” is an anonymously written prayer attributed to the Ute Nation
Luke 9: 10 – 17
On their return the apostles told Jesus[c] all they had done. He took them with him and withdrew privately to a city called Bethsaida. 11 When the crowds found out about it, they followed him; and he welcomed them, and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed to be cured.12 The day was drawing to a close, and the twelve came to him and said, “Send the crowd away, so that they may go into the surrounding villages and countryside, to lodge and get provisions; for we are here in a deserted place.” 13 But he said to them, “You give them something to eat.” They said, “We have no more than five loaves and two fish—unless we are to go and buy food for all these people.” 14 For there were about five thousand men. And he said to his disciples, “Make them sit down in groups of about fifty each.” 15 They did so and made them all sit down. 16 And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. 17 And all ate and were filled. What was left over was gathered up, twelve baskets of broken pieces.
Tristram Stuart turns leftover bread into beer. Robert Egger ran nightclubs and restaurants. For the last decade in the UK, and for the last 5 years in the U.S., they have inspired a movement to do something about two problems that shouldn’t exist at the same time: Literal tons of food being thrown away by restaurants and stores nationwide, and literal thousands of people not having meals from one day to the next.
Called Feeding the 5,000, these events came out of Stuart’s organization, called Feedback. This British nonprofit “campaigns against food waste by presenting boisterous eat-ins sourced entirely from food that would otherwise have gone to waste.” On a Tuesday in New York City’s Union Square, guests enjoyed a lunch of ratatouille, fruit and vegetable salads, and a torte. A very very New York City lunch, wouldn’t you agree?
“As the local chefs who’d prepared the meals mingled among the crowd, a steady stream of businesspeople, neighborhood residents, students, and the homeless accepted pre-filled compostable bowls from volunteers. They ate, standing, as they listened to speakers and watched culinary demonstrations.”[1]
According to the Rockefeller Foundation, just in the United States, 63 million tons of food goes to waste each year. That’s $218 billion spent on growing, processing, transporting, and disposing of food that is never eaten…. [In developing countries,] food loss occurs primarily on farms and as produce travels to markets. In the US, 83 percent of all food waste occurs in homes or at consumer-facing businesses, such as grocery stores, hotels, and restaurants.”[2]
More than 1/3 of all food worldwide goes unused. Meanwhile, 805 million people are chronically undernourished.[3] So now, groups like Feedback, D.C. and L.A.’s Central Kitchens, and dozens more nationwide are asking, in servings of 10s and 100s and 1000s, ‘What if we gathered up the broken pieces and they became the feast?’
In one of the most widely told stories from the New Testament – known and used in ways reaching far beyond the Bible and the church itself – we find another group gathered, another feast, another collecting of leftovers.
The only miracle told in all four gospels – and told twice in Matthew and Mark, once with 5000 in the crowd, once with 4000 – the ‘Feeding of the 5000’ is a landmark on the gospel journey. It was for the disciples. It was for those around them. It should be for us.
How did we end up with such a miraculous dinner party? There had been a storm; Jesus calmed it, while the disciples went from terror to amazement. There was a man possessed with demons; Jesus drove this legion into a herd of swine and right off a cliff. A synagogue leader begged Jesus to come see his daughter who was dying … on the way, a woman was healed from a lifelong malady, simply by touching Jesus’ garment … and when Jesus arrived at the bedside of the girl, even having been told that she’d died, Jesus said she was not dead, only sleeping – and he was right!
And what does Jesus say next, to the disciples? “Alright. Over to you!”
Waaait a minute. What now?
You heard me, he says. Go. Take nothing for your journey – no tunic, no provisions, just go and do what there is to do. If you find you’re not welcomed somewhere, move along. But get going. Nope, go on. Ever