text & theme verse :: Joshua 23:14

In movies, when someone is being chased, it never fails that they look over the shoulder, lose their footing, and fall. But in real day-to-day life, on the usual journeys – and even the unusual ones – looking over our shoulder … remembering where we’ve been … can help us go much farther. When we have a good sense of where we’ve started, what’s behind us and inside us, we can walk (and even run) farther than we’d imagined.

anthem :: 'How Great Thou Art' (arr.Courtney) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

reader :: Ashley Gibson
preaching :: Rev Kevin Howe

response :: 'Victory is Yours' (BethelMusic) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

offertory :: 'You'll Never Walk Alone' (R.Rodgers) : Todd Maxwell, vocal; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

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

text :: Hebrews 11: 1 - 16

theme verse :: 'Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.' (Heb 11:1)

anthem :: 'Gesu Bambino' (P.Yon) : Kelly Ford, tenor; Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

reader :: Bill Queen
preaching :: Rev Kevin Howe

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

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.

REJOICE EMMANUEL
Traditional Worship cantata
Chancel Choir, ensembles, and orchestra
Kelly Ford, Traditional Music Director

Introit:
'Christmas In the Air' (arr. D. Johnson)
'Joy To the World' (arr. D. Johnson)
Avenue - Barry Epperley, director

REJOICE EMMANUEL
'Celtic Christmas Celebration' (arr. L. Goss)

Isaiah 9:6-7, Isaiah 7:14
Deborah Gist, reader

'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel' (arr. J. Rouse)
Pete Peterson, cello

Matthew 1:18-23

'Rejoice Emmanuel' (D. Hamilton)
Brian Wilson, soloist

Luke 2:8-14

'Angels from the Realms of Glory' (arr. D. Forrest)
Marilyn Rhodes & Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

'No Eye Had Seen' (M.W. Smith)

'O Come, Let Us Adore Him'

Pastoral Prayer : Rev Courtney Richards

Luke 2:15-19

'The First Noel' (arr. M. Wilberg)

Communion Meditation : 'The Voice of Jesus Calls His People' (CH#462) : Rev Kevin Howe

'Ave Maria' (arr. T. Winch)
Greta Metzer & Kelly Ford

Luke 2:22-33

'Behold, a King Shall Reign' (arr. D. Hamilton)
Christina & Todd Maxwell, soloists

'Sing Noel' (arr. D. Hamilton)
Ashley Pease, soloist

Closing Hymn : 'Joy To the World' (CH#143)

Benediction : Rev Courtney Richards

text :: Matthew 11: 2 – 10

theme verse :: ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ (Mt11:3)

We jump to story decades later, in Jesus' adult life and ministry. It seems out of place in the Advent/Nativity theme, but it shows so clearly what Jesus showed us best: That we point always outward, always to God, with all we are and all we can be. That's where we find joy, purpose, wisdom, and wonder.

offertory :: 'Come Thou Long Expected Jesus' (arr.M.Hayes) : Ben Schwartz, soloist; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

reader :: Deborah Gist
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

response :: 'Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee' (The Brilliance) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andi Gross, lead vocal

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 3^rd 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 3^rd 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

text :: Matthew 1: 1 - 17

theme verse :: "An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham." (Mt1:1)

It's a text that we skip quite often because it's hard to read, but it's here that we see just what it meant for the Divine to take on Human form. It took generations. It took men and women, of deep faithfulness and flawed personality. And it takes us. HOPE is the first step of the Advent season; it is exactly where we come to expect the unexpected.

offertory :: 'Hyfrodol' (R.H.Prichard/arr.P.Kern) : Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

anthem :: 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel' (arr.Rouse) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director; Pete Peterson, cello

preaching :: Rev Kevin Howe

response :: 'New Wine' (HillsongWorship) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andi Gross, lead vocal

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

text :: Acts 9: 36 – 43

theme verse :: “Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, ‘Tabitha, get up.’” (Acts 9:40)

The people of Joppa cared for Tabitha – a woman of generosity and talent, and a model of faith. When she dies and they are distraught, they trust in Peter to be able to do something in their crisis. When it comes to giving, where do we place our trust? Do we trust our choices, our sources, our decisions? What do we need to get us up, moving, and changing the world?

anthem :: 'There Is A Balm in Gilead' (H.Helvey) : Chancel Choir; Barry Epperley, guest director

reader :: Lisa Rhynes
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

response :: 'I Will Follow' (C.Tomlin) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

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

text :: Isaiah 65: 17 – 25

It is easy to let uncertainty guide our thoughts. The prophets reminded the people of God’s constancy and faithfulness. Even in moments where we are unsure of our capacity to give, or even of the need to do so, remembering God’s presence and steadfastness shows us that we can be present, faithful, and steadfast for our community, and for generations to come.

anthem :: 'Peace I Give To You' (C.Courtney) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

reader :: Bill Queen
preaching :: Rev Dr Nancy Pittman

response :: 'Gracious Tempest' (Hillsong) : The Rising Band; Katie Herbert, lead vocal

offertory :: 'Gratitude' (N.Nordeman) : Ashley Pease, vocal; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

text :: Exodus 34: 27 - 35

theme verse :: “When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him.” (Ex 34:30)

Once we make room and gather, and take time listen to God’s voice, we come to understand that we have been changed, and what changes in us draws 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 ?

anthem :: 'Revelation 19' (M.Hayes) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

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

reader :: Scott Booren
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

response :: 'New Wine' (HillsongWorship) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Katie Herbert, lead vocal

offertory :: 'Sanctuary' (L.Larson) : Marla Patterson, Todd Maxwell, vocalists; Marilyn Rhodes, piano

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?

• Aren’t we vibrating with the energy of children and youth in numbers that only grow each year? (And whose absence on fall break weekend is a noticeable diminishment of who we are!)
• Haven’t we continued to see our numbers increase, even in a season of transition, as new participants continue to connect, and new members continue to join?
• Isn’t our giving still strong, as you bring your offering each week, and generosity prevails and overflows?
• And won’t we have a full calendar in the months to come, as Family Promise rests with us for two weeks this fall, and we consider our stewardship for the next program year, and we approve a slate of leaders for the next term, and we start the church year anew with Advent and Christmas, here before we know it …

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.

text : Luke 22: 14 – 27

theme verse : “When the hour came, he took his place at the table, and the apostles with him.” (Lk 22:14)

If we’re going to consider our place in the world – our role to play in life’s master work – as people of faith, as those who follow Christ, what better place to start than gathered at Christ’s table? This is World Communion Sunday, when Christians of every variety, who share this meal in any number of places, and occasions, and ways gather TODAY to say that it matters that we are all here. As followers on The Way, it matters to us that none of us is lost, that there is always – always – room, for us ALL.

offertory :: 'Holy Manna' (arr.M.Hayes) : Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

reader :: Dan Pease
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

response :: 'Remembrance' (HillsongWorship) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader; Andi Gross, lead vocal

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/

text :: Ecclesiastes 3: 9-22

theme verse :: “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.” (Eccl 3:11)

On Being is a public radio show and podcast that examines what host, Krista Tippett, calls the ‘animating questions at the center of human life’: What does it mean to be human, and how do we want to live? The author of Ecclesiastes is our worship guest for faithful reflection of these questions and invites us to consider our relationship to the rest of creation in seeking a way of being in the world.

offertory :: 'Turn, Turn, Turn' (B.Seger) : Ashley Pease, vocal; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

musical meditation :: 'How Can I Keep From Singing' : Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

reader :: Bob Flint
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

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

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

text :: Psalm 104:24-35

theme verse :: “O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. (Ps 104:24)

Who’s caring for what and how is it to be cared for? The Psalmist names creation’s utter dependence of God to be the provider. But we are not off the hook. After creating humans, God charges them to tend and till the earth. How can we re-present the deep care of God for creation?

anthem :: 'The Majesty & Glory of Your Name' (H.Fettke) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

reader :: Roy Peters
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

special music :: 'So Will I' (Hillsong) : The Rising Band; Andi Gross, lead vocal

offertory :: 'Idyll of Praise' (C.Courtney) : Kelly Ford, vocal; Susie Monger Daugherty, organ

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:

• the heavens; the waters; the clouds; the winds; fire and flame
• water (again); mountains; valleys; springs
• wild animals; streams; birds; grass; cattle; plants
• food and wine, coming from those things; oil and bread; trees
• birds (again); mountains (again); goats; the moon; the sun
• seasons; darkness; lions; annnnnnd: people.

And then, just in our verses for today, we get to:

• manifold works; wise making; a creature-full earth; the great and wide sea
• innumerable creeping things; things small and great
• ships; Leviathan
• food in season; given and gathered; breath that fills all; spirit that creates and renews
• enduring glory; trembling earth; smoking mountains
• singing of praise; pleasing meditation; dissolving of opposition

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

text :: Luke 9: 10 - 17

theme verse :: “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.” (Lk 9:16)

Our denomination’s General Minister and President, Rev Terri Hord Owens, recently said: "We can read our sacred text, we can pray our prayers, but unless we’re going to show up for humanity no one believes us." What would it look like – in Tulsa, in Oklahoma, in the nation and the world – if we really were to become who God has created and called and compels us to be? What might happen if we become the body of Christ?

anthem :: 'This Is The Day That The Lord Has Made' (M.Hayes) : Chancel Choir; Barry Epperley, guest director

reader :: Bill Queen
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

special music :: 'The Church' (Elevation Worship) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

*NOTE* A brief video is shown toward the end of the sermon. You will hear the audio as you listen to the podcast here, but trust us: **you will want to watch it**. The video is embedded in the transcript below.

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. Everything will be provided. You’ll be taken care of. It’ll be fine. Go on. You’ll be fine.

And they did! ‘They departed and went through the villages, bringing the good news and curing diseases everywhere.’ (Lk 9:6) Just like Jesus said.

At which point Herod … has some questions. “Who is this about whom I hear such things?” (Lk 9:9)

That’s the question we still get about Jesus, isn’t it? Who IS this?

And Luke answers that question by telling of a miracle. You want to know who he is? Here: 5 loaves, 2 fish, 5000 fed, 12 baskets left over. That’s who he is. {mic drop}

So what exactly is the miracle?

• Is it a miracle of multiplication: that in Jesus’ hands, these meager few items become food well beyond what should have been possible?
• Is it a miracle of lovingkindness: that having heard Jesus preach love of neighbor and healing for the sick, people were inspired to share what they had?
• Is it all of that, some of that, none of that at all? Is ‘miracle’ something we can closely and specifically define, or something to leave more open-ended, more expansive in definition?

And what if, in our effort to peek behind the curtain and see how the miracle happens, we miss our cue entirely? When it’s our turn to play our part, do we even recognize it?

In the desert middle of nowhere, even in their effort to get away with their teacher for a little respite after their own teaching and healing moments, crowds have followed. Dinnertime comes and there they still are. The disciples suggest to the boss that he shut things down for the day, send folks home to find dinner; this meal isn’t in their travel budget. But Jesus is unphased here: YOU give them something to eat.

And like one of those crazy kitchen challenges on The Food Network, the disciples are pretty sure they’re out of luck – 5 loaves, 2 fish, 5000 men, not counting women and children. That seems like food math even the Iron Chefs are going to have trouble with.

But Jesus gives instruction: Have them sit down.

And Jesus gives an object lesson: He takes the loaves and fish, blesses them, breaks them, and gives them to the disciples, who give them to the crowds.

And they collect 12 baskets of what is left over.

And that is how we get from the storms, the healings, the sending of the disciples, and Herod’s “who the heck is this?” question … to the thing that happens just after this in Luke: Peter’s confession that Jesus is the Messiah of God. We get there when we see Jesus as the one who makes a way where there seemed to be no way. We get there when we see Jesus see those who are in need of food, sustenance, healing. We get there when we see Jesus turn to those around him and send them to do work he knows they can do. We get there when we see Jesus bring a miracle into being by simply saying ‘Here it is. Here is what you need.’

To take those disciples, those who he’d just empowered to be teachers and healers, and to say, your job is also to SERVE, is important.

To take the things they came with – their bread, their fish, and their hands – gather them up, and send them back out, is important.

To see that ‘all ate and were filled’ AND that the remnants were gathered, is important.

Like the stories they had known from childhood, of how God brings miracles to deserted people and places:

• Like the manna in the wilderness – a story of identity as God’s beloved, and a moment of God’s great provision where need was seen, and met, and all ate and were filled …
• Like Elisha feeding a hundred – with far less bread on hand than would have been reasonable, by gathering it, naming God’s blessing over it, giving it to the people, who ate and were filled …
• Like the story that will come later in this gospel, where Jesus takes bread that’s there on the table, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them …
• Like the story that will come later still, where travelers on the road to Emmaus recognize the stranger who joins them because he accepts their invitation to dinner, and as they sit down he takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and shares it with them …

That is how we know who Jesus is.[4]
And it is how we know who he wants us to be.

It’s who he knows we can become.

We are sent as we are, with what we have.

This last month, in this first step of our inBEtween, we’ve rediscovered and recommitted to our core values, what it means to Be Loved, Believe, and Become at Harvard Avenue.

• In the inBEtween, we remember what does not change, who we still are, following the model of the earliest church: gather for the apostles’ teaching, for fellowship, for the breaking of bread, for prayer.
• In the inBEtween, we ask what it might look like to be who we say we are, what it looks like to love God, love our neighbors, as we love ourselves.
• In the inBEtween, we invest in, spend time with, and live in a way that says we don’t just believe the good news, we believe in it.
• And in the inBEtween, we are invited into the miracles Jesus can still do, the way he can still make, the needs he can still meet, and we claim our part in becoming who he needs us to be.

This miracle story – this event that is remembered in every gospel, and in two of them more than once! – is situated here in Luke between Herod’s question (who is this I’m hearing about?) and Peter’s confession (you are the Messiah). It answers the question, and leads to the confession: We know who we are when we are with Jesus. We know who we are when he takes what is there, invites everyone to gather around, and meets every need. We know who we are when we hear him say ‘YOU do it. YOU go.’, and we become more of who we are every time we are doing our part.

Robert Egger, our food recovery expert from earlier? Asked what his end game is, what his goal is in this Feeding the 5000 partnership, said: “I’d love for people to see that, as bad a food waste is, we shouldn’t be wasting people; in prison, on the streets, or locked out because they are old. I’d like to use the food we have to help people see that, if you look past that bruise, that blemish, those scars we all carry, then what might be revealed is a world in which all people have a role, a value, and something to contribute. In our kitchen all food has power and all people have potential. We just try to reveal both, to as many as possible, every single day.”[5]

Bernice King, daughter of Martin Luther and Coretta Scott King, and CEO of the The King Center honoring their legacy, said this week:
Another daughter, whose name I don’t know, but whose efforts this week preached a whole entire sermon in just under two minutes … well, you’ve just got to let her efforts speak for herself[6] …

So there is the gospel, yes?

• First of all, you have what you need. (And if what you need is a blue cape, then by all means…)
• Then, follow the teacher’s instructions. Sometimes very very closely. And sometimes you will need otra vez, another time, one more time, another try.
• Accept help. Ayuda, ayuda. Help will come.
• Surround yourself with people who will encourage you, love you, call you by name (mi vida!, he calls her. My life!), even picking you up and moving your closer to your goal.
• And when it comes down to it, do what you can, with what you have, to get to where you need to be.

Whether it’s loaves and fishes … or tae kwon do boards … or bruised produce and gathered leftovers … or watercolor name tags on a church prayer wall … or saying yes to important work of searching for, and waiting for, a new Lead Pastor … or bringing school supplies and giving high fives … or advocating for change … or working for justice … or giving careful eye to the details of church finance or building maintenance or welcome and hospitality or anything else in all the world …

When Jesus gathers it, and blesses it, miracles happen.

That’s who Jesus is.

That’s how those who follow him on the way are emboldened to become.

But … this is all we have, Jesus.
Okay then. ‘You give them something to eat.’

[1] https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2016/05/160510-food-waste-new-york-feeding-5000-chefs/
[2] https://www.rockefellerfoundation.org/blog/refed-the-roadmap-to-reduce-us-food-waste/
[3] https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2016/05/160510-food-waste-new-york-feeding-5000-chefs/
[4] For the text analysis woven here, I am indebted to the exegetical work of : Amy-Jill Levine, Jewish Annotated New Testament p 119; Jane Schaberg, Women’s Bible Commentary p739-745; and R. Alan Culpepper, New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary p19
[5] https://civileats.com/2017/07/31/more-than-a-meal-how-feeding-the-5000-prompts-big-picture-change/
[6] https://twitter.com/RexChapman/status/1164218125740646402?s=20

text :: Matthew 22: 34 - 40

theme verse :: “’Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?’” (Mt 22:36)

Jesus says that those who follow him will love God and love their neighbor. Frederick Buechner reminds us that ‘Jesus doesn’t mean loving as primarily a feeling. Instead, he seems to mean {it} whether or not any feeling is involved…’ How do we love? And who? And how? And why? And what if we don’t want to? Let’s see if we can start to figure it out by following the one teaching on which all others are based: Love.

special music :: 'Open Up' (The Brilliance) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

anthem :: 'Precious Lord, Take My Hand' : Avenue a capella ensemble; Barry Epperley, director

reader :: Jamie Jones
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

offertory :: 'Love the Lord Your God' : Derek Marshall, vocal; Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

Matthew 22: 34 – 40
When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, 35 and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. 36 “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” 37 He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38 This is the greatest and first commandment. 39 And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 40 On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Earlier this year, it was named the readers’ choice best new attraction nationwide by USA Today. In a recent travel feature, National Geographic featured it as one of 12 ‘mind-bending playgrounds’ around the world. But for Tulsans, the Gathering Place is one of our new favorite places to hang out. For a preacher, it’s a great place to wander around and collect some thoughts, sit and people-watch, and maybe even curl up and write.

(Now, this preacher learned from another preacher that it’s probably wise to, you know, avoid the Slide Vale. So the Boathouse rocking chairs, a short walk, and the big soft seats on the dock of Peggy’s Pond, made for a great Friday afternoon.)

In just a couple of hours, I heard at least four languages spoken, saw humanity of countless colors of ‘flesh tone’, and several varieties of national and religious dress. From pretty brand new infants to octogenarians and more. Some folks were clearly there for the first time, including one woman who was walking around showing the park to someone else, and both of them exclaiming at its wideness and beauty – all via FaceTime call.

There was a group of kids who were very obviously not first-timers, nor did they care to wait for the parents who had the nerve to stroll, and to have conversations. Strollers, wheelchairs, running, walking, holding hands, weaving through crowds.

I watched the watercraft for a while. It was right in the sightline, and part of why I chose that corner perch. But there were people everywhere: at the boathouse and the bridge, in the lodge and the loungechairs, waiting for coffee and ice cream, unloading blankets and bags to stay for a while, and showing up in business clothes to meet a colleague or take a walk after work. There were folks like me, hanging out solo, and there was what appeared to be one family of about a dozen or so, divvied up into kayaks and canoes and paddleboats.

As I was heading up the stairs, this group, all obviously together, were heading down. I heard a girl’s voice say ‘Um. I don’t think this is a good idea, really. I don’t think I should be in a boat.’ Next thing I know, I see them! I assume dad with daughters, probably 8 and 10 or so, both with bright red hair. Dad at the back, paddle in hand; daughter at the front, also ready to paddle. Daughter in the middle? She had made it her job to wave and shout to the rest of the family who gathered on the bridge to wave and shout back as they passed … and then ran to the other side of the bridge to see them emerge. So, maybe she should be in a boat after all.

Just behind them, three boys – brothers? cousins? friends? – set out at a good clip. Apparently you can train for a race on this little stretch of enclosed channel. Or so it seemed. What you evidently cannot prepare for is getting that sucker back into the slip when you return … watching them heading back for the dock, not drifting in so as to control the turn, but comin’ in hot like they were being pursued by the Coast Guard, bang straight into the side, and then have to shimmy and scoot to get the thing angled and into the return channel was absolutely as hilarious as you’d think. They, however, weren’t laughing. I mean, they weren’t mad or anything. They were sort of … unphased. Apparently when you’re 14, that’s … how you park a canoe. What do I know.

Later, from a seat nearer the water, at the other end of the canoe/kayak/paddleboat zone, I watched two boys figure out that it works better if you’re both getting your paddle into the water at the same time. There was some clacking of crossed oars, and then some counting (1 … 2 … ) and then some progress! Another couple had either worked out a deal in advance or just had a natural rhythm in their division of labor … as they first passed, he was in back, keeping a nice steady row while she took pictures from the front of the boat. By the time they’d circled back around, she was rowing at the front, and he was, I kid you not, lounged all the way down, hands behind his head, a man of leisure.

And all the while, in the background are conversations. And laughter. And people walking by. And sounds of Mist Mountain water cannons pumping, and the percussion garden ringing out.

So why all this waxing idyllic about a multi-million-dollar, hundred-acre city park? It’s caused its share of grousing in the community, to be sure. And there are things to keep in mind about the land it’s built on – as there is for all of Tulsa, if we’re honest. I’m aware of all of that, and not so naïve as to ignore it.

At the same time, here’s what I’ve seen, the half-dozen or so times that I’ve been there in the last year: The best thing about the Gathering Place, the thing I love the most, is that it IS what it SAYS it is: it IS a gathering place.

And since part of the preacher’s task is to name the sacred in the ordinary, to point up the places where what we say we believe becomes what we’re actually called to do, here’s my question

What does it look like when the church … no, not when the church looks like The Gathering Place … but when the CHURCH is what it says it is. And if WE are the church, together … Well then:

Church, right here, on this first stop in this inBEtween sermon series, what would it look like if we said that when you come here, to Harvard Avenue, where we say our first core value is Be Loved … what does it look like when that really is the case? That the first thing that happens here is that you. are. loved.

What does it look like to be who we say we are?

In these few short verses we’ve heard today – included in various forms in Matthew, Mark, AND Luke – we get Jesus, answering what’s set out as a trick question, with the least tricky response he could give: He gives them an answer they already knew.

Here’s something that is entirely obvious when you look at it, but which I couldn’t have tied up this neatly until I saw it in my reading this week:

Earlier in the gospel of Matthew, when Jesus’s words are recorded in a series of teachings and instructions … the audience is the disciples, the crowds, those who’ve gathered.

Here, in these later chapters though, in this last week in Jerusalem, Jesus is teaching and instructing in answer to questions and challenges from those who would test him, to try to trip him up and bring him down.

So here they are, crafting what could be a real mind-bender. Knowing that all 613 points of ‘the law’ are held sacred, as a whole, in Jewish understanding, the question came: Which commandment in the law is the greatest?  Do you answer, ‘Well, all of them!’ and leave the faithful without a priority, a place to begin measuring faithfulness? Or do you say, ‘This one is most important.’, and leave it wide open to ignore the other ‘less important’ ones? A-ha! Gotcha Jesus!

But, you’ll not be surprised to know, Jesus is no fool.

He recites the Shema. Found in Deuteronomy, one of the books of law, of Torah, the word shema means ‘hear’ or ‘listen’. It is the verse from the Torah that every Jew would have known first, and best: Shema, Yisrael. / Hear O Israel. The Lord Your God is one. Love the Lord Your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength. Recited by every faithful Jew of every age, to begin and to close every day, this is the verse, the commandment, that Jesus names as the greatest.[1]

And then he says another is like it: Love your neighbor as you love yourself.

And then he says that every other law, every other word from any prophet, is rooted there.

So, after that nice story about a day at the Gathering Place, and this clear instruction from Jesus about what’s most important: Why isn’t that the end of the sermon? Why is there more?

Well, Church … for that is who and what we are, right? … it would seem there’s something we’re missing. We are to love God, love our neighbors, love ourselves. Everything else flows from there.

How do we love God? We come to church, you say. We are the church, the preacher says. As a nine-year-old in my life has recently started to thoughtfully intone, with just the right tilt of her head: “True.”

Jesus says the greatest commandment is that we are to love God, in all the ways we can, to the absolute core of who we are. In the shema, this is with heart, soul, and strength. In Matthew’s telling, Jesus changes it to heart, soul, and mind. (In other versions, all four words are in there at once.) Whatever three, or four, words are there, the meaning is the same: All that we are comes from God, and all we are should be turned to God, turned into love.

Maybe what we’re missing is attention. Paying attention. When we come to worship, we may think we’re sitting and absorbing, but think about this … In various combinations, depending on the elements of worship and the capacities of the individual, all of who you are is eventually involved:

You come in and go out. You stand up and sit down. You talk and listen. You sing and hear others sing and play. You read and are read to. We pray together and you are prayed for. You see images, art, architecture, surroundings, other people. You come forward to take – to taste – bread and cup, or hold a tray to serve someone else. You add to a collection of prayers, tithes, and offerings.

And none of that even includes holding a door open, saying hello, pouring coffee, shaking a hand, studying a scripture, listening to a Sunday School teacher, asking a question, teaching a child, making a phone call, visiting a hospital, preparing a meal. Loving God with all we are. Maybe what we’ve let slide is that when we say at Harvard Avenue, when we say you will Be Loved, we mean that we will be here to do it. We will come to worship. We will be here. Not just in the room, but in the moment. We will not just attend worship, but attend to it.

Then Jesus immediately turns to say the 2^nd is ‘like’ the first: Love your neighbor as you love yourself. ‘LIKE’ means that it is of equal importance and inseparable from the first. … One cannot first love God and then, as a second task, love one’s neighbor. To love God is to love one’s neighbor, and vice versa.[2]

It is, as one of my colleagues pointed out this week in our bible study, really rude how scripture we know so well comes back around to get us at the most inconvenient times.

Here we are, in the midst of a ridiculously aggressive and divisive moment in social history, studying a text that says clearly and unequivocally that we are to love our neighbor. It does not say that we are to love those we like. Who agree with us politically. Who practice our religion, or practice it our way. Who express themselves in wardrobe or in sexuality or in relationship only in ways we’re comfortable with. Jesus does not say that we are to love those who have been fully vetted and screened and checked and approved and social media tested.

No. The second commandment, which is like the first – the second commandment, which is inseparable from the first one – is to just love our neighbor. That is soooo harrrd. It gets every single one of us, doesn’t it? Every one of us.

As writer, professor, and speaker Sarah Dylan Breuer has said,

In the first-century Mediterranean world, “love” was not a vague warm feeling toward someone, but a pattern of action — attachment to a person backed up with behavior. …

Despite the frequency with which people turn to Jesus to find out to whom they’re NOT obligated, which people under which circumstances are out of the reach of God’s love and therefore are beyond the call of God’s people to ministry, Jesus’ call will compel each one of his followers to take the fullest extent of God’s love to the furthest reach of that love, to every person whom God made.[3]

Though she’s been on the music scene for nearly a decade, in the last couple of years, the singer, rapper, classically trained flute player, and actress Lizzo has become a force to be reckoned with. As a plus-sized black woman in a society, and an industry, that is often incredibly hard on someone in any of those three groups, Lizzo sees her art, and her message of self-acceptance, body positivity, and empowerment deeply intertwined. (Preacher’s Note: Not all of her lyrics are family- or work-safe.)

I recently saw a quote from Lizzo that speaks right into the third part that we’re sometimes missing: what it means to love yourself.

I don’t think that loving yourself is a choice. I think that it’s a decision that has to be made for survival; it was in my case. Loving myself was the result of answering two things: Do you want to live? ‘cause this is who you’re gonna be for the rest of your life. Or are you gonna just have a life of emptiness, self-hatred and self-loathing? And I chose to live, so I had to accept myself.[4]

For Jesus to say Love your neighbor as you love yourself is to assume that we love ourselves. That we would not say things to or about ourselves that we would not allow another to say to or about someone we love. That we understand that when we say ‘For God so loved the world…’ that not only means everyone else – which it does mean, every. one. else. – but it also means US. And not that God us loves us MORE, but that God loves us ALL. And so we love ourselves.

We love God. We love our neighbor. As we love ourselves.
And, as Jesus says, everything else flows from there.

It is probably both the easiest and the hardest of the commandments, and of our Harvard Avenue core values: Be Loved.

Without knowing she was doing so, my Buddhist friend Kellie, an educator and writer who has been my teacher every day of the decades that she’s been my friend, wrote my entire sermon in two sentences the other day. (Two sentences?! Why didn’t we just skip to this part earlier?! Well, here you go: )

I work with words, so I think what we say matters. Still, it’s how we live, who we include, and what we do that tells the truth.

Well.                                                                Be loved, Church.                                           Amen.

[1] Leander Keck, The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary: Matthew (1995), p425.
[2] Keck.
[3] Sarah Dylan Breuer, 10-19-2015, https://www.sarahlaughed.net/lectionary/2005/10/proper_25_year_.html
[4] Lizzo, ‘Self Care Has to be rooted in self preservation’
https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/self-care-has-be-rooted-self-preservation-not-just-mimosas-ncna993661

text :: Philippians 1: 3 - 11

theme verse :: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” (Phil 1:6)

Barbara Brown Taylor says, “To pronounce a blessing on something, it is important to see it as it is.” How seldom, it seems, do we look upon what we’ve done, who we’ve done it with, and the gifts many have brought to the common table with simple appreciation for the moment, the season, the relationship and simply soaked in the gratitude. Or in the passing of a place, a tree, or even a stranger, could we pause to offer a blessing for what it is or who they are? Each is on its way somewhere, the same way you are. They are between places too, with no more certainty than you about what will happen at the other end. And yet, what gift in pronouncing blessing on that moment, that person, that community … trusting God to be present in each benediction, trusting that God will bless again as we serve as such a blessing in the world.

Traditional anthem :: 'To Love Our God' (M.Hayes) : Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

The Rising communion :: 'Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing' : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

reader :: David Brock
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

song of blessing, The Rising worship :: 'Live Forever' (Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors) : The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

song of blessing, Traditional worship :: 'The Lord Bless You and Keep You' (P. Lutkin): Chancel Choir; Kelly Ford, director

Philippians 1:3-11
³ I thank my God every time I remember you, ⁴ constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, ⁵ because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. ⁶ I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ. ⁷ It is right for me to think this way about all of you, because you hold me in your heart, for all of you share in God’s grace with me, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. ⁸ For God is my witness, how I long for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus. ⁹ And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight ¹⁰ to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, ¹¹ having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.

NCIS, which stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service, is a television show recently renewed for its seventeenth season. The show revolves around a special agent team who conducts criminal investigations involving the US Navy and Marine Corps. It’s an interesting show. It resembles most of the other crime shows on television where crimes are overly dramatized and strategically resolved in fifty-five minutes with time for bathroom breaks built in along the way. I’m not pushing the show for any reason other than to credit the director and team for their signature move each episode. As the show begins, and after each commercial break, the first thing you see is a snap shot of a later scene in the show. That snap shot is a picture of the last scene before it goes to the next commercial break. It’s a clue about what is happening later – allowing you the chance to be in on solving the mystery. In essence, you see the end before you even begin. It’s genius, I think. I study that snap shot hard for the two seconds it remains on the screen to see if I can figure out what has happened. Turns out?  I’m a terrible investigator. I suppose that’s all part of their plan. After all, it would spoil the whole thing if you truly figured out the ending before the episode even begins.

It seems very much like something we’d like to do in real life. We’d love a snap shot of the end of our lives to see how it all turns out… it’s why the Face App is so popular – we’re more than a little curious about what we’ll look like down the road. For some of us, however, knowing the ending is too much to bear.  We might, however, be interested in seeing what happens at life’s commercial breaks… the chapters of our lives where we transition on to something new… new places, new relationships, new phases. If you snapped a shot of this moment and showed it to me ten years ago when my family started ministry with you, I would not have imagined this image. It’s a wonderful snap shot. I can see all of you in it. If I printed out a picture of this moment, I’d sit down with my kids in a quiet moment down the road and point you all out.

“That’s so and so,” I’d say. “We really laughed hard about that. That guy, there toward the back, with the funny haircut, we played some great games of basketball together. I always let him win, of course. He didn’t know it but letting others win was part of my pastoral contract. And there… do you see those youth? Weren’t they great? Remember when they duct taped me to the light pole? Good kids. We had some amazing times. Ooo… and that family, right there? Love them. We buried a loved one together… it was hard but we leaned on each other and found a way forward… and that couple, I married them in the new sanctuary on my birthday… and that guy right there – we bunked together at Camp Christian once. He told me the most amazing stories about his life deep into the wee hours of the morning and got stung by a wasp during closing worship of the retreat.  That young man there? We walked to Sunday School together every Sunday for years – my favorite part of Sunday morning week after week.”

And on and on as I pointed you out to my kids. It’s a wonderful snap shot of memories. But I wouldn’t have dreamed of it ten years ago as a thirty-year-old minister who had never served in a role like this. I had nothing but a passion for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, a Bible, and hope in my heart that God was guiding this journey. But we never know how things are going to play out in the real world, you know?

We all make plans.  I was going to be a sports broadcaster.  I wrote little clever SportsCenter quips all the time and I would mute ESPN as a kid and offer up with my own commentary. I could have imagined that snap shot. Then I was going to be a forensic psychologist… a real life CSI’er, you know?  I could have seen that snap shot in this moment. Those were my plans. What were yours?

You’re in this picture I’m holding. How did you get here? Who invited you along the way? Who didn’t give up on you when you had given up on yourself? What have you gone through to make it to this moment in time? I am beyond grateful for the ways our paths have crossed. I’m not sure if you see it as part of God’s plan… but I’m so grateful to have journeyed with you. I’d like to think God pulled us together for one reason or another – maybe some reason we’ll not know until the end of the age. All the while, we’re making our own plans. I think our own plans sometimes get in the way. Joseph Campbell agrees with me (or I with him, I suppose).  He said, “We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”

There is life waiting for us if we’ll just commit to living it to the fullest. I used to think it was the plan that was the most important.  It seemed like the responsible thing to do… to have the life flow chart all in place and check each item off the list when it was completed.  The plans were all check points of life… college, grad school, marriage, kids, career, travel, etc, etc, as if they were things to get done instead of life to be lived. You don’t enjoy them as you should when they are seen as tasks… and if you’ve got it on a checklist, you panic if they don’t come to pass. But when it’s life, not task, you drink it in a little differently. The book of James sees it this way.

James challenges those who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a town and spend a year there, doing business and making money.  Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wishes, we will live and do this or that” (James 4:13,15).  It’s not about the plan… it’s about the living.  The writer of Deuteronomy also agrees, “Choose life,” he says, “that you might live.”  I’m not saying you should have no plans.  Plans are responsible… you know, take care of your teeth, pay the light bill, put a nickel away for retirement. But it is more an attitude toward living that I’m wondering about with you today.  What is it I miss today because my plan of task completion gets in the way of relationships that God is putting before me?

I thought I had to have it all mapped out.  Have that snapshot of the end in hand and figure out how to get there. Instead, I realized God has created me to be a particular person that needs to be me wherever I am planted. It’s a calling to be a kind of person… not necessarily a destination. Being who God creates you to be means that you’ll be prepared to step into each moment with faith because that is who you are created to be. There is always risk involved. Imagine the disciples. A snap shot of them leading a new radical religious movement shown to them when they were still fishing for a living would have sent them to the floor of the boat laughing hysterically. But the opportunity came. They were living the kind of lives that made them ready to say “Yes!” when the call presented itself. Jesus found them… “Come, follow me,” he says.  And they did it! Greatest risk they ever took. Are you living that kind of life?  Is your head buried in tasks and plans or is your head up, ready for the life that is waiting for you?

Movers are showing up at our house in the morning.  I can hardly believe it. This move is a bit of risk of course. In part, the risk involved the number one question we’ve been asked about the move. “Does Columbia have a QuikTrip?” You can rest easy – Columbia has one, single, beautiful QT and we’ll drive across town to get there. That’s a serious question, yes.  But the greater risk is leaving this marvelous church family. We love you all so much. You have invested in us and we have in you. If you weren’t aware, you are a special group of God’s people. You risk. You love. You challenge yourselves and one another to step forward in faith. Our children have been raised under your care and we will forever be grateful that you have shown them what church can be. But the Call of God has come. We prayed, at times, that the Call might pass like a bad case of heart burn but God can be persistent, you know? We are anxious and excited and nervous and sad to go, but we are stepping forward to use the gifts we have… gifts that you have nurtured in us… that we might lead in this new way.

I look through the snapshot of this moment again and grieve what it means to miss you graduate from high school or see your babies born or your kids grow up with ours. We grieve what it means to miss the group studies, and the prayers, and the place to lean on shoulders when there is crisis as we know they come. But we know we grieve because we risked loving one another. Did you know this is how it works?  You can stay to yourself, not get involved, not show any vulnerability and go through this life pretty lonely. Or you can share your life with others. It means there will be sadness when transitions occur but life is so much richer for the journey. Now is the time for you. Get involved and share your life with this body of people. Don’t wait until it’s too late and wish you would have.  This is the day the Lord has made… will you rejoice and be glad in it?

This epistle of Paul’s to the church at Philippi is one of my favorites… and one of Paul’s too.  As someone once said, “It is a lovely thing when remembrance and gratitude are bound up together.” That’s this letter. It is pure, Christian joy.  As one great theologian summarized the whole point of this letter is simply: “I do rejoice. Do you rejoice?” There is a joy in praying for each other. There is a joy in Jesus Christ being proclaimed. There is a joy of sharing and growing in our faith. And Paul notes there is even joy in the suffering; in the challenges; in the growing edges; in the discovery of our ability to survive the toughest of times. I laughed at a post someone recently shared that said, “If your mom is between 36 and 44 years old, don’t try her. Tupac, Biggie and Dr. Dre raised her.” It was funny because I grew up in that era but what it made me think of is the way we sharpen each other’s faith – to learn from each other, to raise each other, to strengthen our resolve, to know we’ll be loved even through our adversity. I stand here, looking at this snapshot of our last Sunday grateful for what we pulled through together. It wasn’t always easy. And I didn’t always know how to proceed or if I should lead differently… if I should have pressed harder here or waited longer for God’s lead there. I’ve heard some of your voices over time who said, “That was the one sermon I just couldn’t get on board with…” Which if there was only one of the five hundred sermons I’ve preached in this place, I’ll take it.  But honestly, it may have been the one sermon that was most needed.

Saint Archbishop Oscar Romero, a priest in El Salvador who was murdered at the Communion Table while celebrating the mass said, “A church that doesn’t provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn’t unsettle, a word of God that doesn’t get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn’t touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed – what gospel is that?”  As we’ve found our way together, we’ve loved our way through with respect, with welcome, with hope that the Gospel that has transformed the world wouldn’t leave us where we were either but transform our very souls as well. I pray that in today’s snapshot, if you could see yourself in it, you might be able to say that over this decade together or whenever you jumped in along the way, you’re not the same… that Christ has worked on your heart, expanded your soul, widened your compassion, challenged your assumptions, stretched your gratitude, deepened your joy. Author Steven Pressfield who wrote most famously, perhaps, The Legend of Baggar Vance, shared this sentiment: “In the end, it comes down to the [journey] itself. [Have you crept] closer to the wonder?”  Ultimately, he says, “You have to, or you can’t keep going.  Any other motivation will burn you out.” I pray you’ve crept closer to the wonder… the majesty and mystery of God. I know I have. And I pray we’ll never stop.

We had a meaningful week at the General Assembly of our denomination in Des Moines, Iowa this past week. I am grateful for your encouragement and support of me and my family as we had the honor of sharing in worship on Tuesday night. A lingering snap shot from the Assembly for me came at the closing worship service on Wednesday when the Rev. Dr. William Barber II preached an other-worldly message about how today’s rejected by the world, like Jesus was, can ultimately become cornerstones – building blocks of the Church. He led this passionate altar call at the end of his message, calling people of every diversity and beauty and struggle and identity and rejection to run up those steps and stand with him.  My, oh my, here they come… one after another… free in Christ, built up by the Spirit, treasured as a building block to the future… flooding the stage. Before any of us realized, my eleven-year-old son, Dane, has taken off from the near back of the arena, running with all his might to join Dr. Barber and the transformative Gospel moment on the stage.  Here he is on the far left… caught up in the wonder of it all.  Now he may not know the depths of what this moment held for the future of the Church and the very gospel of Jesus Christ but I knew (through the tears of his mother and some of my own) that one day, I’ll give that picture to him saying, “Son, you’re one of the building blocks of the church of Jesus Christ… you stand with and on the shoulders of giants… the likes of Dr. Barber, and the likes of each of you who took a moment to care, taught a class, offered a word of support, prayed a prayer, prepared communion, held a hand on the CROP Walk, sang a song.”  This is how we build the church, my friends. The snapshot that comes at the end is only the result of the daily choices we make to be faithful; to show up again for God and one another. Even if it’s hard in the moment, you won’t regret it when it’s time for the final snap shot.

I was reflecting a great deal this week on all that we’ve shared together.  Before I left the building last night, I passed through every row in this sanctuary, brushing my hand across each chair as I prayed for you who would sit in each chair today just as I did the night before the first service in this renovated space in these new pew chairs. They are nice chairs… and the building team sweat the choice of moving out the pews in exchange for these new, crazy, modern chairs, right?  They are nice chairs, but they’re just chairs.  The symbolism of that very sanctuary chair you’re sitting in now, however, as I once heard Fred Craddock say, is much deeper than that. What does that chair symbolize? It symbolizes

“You… sitting there in the presence of God. It’s an individual thing in this regard. If there is going to be any singing, you are going to have to sing. If there is going to be any offering, you are going to have to give it.  If there is going to be any Communion, you are going to have to participate in it.  If there is going to be any worship, you are going to have to do it.  You are before God, in God’s presence at the altar, God is here, and there you are in your chair.  But the other thing about these chairs is that they are called ‘pew chairs.’ They interlock, and you put several of them together to make a pew. A pew is truly a Christian piece of furniture because it’s where lots of people gather. You are not by yourself in your chair. You are with other people. Somebody is going to pass the tray for you to give your offering. Somebody is going to hand you the bread and say, “The body of Christ, given for you.” Somebody is going to be your minister and your friend and your fellow worker.  You are never alone.”  And as Craddock reminds us, “The grand resource of the church is each other.”[1]

There is no end to this togetherness. None.

We drove back to Tulsa from Des Moines on Wednesday night.  As the familiar skyline appeared as we headed into town on I-44, it was hard to imagine this moment even as it was a growing presence in my soul. I couldn’t quite make out the snap shot. What would we wear?  What songs would we sing?  Who would be here?  Underneath those more practical questions were so many things on my heart that I wanted to say and so much that I knew would have to go unsaid.  There simply isn’t enough time. “How do you start at the end,” I began to ask myself. But then of course, in the Christian faith, the end is always just the beginning. In fact, the ministry increases, the love grows for we know God is the glue that holds the Body of Christ together. The passion of your spirit we take with us and our hope is that our spirit remains alive in the even greater ministry that is yet to come at HACC. I look at this snap shot with incredible gratitude.

To my colleagues and our staff team – truly the best there is – thank you for your commitment to the cause, for picking me up, for following at times and leading the way at others – my very deepest gratitude. To our lay leaders – for your beautiful offering of yourselves to the work of Christ in this place – I am in awe.  To the many who carry the load behind the scenes and seldom are seen or desire to be seen – you undergird the Gospel and there is a special place for you in the glorious kin-dom. For the joys and sorrows shared, the laughs that spilled out of us freely and the stories that solidified the reality that we were made for more and made for each other in a season such as this – I cherish forever what it means to have been among you… the faithful Body of Christ stationed at 55^th and Harvard. That’s why I love Paul’s words so much…

I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ. ⁷t is right for me to think this way about all of you, because you hold me in your heart, for all of you share in God’s grace with me, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. For God is my witness, how I long for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that on the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.

This is my heart for you.  There is good work being done among you and God will be faithful to complete it in you as you continue to make yourself available. Step boldly into your future and love every bit of it along the way. Thank you for holding us in your heart as we will always hold you in ours.

My dad once told me a sappy story about something he told my mother when they were dating and attending colleges miles and miles away from each other.  He said to her, “Whenever you step outside on a clear night, look up at the stars and know that I’ll be looking at the very same stars.” Pretty smooth, dad. As mushy as it sounds, I’ve grown to understand those words and will appreciate them differently now.

When the Brileys step out on a clear Missouri night, we’ll lay down with the kids and the dog in the back yard, look at the stars, and think of you… as we share the same stars, the same passion, the same love. May your love overflow more and more with knowledge and insight to help you determine what life is waiting for you now, so that you can share in the harvest; the harvest of ministry that carries on; the harvest of relationships that flourish when you take the time to share your life, the harvest of faith and hope and new souls finding a way to Christ because of you, and yes, the harvest of even the magical stars. That, my friends, is a beautiful snapshot.

[1] From Cherry Log Sermons.  Fred Craddock. Pgs. 114-115. 2001. John Knox Press.

text :: 1 Peter 5: 6 - 11

theme verse :: “After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you.” (1 Peter 5:10)

Few of us seek pain yet none of us are exempt from experiencing it. Job, named as a godly and upright man, is the one who ends up on the poster entitled simply, “Suffering.” He just wants to know, “Why me?” The very fact that the book of Job lands in our holy scriptures is testament to those who decided to include it – the recognition that an uncensored account of the depth of human pain and suffering is more to be valued than any correct doctrinal answer to it. We do know, however, that our God is one who restores, heals, and redeems – even the depths of our pain. Louis L’Amour said, “There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning.” In the feeling of pain, we acknowledge its presence as the beginning of our way to the all-things-new hope that is promised by God.

offertory :: 'Why?' (M.Harris) :: Kelly Ford, tenor; Susie Monger Daugherty, piano

reader :: Jamie Jones
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

special music :: 'Another in the Fire' (HillsongUnited) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

anthem :: 'Let Me Fly' (R.DeCormier) :: Avenue a capella ensemble; Barry Epperley, director

1 Peter 5: 6 – 11
⁶ Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. ⁷ Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. ⁸ Discipline yourselves, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. ⁹ Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering. ¹⁰ And after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you. ¹¹ To him be the power forever and ever. Amen.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”  You’ve heard this before.  Maybe your dad offered the sentiment when you were sitting out on the porch after you made one of those mistakes we make when we’re learning about the consequences of the world. Maybe it was a coach trying to make you mentally tough when your legs couldn’t possibly run one more line drill.  Maybe you’ve uttered it to yourself under your own breath trying to convince yourself that things couldn’t get any worse. A friend posted just the other day this retort to the idea: “I don’t want to go through things that don’t kill me but make me stronger anymore!” Beyond survival, we offer other sentiments when we’re in pain.  Things like, “Well, that was a character-building experience; a real growth opportunity.” Plato once said that pain restores order to the soul.  Rumi said that it lops off the branches of indifference. “The throbbing vein will take you further than any thinking.”  There’s the mantra many have shouted over time, “No pain, no gain!”  My middle son, Dane, campaigned for president of his second-grade class a few years ago.  His slogan?  “No Dane. No gain.” He won. There is some honor in doing hard things – even if they feel painful at the time.  We admire the resiliency of people who struggle through the worst and come out on the other side with a conquering attitude. Bruised, yes. Battered, perhaps. Scarred, yep. But now?  Experience. Understanding. Wisdom. Strength.

Few of us seek pain yet none of us are exempt from experiencing it. Job, named as a godly and upright man, is the one who ends up on the poster entitled simply, Suffering. He just wants to know, “Why me?”  The very fact that the book of Job lands in our holy scriptures is testament to those who decided to include it – the recognition that an uncensored account of the depth of human pain and suffering is more to be valued than any correct doctrinal answer to it. We do know, however, as Peter writes in his letter we highlight today, that our God is one who restores, heals, and redeems – even the depths of our pain. Louis L’Amour said:In the feeling of pain, we acknowledge its presence as the beginning of our way to the all-things-new hope that is promised by God. And, with some distance, some hindsight, some growth, we may even be able to see some of our pain as an altar – a tribute to God who doesn’t cause the pain or suffering but deeply longs to redeem it for some meaningful purpose.

Barbara Brown Taylor’s work, An Altar in the World remains our companion during this series bearing the same name.[1] In her chapter, ‘The Practice of Feeling Pain,’ she notes that

“Pain is provocative.  Pain pushes people to the edge, causing them to ask fundamental questions such as ‘Why is this happening?’ and ‘How can this be fixed?’ Pain brings out the best in people along with the worst. Pain strips away all the illusions required to maintain the status quo.  Pain begs for change.”  Pain is not optional for humans.  “How can something as nonnegotiable as feeling pain serve as a spiritual practice?  Like anything,” Taylor says, “I can try to avoid pain. I can deny pain. I can numb it and I can fight it.  Or I can decide to engage pain when it comes to me, giving it my full attention so that it can teach me what I need to know about the Really Real.”

Really Real she offers in capital letters – representing God – what does pain teach us about God – the Really Real – the Ultimate Concern?

Peter’s first letter is our companion today – a word that he begins by saying, “I, Peter, am an apostle on assignment by Jesus, the Messiah, writing to exiles scattered to the four winds. Not one is missing, not one forgotten.”  I love that opening.  Just a man on assignment.  A man whose life has been fully upended by being a fisherman at a certain age and time, in proximity enough to this carpenter from Nazareth who stumbled into his life and saw endless potential in his leadership skills.  How many people knew Peter, passed by him at the docks day after day without seeing anything special about him?  But Jesus has a way of seeing.  Jesus drafts him for the cause and for as many rough edges as Peter had, Jesus trusted him, believed in him and gave him the freedom to lead.  Pete had no clue what he was getting into. But here he is, abandoning the fishing nets for this ministry – on assignment by Jesus writing to the exiles scattered to the four winds.  For what, for whom, are you on assignment?  Don’t blow past that question lightly.  As Peter says in our prayer today, something he knew all too well… “God will promote you at the right time.”  Everything you’ve been through and learned and struggled to understand will guide you into a moment of time when you’ll be called upon to step up, step in, and be the unique gift to the church, to the world, that you’ve been created to be.

It’s amazing how this works. We so often never know the hows or whys of things until a great time later.  I was talking with a dear mentor and friend this week whose total life direction that led to the shaping of some of the most significant realities of his life hinged on the way in which some trash bags were placed about behind the place he was living.  It was a remarkable tale but all he could essentially say was, “My life became what it became because of garbage.”  It would be a good spiritual practice for all of us to sit and make a graph of our lives – writing our birthdates on the far left and today’s date on the far right.  In between those dates, fill in the major events of your life – the moments that have made you who you are – and note how many of those moments seemed inconsequential at the time.  I imagine many of them may surround moments of pain as well.

How many of those painful moments bear significant relationship to leaps of your personal growth – in a relationship, in your career, in your faith? Maybe it was the move that bonded you in a new way to your family.  Maybe it was the call from the doctor about that spot on your lung that made you finally make up with your estranged sister.  Maybe your partner leaving made you discover some truth about yourself that had otherwise been shielded for years.  None of these are the ways we script our lives.  They are certainly not the ways we would have chosen to grow, shift, wise-up, become more than we were, but they did those very things.  Peter’s been through it… but has owned it… and he wouldn’t have been the leader he became had he not first said “Yes,” to following Jesus… had he not over-reacted when the soldiers came to arrest Jesus, had he not denied even knowing Jesus in crunch time and later resolving to be a leader in the movement forward. These human moments made him real; grew his compassion for others who were also flawed; gave him a relatable spirit. Such made him resilient.  He didn’t roll over and quit.  He got stronger.  He learned. It’s like a guy I know who said, “I’ll never follow any leader who hasn’t failed.”  Even C.S. Lewis [2]  offered this interesting word:

Interesting.  Pain. Loss. Grief. Growth. What do you think?

Pain comes in many forms of course. This move our family is making comes with some pain. The big day we talked to the kids about the move, my youngest son, Hayes, had moved the coffee table in the living room and spread out every sleeping bag and pillow we owned in the house.  It seemed as good a place as any to have a family meeting – which every member of the family has power to call should they deem it necessary. We sat in a circle on the floor, my back against the couch. Hayes sat across from me, totally buried in the pile of blankets and pillows accept for his head that popped out of the pile like a turtle’s head out of his shell. As Carrie and I shared the word, my son’s turtle head withdrew bit by bit back into his shell. As the sharing continued, the questions were asked, the wonderings were full, he kept inching closer to my leg… another question, another few inches closer… until he was all but in my lap. When he finally looked up, our eyes connected and I said, “Do you want me to hold you, buddy?” And this rough and tumble, hard-shelled son of mine, buried his head in my chest and we cried some tears together.  My daughter said, “That’s the first time I’ve seen you cry, dad.”  Clearly, she’s never watched, “This is Us” with me.  That show knows how to pull the strings, you know?  Pain can come by no choosing of our own or even as the result of our own hard decisions.

Like the early church leaders and followers, the direction of Christ’s lead isn’t always the easy route – and we all know that is true. Richard Rohr said, “If you are not ready for change, don’t seek out God.”  The very quest for God will come with change, and therefore pain… or pain and therefore change.  But… a disciple is someone who has moved from being the recipient of the church’s mission to being responsible for the Church’s mission.  If we are faithful to the pursuit of Christ in our lives, we’re going to have to own the effort that comes with being Church. And this is the call of you, and me, of Peter, and the early recipients of his letter.

It is in such seasons of change that we need to rely on our disciplines of faith – prayer, scripture reading, listening more than talking, worship, serving.  Peter says, in those tough seasons, the devil, the adversary, the oppositional voice, will call to us to get us all worked up against one another, against the call of Christ, against the direction of Love. I caution us all in such a time to hold firm to these values of our faith.  This is the discipline Peter is speaking of and the reason to gather close to one another and allow for grace in transition.  I’ve been having lots of conversations with you… and I’m loving them. Such wisdom you have.  One dear friend whose faith I’ve always respected and admired said, “If we would have done all the things I wanted us to do along the way, we wouldn’t even be here.”  This is a voice of wisdom that cries for trust and patience and prayer.  In our pain, we may be quick to jump and say, “I have the answer! Follow me to freedom!”  But steady wins this race of faith. Steady perseveres through the pain. And this community is as grounded as any I have ever known.  And so we keep laughing and telling the stories of our faith.  We keep praying through the pain and trusting in the trials.  It’s the parental reality of being at the pool in the summer.  As someone shared with me, “93% of a parent’s time at the pool is spent “watching this” and adjusting goggles.”  So we keep watching this – the journey of the Body of Christ – and we adjust the goggles so we can see what God is seeing for us in this new season.

Peter is preaching this very thing and as he moves to the “Amen” of this prayer, he says what will come through our season of pain and wonder: “After a while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you.”  The Greek word for restore is kartarizein which is most commonly the word used for setting a fracture. It means to supply that which is missing or heal the gap or fill the space. God’s restoration is a true healing; an overwhelming grace.  This work of restoration, of support, of strength, of establishment – a firm foundation – is already moving in us.  “God is the very one doing this work within us even now.”  Peter could not be more confident in this … and neither can I.  And I’m leaning into that truth now more than ever.

Maybe you’ve got some big stuff you’re sorting through right now.  Some painful stuff.  Maybe it is happening outside of your control or maybe it has mostly come about through your own hand. It is in such a time when we start to determine where our faith is holding us and where it is most fragile.  Whether it is a major loss or a bad case of food poisoning, we are susceptible to the doubt of God’s mercy. And we look to our poster of Job and we hear his voice asking, “Why?”  But God does not give Job a single answer to his question.  Instead, God asks Job forty-three questions in a row including, most famously, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?”  Gulp. After another long and serious exchange, Job comes to get what others who have suffered before us have also accepted.  The question is not “Why did?” or “Why does” this happen but “When will…” it happen. And when it does, a deeper question may be “How can breakdown become break through?” And yes, I have to be real careful with this… as I would suggest for you… lest we sound like one of Job’s friends who were less than helpful when their friend was suffering.  Taylor reminds us, “No one who is not in pain is allowed to give advice to someone who is.”  And while our experience of loss and pain is always unique, it is true that there are many others who have been through the same sort of thing before.  But you have to live it this time. This time, it is yours. And you need to be kind to yourself along the way… just as we all need to be kind to others walking the same road.

Rituals help. Stay steady in your practice of worship… in studying with friends… in serving the meals and blessing the back packs and housing our neighbors without homes. The practices; the rhythms help us press through. Caring for another helps heal the soul too. A woman named Lucy was whittling away – she was not long for this world – but even as she lay in her bedroom near the front of her home, members from her house church gathered on her porch at night, singing hymns that she could hear through the windows. They covered her whole house with prayers. I trust that the hymns brought comfort to Lucy – I know it helped the people who sang them. (Taylor).

Barbara Brown Taylor tells the story of Earl, another man who was facing his second cancer surgery, uncertain how to prepare this time. He had been burned by church in the past and wasn’t much of a church goer. But the day before his surgery, his grown children came to his side as he sat in his office; a place he was day after day… a place where the light peered through the window just so every afternoon. They asked if they could lay hands on their dad. “Earl couldn’t think of a polite way to say “No,” so he let them, holding still as “one of them laid both hands on his hot, round head, and the other pressed down on both of his shoulders hard enough for him to know how heavy love could be. The three of them stayed that way for what was either a long time or no time at all.  In that posture, it was hard to tell.  Nothing was said, during or after. It was only years later that Earl would bring it up to his children, saying, “Remember that day you touched me in the sunlight? I still remember that day.”

These are the ways we find our way through pain, and can, like the scars they sometimes leave, serve as altars in the world – sign and symbol that God made us strong even in our weak moments or our weak places. God restored us, strengthened us, supported us, established us. And through it all, Christ leads on… always has, always will. Even when we are stifled or wounded or stunned still, the light of Christ keeps pressing and we trust the light. My office window offers me that grace-filled reminder every day.

My office chair swivels (which I absolutely love). And when I turn from my computer screen to remember that life is real and actual and not only lost in the virtual realities of Microsoft documents and email, I see the light.  Through the gift of architecture, the braces in my window form the shape of a cross… that just all day long reflect the sunlight onto my wall, onto my floor, all the way through me and beyond me… quietly, steadily, firmly and right on schedule. I turned one morning this week… a day when I was in the office as the sun was rising… and I simply swiveled and marveled at that cross on my wall   – draped across the shovel with which I turned dirt with the building team when we broke ground on this facility… through the art that graces the wall that is abstract but representative of the great many layers of life… light through a card board sign that I simply have been unable to recycle that says, “God says I bring something unique to the table.”  And there… right in the middle of it all… is the shadow of the cross that says, “Pain?  Yep. Suffering? Been through it.  Hope?  It’s coming.  Endurance?  Stick with it.” That light goes on and on… and you know what?  Whenever I forget it?  Whenever I get grumpy or lost in the pain or frustrated about change outside of my control, I can simply swivel my chair… and there it is again… the light of Christ as strong as ever. Peter knew that well. I say now what was all he had left to say as well:  “To him be the power forever and ever. Amen.”

[1] An Altar in the World. Barbara Brown Taylor. Harper One Publishing. 2009.  Any quotes from Taylor come from this work and each sermon in this series is inspired by different chapters of the book.  Her influence is scattered throughout this message and I am grateful for her insight and the vivid imagery of her writing.
[2] Letters of C.S. Lewis (April 29^th, 1959. Para 1, p. 285)

text :: Genesis 28: 10 - 22

theme verse :: "Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it!'" (Gen28:16)

How can we possibly know a God so vast and mysterious as intimately as we know the gift of rocking an infant in our arms? For the most part, we’ve boxed God in, giving parameters of our own making so that we can contain God in our own manageable ways and systems. And yet, when we leave the familiar confines of the places we have done such boxing of the Spirit, we still seem to have a gnawing sensation that there’s got to be more to God than that. What might happen if we commit to wake up to the fullness of God each day, open and ready to receive the Spirit of God that is everywhere all the time? Perhaps, like Jacob, we’d discover that the Lord is in this place and that one and that space over there and we did not know it. What do you do, however, once you know? You build an altar.

special music :: 'Here' (K.Jobe) : The Rising Band; Andi Gross, lead vocal

reader :: Rev Courtney Richards
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

special music :: 'Still, Still with Thee' (J.N.Beck/H.B.Stowe) : Susie Monger Daugherty, piano and vocal

Genesis 28: 10-22

Jacob left Beer-sheba and went toward Haran. 11 He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place. 12 And he dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. 13 And the Lord stood beside him and said, “I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; 14 and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. 15 Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” 16 Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!” 17 And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

18 So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. 19 He called that place Bethel; but the name of the city was Luz at the first. 20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, 21 so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then the Lord shall be my God, 22 and this stone, which I have set up for a pillar, shall be God’s house; and of all that you give me I will surely give one-tenth to you.”

I’ve never been all that good at building things.  Handyman kind of stuff, especially. You know, fix it projects and the like. It’s in my genes, I think.  My dad and I have some epic tales of project failures together. Our idea of a tool box was the drawer in the china cabinet that kept our hammer and one flat head screwdriver.  In high school, I had an old school truck – a classic, sort of.  At least it was to me. It was a dual exhaust situation with a tail pipe sticking out the back on both sides of the truck. While the truck had been updated in a number of ways, those old rusty tailpipes sort of stuck out like two sore thumbs.  Never to fear, dad and I were on the project. We found our way to the little automotive parts store in our little town and went on the hunt for a couple of shiny chrome exhaust pipe extensions.  Found a couple and went back home. Of course, those chrome extensions were about twice as big around as the tail pipes themselves. Slight oversight on our part. Not to fear, we were resourceful.  We went shopping again and found a sheet of fire-retardant material that would do the trick.  We’d cut that material, wrap it around the tailpipe before putting on the chrome extensions that just fit snugly on there like a glove once wrapped. We stepped back to appreciate the toil of our labor and admire the shine before I jumped in the truck to go show it off around town.  Down the driveway, quick right on Gantz Street before a second right on the Business Loop.  I wasn’t but a quarter-mile down the road before I hear this loud “Zing!” and subsequent sound of those beautiful chrome tail-pipe extensions bouncing down the road behind me. Turns out flame-retardant doesn’t include the insulated heat produced by the tailpipes themselves.  Did I say that I’m not so good at building things?

When we moved to our home in Tulsa, Dad and I spent the best part of two days trying to get the washing machine hooked up. The pipe didn’t match up with the wall connection and we made four or seven or twelve trips to Lowes to get this piece and that thing and, to stay on theme, some pipe extenders to connect the machine to the source on the wall. Surely this would work. The connectors looked like your pencil trail trying to find its way through a paper maze – upward and downward and sideways and the like trying to make it all work. Feeling defeated now that the washer had to sit a foot out from the wall to give space for this contraption we developed without ultimate success, I made a humble call to Dave Crandall who graciously came over and spent about five minutes solving our near 48-hour fix-it project. I’ve never been all that good at fix-it projects (and I’m thankful my wife has yet to shout Amen! this morning).

While building things in such a spirit isn’t my forte, we are going to spend this series building a few things together – an altar in the world as it were. The good news is that no matter our skill levels, our shape or size or color or background or faith level, we’ve got all we need within us to build these altars. As author and theologian Barbara Brown Taylor, whose work An Altar in the World[1] inspires this series says, “Whoever you are, you are human. Wherever you are, you live in the world, which is just waiting for you to notice the holiness in it [and build some altars of your life for the glory of God].” And then she drops this reassuring line for any of us who feel we don’t have what we need, what it takes, the depth to handle it, the worthiness to offer anything of meaning. She says  And thanks be to God, I’m trusting that to be true.

There’s a mentor in my life who always has a way of stepping back from any current circumstance, struggle, reality, or even joy with some Jesus perspective. Even when he takes a deep breath – you believe him more than most… like he’s on to something of the holy without even saying a word. A group of us were circled up once sharing struggles and uncertainties and anxieties about the future.  Soaking it all in, this mentor sat back in the quiet space and he breathed out the question, “What is saving your life right now?”  We all just sat there for a bit, maybe even a little stunned by the question.  It was simple enough but who has time to think about what’s saving us when we’re so busy fretting about the present or the future now that we’re dealing with all of these things that make us so anxious. “What do you mean?” someone asked. “Nothing’s saving my life.  Everything’s falling apart.”  Some more silence.  Some more thought.  And then one by one, everyone mustered an answer: “Well, my dog still loves me,” someone offered. “I noticed the stars for the first time in a long time the other night and they took my breath for a minute.”  Another said, “A friend that I hadn’t heard from in a while sent me a text right in the middle of the muck of it all that simply said, “I miss you,” and that saved me in that very moment.” And the more we sat and the more we listened, we began to realize what Elizabeth Barrett Browning had whispered so emphatically years and years ago:

Perspective.  Whatever anxiety you’re carrying this morning. Whatever struggle or heartache or uncertainty fills your soul, at the very same moment when we’re still enough, there’s something just waiting with all its beauty and courage and stability to hold the answer to the question, “What is saving your life right now?”  This is why we’ve invited Jacob into the story of our lives this morning.  He’s sort of between a rock and hard place – literally as he uses a stone as a pillow when he finally feels he’s far enough away from trouble that he can rest. He’s still a young man, running away from home because his whole family system had finally imploded. His dad was dying. His twin brother Esau was seen as competition to the father’s blessing, not an ally. Cultural custom meant Esau would receive the blessing.  But Jacob’s ethics were sort of in the pot. He was living the downward spiral that Anne Lamott put this way: “By the end I was deteriorating faster than I could lower my standards.” In all the scheming, Jacob got his mom to help him deceive his dad and brother. While mom was quick to say, “No collusion,” oh she was in it deep with Jacob. They schemed, and it worked. Jacob stole the blessing and there was more than a wedgie from his brother at stake for this dirty, selfish play for the blessing. Without time to even pack a toothbrush or his eye contact solution, Jacob is running for his life which leads us to this exhausted moment where a stone is the best option for a pillow and he doesn’t even care. He sleeps. And here come the dreams.

As the story is told, this ladder appears stretching from the ground to the heavens with angels going up and down.  (And Huey Lewis and the News playing the background: “Step by step, one by one, higher and higher. Step by step, rung by rung, climbing Jacob’s ladder.”)  And in a moment, God is there at Jacob’s side saying, “Remember I am with you.  I won’t leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” How’s that for reassurance when your life feels like you’re constantly out of breath and the treadmill just keeps going faster?  And you know how awful it feels when you can’t keep up with the treadmill of your life.  Comedian Jim Gaffigan said, “Watching a 90-year-old on an elliptical really inspires me to die in my 70’s.” It can be so exhausting trying to keep up with life’s demands. No matter our age, when we’re weary and defeated, couldn’t we all use the word from God that Jacob received that night?  “Remember I am with you. I won’t leave you until I have done what I have promised.” And as Jacob awakens, just a fallen and exhausted soul trying to get through another night, he realizes something was happening in his very presence. “Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place and I didn’t even have a clue.” And at this point, he’s jumped up and he’s just sort of all giddy.  He keeps talking to himself – “That. was. awesome!”   And how could he explain it?  How do we explain it when we’ve been changed?  We don’t know exactly how. We can’t say exactly why.  But there’s not a single one of us, I’m guessing, that can’t recall some moment in time when we could say, “Everything changed. That was the turning point.  That was the moment I saw things for what they really were… and what they really could be.”  Whether Jacob rubbed his eyes in hopes of seeing that ladder standing in front of him or the hopes to discover an angel print or two in the sand, he couldn’t deny that God knows what happened even if he couldn’t explain it. Jacob knew he had to mark that moment somehow, some way.  He didn’t go to sleep seeking a spiritual encounter or a conversion of his spirit but once he recognized it, he couldn’t help but change the direction of his reflection.

Too often, the direction of our reflection is our disappointments.  But if you start with your disappointments, you tend to end with your disappointments.  If you start with God, you end with gratitude. This is the shift for Jacob and he marks that space by building an altar to God with that stone pillow that held his head through the night.  Now he knows there is more to this life than his troubles, than his past, than his disappointments and failures. From here on out, he would look at the world with a different gaze. Where is your gaze this morning?  Is it on your disappointments?  Your fears?  Your frustrations?  Or is it on that whisper of God that says to you and me, “Hey, I got you. I won’t leave you until I have done what I’ve promised.”  Now I know this is easy to say. And we may get pumped about that promise for a minute but the minute we walk back to our cars, we can start to feel that same old gnawing inside – we long for more.  “Where’s God’s promise in this?” we ask.  We lose sight of what’s saving our lives right now and see instead the ailment, the separation, the hurt, the confusion, the emptiness.

But what we cannot forget is that God can drop a ladder anywhere, any time with no regard for any of our controlling expectations. All the sudden, even the parking lot becomes holy ground, altar worthy if you will.  I sat in my car one morning this week. It has been a bit of a week you could say. I pulled into that little parking space out of the south entrance of the building as I have for years now. We’re not that kind of church that has pastor’s parking spaces or anything.  But there’s a space or two that I have mostly landed in over time.  I’ve often sat in that space after my drive from home or from wherever I’ve been and listened to the last few minutes of a podcast that wasn’t quite over. Sometimes I’ll allow a song to play out before I dare turn the key to end the glory of that moment. Nobody cuts Jodeci or Neil Diamond off until they’re through. I’ve sat in that space, staring through that windshield to the brick wall and stained glass of our sanctuary as I finished a phone call from one of you, or my mom, or a colleague … where countless times I’ve prayed, or we’ve prayed, and times where there have been tears of joy or concern or any number of other emotions in between.  I’ve spent a lot of time in that parking spot.  And this particular morning, as I pulled in, breathing deep sighs as prayers in the place of words… pondering the new realities of our upcoming move, I saw that space differently, and the brick wall, and the stained glass… and it was holy.  And I built an altar right there in my soul.  I didn’t want to miss the moment. Surely God was there… and had been all those previous times in that very space … I just did not know it.  And my how things change when you know it… when you know the presence of God is closer than your very breath.  I snapped this picture, having placed a chalice on my dash that one of our youth had crafted out of a gum wrapper. Not sure who but in honor of that young person’s acknowledgement of the holy in something as simple as a gum wrapper, I tapped into that spirit and said, “God, for the gift of this sacred parking space – where you have saved my life again and again – thank you. Never let me take for granted the gift of your presence.”

Maybe that space is there for you too.  Could you look for it this week?  Could you, like Jacob, realize that it may be that the whole world is an altar and the divine could erupt anywhere. God shows up in whirlwinds and starry skies, in burning bushes, parking spaces and perfect strangers named Barry or Jamison or Analise. And when people wanted to know more about God, Jesus told them to pay attention to the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, to women kneading bread and workers lining up for their pay.

As we approach Independence Day, we sing some of the songs that remind us of where we live and certainly our longing for God’s presence to be among us in this land that is our home but what makes it Holy Ground is not any personal blessing we fight for individually but the way we treat the ground upon which we live and the people with whom we share the land. Teddy Roosevelt said, “It is not what we have that will make us a great nation; it is the way in which we use it.”  When we stop looking for God’s presence in the lives of those held in detention centers, or when we consider matters of healthcare, or when we don’t count the cost of war… we miss the call of God to see. We miss the heart of Christ that says, “See all of that through my eyes before you speak into that issue, that need, that concern, that person’s life. See it as I see and then respond as I would respond.”  And whenever I run that sentence past my own heart, I grieve my selfish desires that surely don’t align with that of Jesus as often as I’d like. But staying in that idle state of heart or mind doesn’t do me or anyone else any good; certainly not the case of Christ. Such is a place of perpetual angst and that only leads to bitterness. It’s like what Sara Buckley said, whose twitter handle is @nottheworstmom. She said, “I never buy chips because then I’ll eat them, so instead I look in my pantry every day and am disappointed that I don’t have any chips.” We have to shake this sense that there’s not heaven crammed all around us for it’s there and once we begin to recognize it, so much can change for the better.

This doesn’t mean the hardness of life goes away. It’s there and you don’t need me to remind you of that. Barbara Brown Taylor says, “Wisdom atrophies if it is not walked on a regular basis.”  Wisdom isn’t about information.  It’s what grows on us when we walk through the hard stuff. Taylor adds, “You need a body that gets hungry, feels pain, thrills to pleasure, craves rest.”  This is how we feel and learn and sense the presence of God. In this way, we can understand the Talmud wisdom that says No matter your current circumstance, may you hear that voice of God whispering into your life, “Grow, grow.”  And we do have some choice in that, you know. Like Jacob, most visions we’ll have in this life happen while we’re busy doing something else. It happens to us like a thunderstorm or catching a cold or like that moment you realize you’re falling in love. We may not control when those moments find you … BUT… our part is to decide how we respond. Much of the time, in those holy ground moments, we talk ourselves out of it. It wasn’t really a thing – it’s just the caffeine talking, or we can say, “Those God-moments aren’t real,” or “I’m too busy to give this any more pause.”  We’re all good at talking ourselves out of waking up to the presence of God.

The better option perhaps?  Taylor says, “I can set a little altar, in the world or in my heart. I can stop what I am doing long enough to see where I am, who I am there with, and how awesome the place is. I can set a stone or say a blessing before I move on to wherever I’m due next.”  Jacob’s family had imploded, his brother was out to kill him, and he had really been up to no good from day one but God showed up – right where he was to show him something he didn’t know.  Something he needed to learn.  Something that needed to ground his life moving forward. None of this was Jacob’s doing.  The only thing Jacob really did right was to see where he was… a holy space… and say so.  He turned up his pillow as an altar to say, “Yeah… in light of everything happening in my life, my weariness, my anxiety over change, my greatest fears holding me back from pressing forward…  God is here… always has been… always will be and I will praise that God who came to me where I was.”

I’ve never been that good at building things. But I’m going to build some altars this season. I’m finding heaven crammed all around me… often in the common spaces I mostly took for granted. My altars may be a little wonky… a little fragile at times… and may require a phone call to Dave Crandall to say, “I think I may need your help with this altar,” but I’ll do so with gratitude for it’s worth it. I’ve never built an altar that wasn’t worth the effort. It’s worth every investment of time and relationship, every gain and every loss and all that we’ve ever shared together… for it’s all an altar to the glory of God and it’s built with love. Will you build some with me?  The good news is… we’ve got everything we need to begin.

[1] An Altar in the World. Barbara Brown Taylor. Harper One Publishing. 2009.  Any quotes from Taylor come from this work and each sermon in this series is inspired by different chapters of the book.  Her influence is scattered throughout this message and I am grateful for her insight and the vivid imagery of her writing.

text :: Romans 5:1-5

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

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

music :: Susie Monger-Daugherty, piano

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

reader :: David Brock
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Bob writes next brings this closer to home:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

text :: Revelation 22: 12 - 21

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

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

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

reader :: Bill Queen
preaching :: Rev Courtney Richards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He begins:

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

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

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

John to the seven churches that are in Asia:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mayor GT Bynum shared with us yesterday:

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

Riverside Drive is reopened and so is the Gathering Place.

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

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

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

Yes, we need the rain to stop.

Yes, we need to keep watch.

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

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

Or avoiding the hard verses.

Or not having to change our mind.

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

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

And who are we to change that?

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

text :: Acts 8:26-40

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

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

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

reader :: Connie McFarland
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

text :: John 21: 15 - 25

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

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

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

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

reader :: Cameron Gough
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

text :: Luke 24: 1 - 12

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

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

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

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

reader :: Lisa Rhynes
preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

text :: John 13:1-20

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

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

reader :: Rev Courtney Richards

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

preaching :: Rev Mark Briley

reprise :: 'Song for Someone'

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rob then makes a seemingly random transition.  Play along…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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