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

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

Join Children Worship & Wonder, telling one of our favorites, the parable of the mustard seed.

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

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

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

Enjoy this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling a wonderful story of Peter healing a man in Jerusalem.

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

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

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

Enjoy this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of the ascension (and getting ready for next week: Pentecost!).

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

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

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

Enjoy this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of Jesus appearing to the disciples by the sea.

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THIS WEEK IN WORSHIP

> Welcome :: Rev. David Emery
> Call to Worship :: Nancy Pittman
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer ::  Rev. Kevin Howe
> ‘Blessed Assurance’
> Sermon  (text John 21: 1 – 17)  ::  Rev. David Emery
> ‘Waiting for My Real Life to Begin’ (Colin Hay)  ::  Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert
> Communion  ::  Rev. Courtney Richards; Ashley Gibson
> ‘Both of Us’ll Feel the Blast’ (Waterdeep)  ::  Isaac & Sarah Grace Herbert
> Welcoming New Members
> ‘Your First Day in Heaven’ (Hamlin) :: Todd Maxwell, Kelly Ford, Ron Lee, Barry Epperley, & Donald Ryan
> Benediction :: Nancy Pittman

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

Offerings are brought forward through online giving  or mailed to the church address. (You may also contact our business manager to set up autopay and other giving options.)

You can also find this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, telling the story of Jesus appearing to Thomas.

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Today, as we hear the story of Thomas, we realize his questioning actually shows us how to be faithful. This week’s photo offering borrows from our sermon theme picture: **Show us your question mark!** Draw one and take a picture. Build it out of coffee cups. Lay your children on the floor in the right shape. Line up those flower pots. Thinking about a new quarantine cut? 🙂 Have some fun!

We all have questions; let’s see your question marks! Post to Facebook and Instagram, and hashtag it: #CanWeBeHonest – #LoveStaysHome – #BEingHACC so we can find each other! (As always, you can just send your pictures to Courtney, too.)

> Call to Worship  ::  Andy & Jennie McMillan; Addie, Kendall, Embry
> Pastoral Prayer  ::  Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘Honest’ (Evens/Seibold/Wilson/Noel)  ::  Isaac Herbert
> Sermon  (text John 20: 24-29)  ::  Rev. David Emery
> ‘Why?’ (Harris/Koch/Clark)  ::  Kelly Ford & Rick Fraley
> Communion  ::  Rev. Kevin Howe, Jodi Howe; Bob & Sue Flint
> ‘How Great is Our God’ (Tomlin)  ::  Rick Fraley
> Benediction  ::  Bill & Betsy Richert

EASTER SUNDAY

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

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

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

> Scripture (Matthew 28: 1 – 10)  ::  Rev. Kevin Howe
> Call to Worship  ::  Colt Stubblefield
> ‘Living Hope’ (Phil Wickham)  ::  Rising Worship band
> Pastoral Prayer & Lord’s Prayer  ::  Rev. Darlene & Zoey Martinez
> Sermon  ::  Rev. David Emery
> ‘Joyful Joyful, We Adore Thee’ (arr.Maddux/Ryan)  ::  Kelly Ford & Donald Ryan
> Communion – Rev. Courtney Richards
> ‘Behold the Lamb’ (Townsend)  ::  Rick Fraley
> Benediction

Maundy Thursday
reflection

Rev. Kevin Howe

Please use our Connection Card to let us know you joined in worship today, and to share prayer concerns with our pastors, staff, and prayer team.
> Gather elements to serve as your bread and cup, to be shared during today’s reflection.
> text : John 6: 22 – 35
> music : ‘Be Near to Me’ (Enter the Worship Circle) :: Rising Worship Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

‘Do this in remembrance of me.’
All are welcome.

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

Your tithes and offerings can be offered through online giving

, or mailed to the church address. (Mail is collected daily.)

You can also find a 15-minute video of this week’s Children Worship & Wonder, this week exploring the story of Zaccheus. 

+ Welcome & Call to Worship :: Rev. Courtney Richards
guitar : Isaac Herbert

Here we are again … together, apart. Not distanced, but in solidarity: Here we are to worship. We’re so glad to have this podcast, a few moments to breathe, sing, pray, sit, listen, be. We hope you’ll use the virtual Connection Card email. Let us know you came to worship today, and share any prayer concerns, joy and needs and news that you might have, so our pastors and staff, elders and prayer groups, can care for you in this season.

Perhaps you want to pause already before we go further. Find a candle and bring it to where you’re listening. Get your Bible so that you can read the scripture with us in a few minutes. Find the right place to sit and listen with your heart. Close all the other apps, put down all the other devices. Take that pause now, if you’d like. We’ll wait.

And now here we are to worship. Here we are to say that God is still God. Here we are, beloved of God, beloved to one another, in our homes, creating sacred spaces, finding sacred moments … together, apart. Here we are. To worship.

+ Pastoral Prayer :: Rev. Kevin Howe

Let us pray together.

Holy God, Giver and Author of Life, Maker of all Creation, we gather our minds and hearts together today in your Spirit, to seek refuge from the storms of life. In you we find strength for our living, joy and energy for new tomorrows. Lord, grant us your peace. Fortify our faith.

We name this day that there have been many times when the tragedies in our lives and on the news overwhelm us. And Lord we confess that our hope can begin to falter in your good news. We see troubles many and bitter, and yet Lord, you restore life.

You have been our refuge and strength, our rock in times of need, and we ask Lord that you continue to make your presence known among our lives and in our world, especially for all those who suffer this day. There are many who need your healing touch, God, and we ask that you would enfold them and all of us in your never-failing care.

Lord use us to be instruments of your hope and love with the world, and may we continue to adhere to the ways of Jesus Christ your son, who taught us to pray saying…

+ The Lord’s Prayer
piano : Susie Monger Daugherty

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.

+ Reflection :: shifting toward delight :: Rev. Howe

In the 58th chapter of Isaiah, the prophet pleads with the people of Israel to delight in the Sabbath and to delight in the ways of the Lord. And so my wondering today is this: How does one make a shift to delight?

You know, often we tend to view delight as something we have no control over; we either find something to be delightful or we don’t. And it’s far easier to view things this way, because if enjoyment is something for which we have no control over, then we need not entertain the idea of trying something again that we did not like the first time. If we have no control over that in which we find delight, we can simply double down on our expressions of displeasure and disinterest in activities or circumstances that we did not previously find to be delightful.

I came into this season of social distancing and quarantines with a strong predetermination that these practices would be ones in which I would find no delight. And that was destined to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, as I was bound and determined to find everything unpleasant about these circumstances for which none of us have control over.

Then about a week back I came across an article on the internet that invited me to see my circumstances in a different way. The article was entitled “QuaranTraining,” and it spoke of the creative ways that people from within the mountaineering and rock-climbing community were choosing to fully embrace their time at home. Here is a community of people who much prefer travel and the outdoors to the confines of home. And yet the article contains images from climbers all over the world who are finding that there are in fact many ways to train for their sport of passion in their homes and apartments. Parents beware! The images show people scaling bookshelves, hanging from the underside of their stairs, setting protective gear between cabinets—and not for the sake of security but rather for a light-hearted laugh. One man suited up in the attire he would use for scaling the highest peaks in the world, so that he could climb his six-foot ladder and cleaning dust-bunnies from the crown moulding!

Rather than stew in resentment about not being able to participate in their outdoor pursuits, the community is finding ways to lean into the discomfort of these new circumstances, and is even finding some delight in it. Where there was once the mundaneness of home, there was new adventure. Where there was once lemons, now lemonade.

A great deal of suffering in our lives is bound up in our struggle to preserve our predetermined ways of thinking, feeling, and acting in the world. Because it is rare that the circumstances of our days align with our notion of what we would have for ourselves, it can be a continual struggle not to sit our own self-imposed quarantine of resentment toward how things are unfolding. But our faith calls us to continually refresh the way we see our circumstances, particularly about how we see adversity in our living.

I think about the Apostle Paul’s words in the 12th chapter of Romans, where he says

“Do not be conformed to the world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

It takes a real measure of faith to renew one’s mind – to free ourselves of our preconceived notions about how things should go, in this world in which we have very little control. But our faith offers us this beautiful invitation: To choose a new way of seeing our circumstances, to take up Christ’s invitation to lean into adversity with the confidences of God’s care and God’s presence. And when God is in the picture, there is always the audacious possibility that we will find delight.

This is my hope: That we will lean into God during this season, to find comfort and security in God’s presence, so that we may see our lives and circumstances anew, open to the radical possibility of delight.

+ ‘Precious Lord, Take My Hand’ :: Avenue; Barry Epperley, director

+ Scripture :: Isaiah 58: 1 – 14

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

6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of injustice,
    to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
    and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
    and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
8 Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
    and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator[a] shall go before you,
    the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
9 Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
    you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am. 

If you remove the yoke from among you,
    the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
10 if you offer your food to the hungry
    and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
    and your gloom be like the noonday.
11 The Lord will guide you continually,
    and satisfy your needs in parched places,
    and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
    like a spring of water,
    whose waters never fail.
12 Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
    you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
    the restorer of streets to live in. 

13 If you refrain from trampling the sabbath,
    from pursuing your own interests on my holy day;
if you call the sabbath a delight
    and the holy day of the Lord honorable;
if you honor it, not going your own ways,
    serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs;
14 then you shall take delight in the Lord,
    and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth;
I will feed you with the heritage of your ancestor Jacob,
    for the mouth of the Lord has spoken. 

+ Reflection : Prepare: delight :: Rev. Richards

We do not like being told what to do. We just don’t. The pioneering spirit of American lore is ingrained in us. (We ignore the parts of that history that are problematic.) We’ve spent our lives, and certainly our adult years, with incredible benefits and privileges. (Even the times that we’ve been down and out, or left behind, or gone without, we were still so far ahead of the curve …) We’ve also been told, and come to believe, that in this country, in this society, in this church, in this family, we can be and do anything we want.

And right now? In this moment in world, national, state, city, neighborhood, family life? It’s just not true. We cannot do and be everything we want to … right now. We cannot see all of the people we want to see – at least not the way we’re used to seeing them. We cannot do all of the things we want to do – at least not the way we’re used to doing them. We cannot go all of the places we want to go – and even the places we can go are fraught with restriction and limits.

We don’t like limits. We do not like being told what to do. It’s cramping our style, and changing our plans. It’s having a financial impact, and an emotional one. This has disrupted our schedule, our work, our school, our homes, our love, our grief, our health, and our spirits.

And?

It is making us sit still. And listen. Carefully.
We are getting a right-in-our-face lesson about caring for our neighbors. And learning that our definition of neighbor has always needed a little expanding.

It is making us think about our choices.
We are being forced to consider what is important, and what is not, and why we’ve always thought it was.

It is making us make things.
Phone calls to people we would usually just see. Appointments with coworkers we would ordinarily just go talk to. Meals with ingredients we didn’t even realize were in our house, let alone could go together!

This season has sparked some of the most creative communications – from drivewalk chalk, to posters in the window, to combined technologies across miles and time zones.

We’re expanding our understanding of education, what it is and how it happens and who’s involved. (And when we said over and over that we HAVE to figure out how to pay our teachers the money they deserve, we were absolutely not kidding.)

More of us are finding ways to move our bodies, even when our social movement is restricted. From breathing exercises, to living room yoga, to backyard catch, to neighborhood walks with dogs that are wondering why they’re suddenly not the ones who have to ask to go outside!

We’re picking up food from local businesses, and writing actual letters and using actual stamps. We’re cleaning out closets and dropping off donations. We’re paying attention to how we interact, and we’re being intentional with our words and with our movements. And we are remembering that everything we do can be done with someone else in mind.

And we’re finding – at least we’re trying to find – ways to reset our spirits. We’re digging out music we haven’t listened to in a while. That stack of books we’ve been staring at is actually getting read. We’ve rediscovered our love for crosswords, and jigsaw puzzles, and coloring books. And we are gathering with our church friends: listening to worship, reading prayers, doing video call bible studies, and calling and texting and emailing just to say hello.

Is not this the fast God chooses? That the oppressed would be released, that the lost would be found, that the discarded would be regathered, that the sabbath would be honored and the rhythm of life would be that which honors the best of who we are and who God intends us to be?

As you read and heard our Isaiah text today, adding verses as we have each week, and completing the chapter this time, we may at first think ‘Delight?! Where on earth can we find that right now?’

But it’s right there, in the text, and in us:

When we actively choose not to go our own way, but to honor the sabbath, to remember God’s holiness. When we feed on the heritage of our ancestors and delight in the keeping of God’s intentions for us … not for us as individuals, but recognizing that God’s desire and delight is for all of us, for everyone of us, all together.

So this week, while we are still sheltering, still safe, still healthy, still at home … where will you find your delight? Where will God’s delight be revealed to you?

Will you find a word here in Isaiah, or in the Psalms, or in a Gospel, and pray that word over your family? Will you write it on a post-it note … or sit it at your desk … or tuck it in as a bookmark … see it and repeat it and hold it close as strength and guide?

Will you remember, in the moments when anxiety kicks in, when fear comes too close, when case reports and patient counts become too real – will you remember that everything you feel is fine to feel, and normal, and part of this whole wild process. And will you remember that God is still, at the same time, right there with you?

Will you sit at an ordinary meal, and see it as communion – a sharing in the body of Christ? Whether by yourself, or with whoever else is sheltered with you, can you see that bread, that cup, that plate, those gifts, as the peace of Christ given to you, the salvation of Christ for your and for all? Can you even say those words, to yourself and to each other, calling each other by name … These are the gifts of Christ, for you

These are my prayers for us today, in this season that is not at all what we thought it would be. On this last Sunday of March, Kevin and I planned to lead worship out of this interim season the way we led into it: sitting side by side. But we are in spirit. And we are in spirit with each of you, rejoicing to welcome our new Lead Pastor, Rev David Emery, and know that you are praying with us for him as he leads us through this next moment and he joins us in worship next week.

So these are the gifts of Christ, given for you. These are the things I’m praying:

That we would delight in the Lord.
That we would take nourishment from all that has gone before us.
That we would honor God’s intent for us by living and loving with intention and compassion.

That we would trust, and not be moved.

+ ‘Those Who Trust’ :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

+ Benediction :: Rev. Richards
guitar: Isaac Herbert

Our words of benediction today, from Quaker singer/songwriter Carrie Newcomer. We’ll link to this full piece in the transcript; she is well worth your attention.

Now I don’t know and never will
What rises in the evening still.
How empty cups keep getting filled
How healing comes and hope rebuilds 

Today I sense that all is near
Evermore and soon to be
Within us and between us is
Is everything we need.
                                                                                                                  (Carrie Newcomer, Everything We Need)

Go in peace, beloved of God. Go and stay : stay at home, stay in health, stay with God. Amen.

+ Welcome & Call to Worship :: Rev. Courtney Richards
Our highest call as people of faith, as those who follow the ways of Jesus, is to love. For now, love looks like an empty sanctuary. It looks like love of neighbor, over love of self. It looks like concern for the greater good, over doing what we’d rather. We know that faith is active, that it is lived out, that it moves and breathes in the world. But today – for a number of days we don’t yet know – we’re moving differently, and breathing slower, and we’re doing all of this each in our own place. Yes, it is strange. And it’s something we’re still sorting out. What we know for sure is that sanctuary is more than a room. It is the soul-deep truth that we are held and loved by the God who made us. For now, love looks like an empty sanctuary. But God is here, wherever we are, and sanctuary is wherever we find it.

+ ‘Sanctuary’  ::  Rev. Kevin Howe

+ “Pandemic” (Lynn Ungar 3-11-20)  ::  Rev. Darlene Martinez

 What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath –
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing.  Pray.  Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down. 

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny that now.) 

Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch. 

Promise this world your love –
for better or worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

+ Pastoral Prayer / Lord’s Prayer :: Rev. Howe

Holy God, Word among all words,
you were there in the beginning.
You remain still the most important word
that is spoken into our lives;
one of grace and love and mercy.
We give thanks for the word of Good News
that you have imprinted on our hearts,
and we ask that you give us awareness of that Word this day,
and the strength and courage that comes from knowing You are with us.

Take our words and live your grace through them.
Transform our words and change our lives through them.
Take our voices and use them to speak out against the injustices
that are out of line with what You would have this world be.
And when our words are too deep to speak aloud,
we pray that your Spirit will speak them for us,
so that all the words of our mouths
and the meditations of our hearts
will be acceptable in your sight.
We lift these things to You, O God,
Word beyond all words.
Amen.

+ ‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness’ :: Kelly Ford and Mark DeLuca

+ from ‘For Courage’ (John O’Donohue)  ::  Rev. Martinez

Close your eyes.
Gather all the kindling
About your heart
To create one spark.
That is all you need
To nourish the flame
That will cleanse the dark
Of its weight of festered fear.

+ Reflection  ::  “change”  ::  Rev. Howe

Change: the only constant everyone agrees upon and that everyone resists. Every day—at church, at home, at work—we are expected to adapt, to modify, to alter, to change. We know beyond a shadow of a doubt there is absolutely nothing in this world that is not changing, and for the most part, we fight every minute of that change. Especially, when it comes to deeply instilled routines and patterns of being.

Even trying to putting on our socks in a different order can make us feel like we’re starting our day off on the wrong foot. There are actual physiological explanations about the neurological connections in your brain that explain why this is so discombobulating, but the bottom line is: having to learn a new way of doing things—a new way of communicating, a new working, a new way of being church, does not come without its fears and anxieties.

Fear and anxiety are natural reactions when we cannot see the future or know for sure what will happen next. But the invitation to follow Jesus is an invitation to trust God with an unknown future. And this commitment comes with a promise. The promise of the gospel is that we can choose abundant life over our fears of what will come next. It is a promise that God will walk beside us and will equip us to be faithful even when our circumstances demand that we live into new ways of being and doing.

Our current context requires that we do things a new way. It‘s unchartered territory for many communities of faith, but the promises of God remain: God takes the people who are willing to lean in to the gospel during the changes of life, and with them God does beautiful, beautiful things.

In this time, what new and beautiful things will God do through you?

“Behold: I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” – Isaiah 43:19

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

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

+ Reflection  ::  “prepare: satisfied”  ::  Rev. Richards

We’ve been reading Isaiah 58 together this Lenten season. Beginning with vs. 1 – 5 on Ash Wednesday, we’ve added verses the last two Sundays. Today, our new verses, verses 10 and 11 … satisfying the needs of the afflicted, the Lord guiding us continually, the spiritual strength and refreshment of never-failing waters.

Wow. I feel like the fact that this happens to already be our text for today … for today of all days, for all that our worship on this morning changes and means … it is a sermon in itself, just as it is.

It is impossible to shape a theological reflection, to consider a scripture and what it might say to us, and not address the events of the day. That’s part of the purpose, right?

Here is text, a sacred word from within our faith history … words spoken to and about God, words gathered to represent God’s speaking to us, words shaped and retold by people who encountered God and wanted others to know what it meant and that it mattered.

We take these sacred texts, and we consider how others have shared them … who was the original audience? What was going on that the speaker or writer was trying to address? How were these words held or shared within the community? How have other audiences absorbed these same words in the generations since?

And then we do the work of the ‘so what?’ … so what does this mean for us? All these generations removed from the original scene, entire millenia past the prophet’s first speaking, what do we do with a call to fasting, to compassion, to justice, to mercy?

We sit in our homes, on a spring Sunday morning, and listen to worship we can’t see, with people we won’t join for a while, and imagine a place and a day when our familiar room is filled again with laughter and song and familiar greetings and ritual practices.

What do we do with this sacred text, these words of the prophet?
We get out our church directory, and we pick up the phone, and we call the person we usually sit next to, and we ask how they are, and how they feel, and what they need.

We keep our eyes open for new ways to be together … for writing notes to people we haven’t seen in a while … for texting happy birthday wishes and anniversary greetings. We take advantage of the technology at our fingertips to see each other’s faces even when we can’t be in each other’s spaces.

We read that book we’ve been meaning to. We choose a scripture to calm our spirits. We search out music that brings meaning. We watch our children, and our friends, and our neighbors, create new things in the midst of this wild and unknown season.

We remember the meaning of a fast. That Ash Wednesday started us into a season called Lent, where we’ve said from the beginning that it isn’t a diet plan, it isn’t about giving something up to get credit for being good at being good. We hear the words of the prophet bringing the word from the Lord that the fast to seek is one that clears distraction, and sets aside personal privilege, and brings forth community, and empowers those who need encouragement, and cares for those who need help, and does it all in the name and for the sake of the One who is in and above and beyond all that we could ever fear, or know, or imagine.

This feels like a very dark time. And in so many ways it is. In biblical imagery, darkness is often a way to name what feels like the absence, instead of the presence, of God. And so light is its opposite; light is the image that brings God closer to us, and us closer to God.

So maybe right now, wherever you are, whoever you’re with, maybe right now you can light a candle.
Sit for a minute with that light.

Take a slow breath in, and then let that breath out.
Feel the yoke of worry release from your shoulders.
Break free of the urge to dismiss, and demean, and even just to be frustrated.
Breathe in, looking toward that light.
Unburden your spirit of the evil and distraction that wants to rest there.

Later today, maybe even in just a few minutes, when you’re washing your hands – again – for those 20 seconds … consider that blessing of water that never fails. One of our great resources in this public health moment is the simple task of hygiene – of opening a faucet, of using soap, and washing our hands. As the water runs over your skin, as it does its work on you and for the health of the community, sing a doxology, give thanks.

This is a season of uncertainty and chaos. It can also be a season of creativity and wonder. Of inspiration and miracle. Of God’s breaking in and light coming forth. That is the promise of our faith, and the foundation of our life … that God will make a way, where it seems there is no way. The words of the prophet remind us, when we focus on the work that is ours to do, when we remove the distractions that tell us we can’t do it, then the Lord will be satisfied and we will be strengthened, and the life-giving waters of grace and mercy will flow with abundance.

Our time spent physically apart from one another does not mean God is apart from us. God is closer than ever, and the Spirit is at work to bind our hearts with steadfast love, with relief for our parched and anxious souls, with streams of life, which never fail.

+ ‘My Feet Are On the Rock’ (I Am They) :: The Rising Band; Isaac Herbert, leader

+ Benediction  ::  Rev. Richards

Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping;
that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest in peace.

Lord, you now have set your servant free 
to go in peace as you have promised;

For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, 
whom you have prepared for all the world to see:

A Light to enlighten the nations, 
and the glory of your people Israel.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: 
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. 

Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping;
that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest with peace.
(The Song of Simeon)

Sunday March 1 2020

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

Isaiah 58: 1 – 7
Shout out, do not hold back!
    Lift up your voice like a trumpet!
Announce to my people their rebellion,
    to the house of Jacob their sins.
2 Yet day after day they seek me
    and delight to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that practiced righteousness
    and did not forsake the ordinance of their God;
they ask of me righteous judgments,
    they delight to draw near to God.
3 “Why do we fast, but you do not see?
    Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”
Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day,
    and oppress all your workers.
4 Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight
    and to strike with a wicked fist.
Such fasting as you do today
    will not make your voice heard on high.
5 Is such the fast that I choose,
    a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush,
    and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast,
    a day acceptable to the Lord? 

6 Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of injustice,
    to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
    and to break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
    and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Over dinner recently, a teenager I know entertained her dad’s friends by imitating him, repeating the phrases used in their house most often:
     Where does that go?
     Why is that light on?
     Are you done in that room?
     Where does that go? {That one is repeated fairly often.}

We all need course correction from time to time. In our daily habits, in our personal relationships, in our local and national organization, sometimes just in our own self-understanding.

In biblical history, in our faith history, that is where prophets come in. (And no, if you see him sometime soon, I did not just equate the father of that teenager to a prophet. Don’t let him think I did.)

Isaiah is one of the ‘major prophets’ we turn to, who had a great deal to say about where the people of Israel were, and how they were behaving, and what they should actually probably be doing instead. We are a few days into the season of Lent, when we take time to look more closely at our spiritual practices and see where we can more closely shape ourselves into what God has in mind.

‘Lay down your burden.’ ‘Take up your cross.’

In the New Testament, we take both instructions from Jesus … but they seem contradictory. How can we follow them both at once? Perhaps we can take this less as pressure and more as permission: to not do it all but to do what we can, to know that who and how we are IS what Jesus desires, and that God’s grace will do the work to make us work as we need to in the world.

The Christian recognition of Lent begins with Ash Wednesday and moves through 40 days: a season of releasing that which controls us, those things to which we cling too tightly, anything that keeps us from depth of experience and fullness of faith.

As we look toward the coming-again Christ, this Savior reborn in resurrection, how do we overcome fear and death to bring about new life? How do we prepare ourselves? What do our hearts need to be ready for a Messiah?

The prophet Isaiah has guidance to offer. We’re going to spend this month’s Sundays looking at Isaiah 58. Just this one chapter, which we started on Wednesday night, and we’ll continue to add verses each week. We want to take a slow walk through a significant text, taking a careful look at the things that make for holiness, preparing to live life that brings us closer to God.

Prophets have ‘uncommon access’ to God’s will and intent. We see them in roles similar to the work of shamans in other cultures.

Prophets aren’t predictors or fortune tellers. They know the future God will bring, but not because of a crystal ball. “Rather, the prophets know in deep and intimate ways about the character of God”, about the ways God has worked and still can work in the world, reminding the people to align themselves with that.

Sometimes they come from outside the normal scene, to speak a new word into community. New

insight or caution and correction can encourage and empower transformation that isn’t otherwise possible with someone you know. But sometimes they are part of a culture and community, and so speak into social setting as advocates for things that are in line with God’s will.

Prophets speak as the word of God and spirit of God moves them. The poetry of prophecy reveals the reimagination of life when lived in God’s attention, purpose, and intent.

The declarations of the prophets are generally about judgment and deliverance: Judgment against those who resist will surely end badly. But deliverance says that “in, through, and beyond judgment, God will work newnesses that are beyond {anything imagined}.”

The most important part of prophetic declarations is that they reorient us: They set the entire world as the arena of God’s faithful work, showing how different life can be when God, and God’s will for the world, is the deciding factor in our action and life together.[1]

The season of Lent is about spiritual disciplines and the work of preparing, of opening our spirits for deeper encounters with God’s longing for us.

In the gospels, we receive instruction from Jesus about the ways we can prepare to be as God desires us. Give, pray, and fast.
     When you give charity, he says … act like you’re not giving. Don’t show it.
     When you pray … go into your room, shut the door, and do it there. Don’t let people hear you.
     While you’re there praying … quit going on and on, just pray and get on with it. God already knows.[2]

This paradoxical, upside-down nature of the gospel keeps us guessing and sometimes it’s hard to know what we’re supposed to do and when and how. Generations before Jesus, those who taught and spoke into his own ancestral community – these prophets – like Isaiah – had something to say about the practices of fasting and giving as well.

As we’ve said, Lent has traditionally been marked by penitential prayer – study, self-reflection, the who-am­l-and-what-have-I-done kind of prayer. But the extension of that – the enhancement of it – is fasting.

Fasting, in this sense, is not the lose-10-pounds-in-3-days Hollywood juice cleanse. The idea of fasting is removing distractions. That’s where ‘giving things up’ came from. While it is theoretically our understanding all the time, we take this 40 day season to look more closely, to be sure that nothing is in between us and our goal of being closer to God. We need to abstain from things that get in the way. And things are always in the way.

But when we remove them – when we fast from what distracts us, when we create a space – God’s hope moves in. We admit that we’re not who we should be – and there is room for God there. The whole entire idea of Lent in the first place – the whole idea of reflection and discipline and penance – is that in the end we are something better, somewhere closer to God, somehow truer to ourselves, than when we started.

Here’s the catch: Sometimes it’s our fasting itself that gets in the way.

What’s the question we ask during Lent (assuming we know what Lent is and that we’re maybe supposed to do something with it)? What do we say? We talked about this a few days ago at Ash Wednesday worship.

“What are you giving up?” we ask
Do we ask – What do you want God to make of you?
     Do we ask – How can I pray for your spirit to be renewed?

Very rarely.

We say, with more than a little anguish and more than a little self -righteousness: “I can’t have cokes.” Or “We gave up bread.” Or “I’m not spending money on that.” Or “Why does Girl Scout Cookie Time have to come during Lent?!”

We often fast like it’s a badge of honor. Like it’s about us. It has been said that “Lent wasn’t created to resurrect failed New Year’s resolutions, but to put to death the very thing that makes resolutions necessary.”[3]

If whatever we think we’re supposed to be giving up is keeping us from paying attention to what God is trying so very hard do in our lives … if we’re so busy talking about the fast we choose that we aren’t actually fasting toward faithfulness, then maybe we should give up giving up.

Just a few chapters ahead of where we read from Isaiah today, the ones who were to be on watch over a lavish banquet God had prepared, had left their posts, and let it be devoured by wild animals. As today’s chapter opens, the prophet is told to warn and proclaim loudly, shouting out and lifting his voice like a trumpet.

After God’s word to the prophet about his responsibility to speak, the voice changes, and the prophet addresses the people themselves, with the twin calls to justice and righteousness the clear focus.

The people feel God has let them down, that God hasn’t seen their acts of faithfulness, or noticed how much they’ve done; they think God hasn’t cared about their fasting. The prophet doesn’t give them sympathy, but says basically ‘You’re right. God doesn’t care.’ Because there is a vast difference between what you say you’re doing to set things right with God, and the fact that right in the midst of your community, actual injustice still exists.

When fasting becomes just ritual, the results aren’t honored. The fasting that is done should lead to justice for the community, not credit for the individual. “Fasting that doesn’t alleviate these conditions, but worsens them, stands under prophetic condemnation. Fasting is meant to be a response of penitence and contrition, seeking God’s favor. Such attitudes are inconsistent with oppression and disregard for those in need.” Saying we’re seeking God, and striving for holiness, and longing for God’s presence – whether for the first time or for a long time, for 40 days or 40 years or just for 40 minutes on a Sunday morning – saying that’s what we’re doing doesn’t matter if the results do not show in our community.[4]

The prophet’s focus is on righteousness and justice. Righteousness means right relationship with God. This can only be found by investment in community, showing attention especially to the needs of the poor and oppressed. Those who are righteous live as contributors to community, to improve and carry on the community’s well-being.

This means recognizing our place in systems of oppression. It means admitting that privilege isn’t just a buzzword, but a reality. In Proverbs, the word righteous refers especially to those who live with integrity, whose very presence and actions contribute to the stability of the community.

Righteousness is taking care of the community, and is the primary marker of what God’s heavenly reign looks like.[5]

And so here at the start of Lent, only a few days out from being marked with ash and oil, having blessed the dirt and remembered our beginnings in it …

We are here to confess our sin. Sin, not in the sense of actions that are ‘bad,’ or even in the sense of inaction being harmful. Sin in the sense of separation. Sin as a state of being. We are here to confess that we are not always very good at this human being job of ours. We are here to say that we do not always get it right.

And God is here to remind us that sometimes, though, we do. And to remind us that always, God does. God gets it right, and trusts us to live toward righteousness and justice.

Frederick Buechner says

Justice does not preclude mercy. It makes mercy possible. Justice is the pitch of the roof and the structure of the walls. Mercy is the patter of the rain on the roof and the life sheltered by the walls. Justice is the grammar of things. Mercy is the poetry.[6]

So we are here for both, in this season of Lent, these weeks in which we prepare. We are here for righteousness and hope, we will fast for justice and mercy.

We are here to turn over our need to judge. We are here to sacrifice our need to be right. We are here to remember that being privileged is not the same as being entitled, and that being here first doesn’t mean we’re the most important ones here. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our superiority complex, and receive the mercy of humility and gratitude.

We are here to relinquish our spiritual pride. We are here to remember that our faith was given to us as a gift, and we attend to it imperfectly, at best. We are here to rein in our quickness to make demands of others, or dictate to them a standard we ourselves refuse to uphold. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our arrogance, and receive the mercy of forgiveness and compassion.

We are here to cast out the demon of careless words. We are here to admit that sometimes we say things because we know they’ll make a point, and sometimes we say things not giving any thought to how they sound, or what they imply. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our carelessness, and receive the mercy of wisdom and thoughtfulness.

We are here to do away with the sense that we are not worthy. Even in the midst of remembering our flaws, let’s keep in mind that light still shines through cracked windowpanes, and blades of grass come up through broken sidewalks. We come to the altar of justice, fast from our self-doubt and shame, and receive the mercy of wholeness and new life.

Buechner goes on to speak of this freedom in faith, the freedom Isaiah reminds us to proclaim:

We have freedom to the degree that the master who we obey grants it to us in return for our obedience. We do well to choose a master in terms of how much freedom we get for how much obedience.

To obey the law of the land leaves us our constitutional freedom, but not the freedom to follow our own consciences wherever they lead.

To obey the dictates of our own consciences leaves us freedom from the sense of moral guilt, but not the freedom to gratify our own strongest appetites.

To obey our strongest appetites for drink, sex, power, revenge, or whatever leaves us the freedom of an animal to take what we want when we want it, but not the freedom of a human being to be human.

The old prayer speaks of God ‘in whose service is perfect freedom’. The paradox is not as opaque as it sounds. It means that to obey Love itself, which above all else wishes us well, leaves us the freedom to be the best and gladdest that we have it in us to become[7]

We will spend forty days seeking forgiveness and justice, and we will leave having received mercy and freedom at Easter. We are marked, on Ash Wednesday and always, not so that others will ask and give us credit, but so that during Lent and well beyond we see, and we ask, and we know that God is our God, and we are God’s people.

Is such the fast that I choose,
    a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush,
    and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast,
    a day acceptable to the Lord? 

Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of injustice,
    to undo the thongs of the yoke,
    to let the oppressed go free…

[1] on prophets, Walter Brueggemann, Reverberations of Faith: A Theological Handbook of Old Testament Themes (WJK 2002), p158-161
[2] Matthew 6, my very loose paraphrase
[3] This was quoted by someone I read but do not know. It was cited only as ‘C. Holtz,’ so I cannot fully reference the source, but so appreciate the reflection.
[4] Christopher R. Seitz, ‘Isaiah’, New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary (Abingdon 1996), pp498-503.
[5] on righteousness, Brueggemann, pp177-178.
[6] Frederick Buechner, Beyond Words (HarperCollins 2004), p209.
[7] Buechner, p119-120.

1 John 4:7-12
Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. ⁸Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. ⁹God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. ¹⁰In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. ¹¹Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. ¹²No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.

¹⁹We love because he first loved us. ²⁰Those who say, ‘I love God’, and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. ²¹The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.  

At the center of the Christian faith, there is a story. It is the story of God’s unending love for the world. It is the story of the sovereign God of the universe choosing to come close enough to touch, and hold, and embrace, and deny, and betray, and crucify. We Christians tell the story of a God who is not distant and unapproachable, but who is available to each of us so that we may know that we are loved. But this divine love story is not just one that is to be told. It is one in which we are called to live. You and I are a part of the story of God’s love for the world.

During this sermon series, we’ve looked at four Greek words that are often translated into the English word, “love.” And we’ve aimed at faithful reflection on each—teasing out the differences so that we might better understand the complexities of loving relationships and make good on our call to love God and love neighbor. And so we’ve considered storge, or familial love—the kind of love that takes place through healthy family relationships. We’ve reflected on phileo, brotherly love, as it has been referred to, or that tie that binds us to those in whom we find deep and abiding friendship. We have spoken of eros, the love expressed through intimate, physical relationships. And today we conclude our series by considering the word agape.

Agape is a word mentioned often in the New Testament and refers to the love that God exercises towards the world through Christ. Agape is unconditional love that transcends and persists regardless of circumstance as noted in the ways that Christ has suffered for love of the world and of us. Agape is not an abstract proposition. God’s love is not simply a theory. This love is about doing. We see that in Jesus. His love was not abstract, but rather concrete, active, lived love. And it is love that is bound to transform those who take it seriously.

During the brief time that I lived and worked in Atlanta, I attended a congregation there and was engaged in a Sunday School class with other young professionals. We met each week before worship service for prayer and bible study, and we were quite content with the rhythm and nature of our brief time together each Sunday. That is, until one day a visitor showed up to class. He was another twenty-something like the rest of us who had apparently been visiting many different churches around the area. And when we asked him if he’d be willing to share a little about his search for a community of faith he said to us, “Well, it’s been pretty interesting. I’ve gone to some churches and I heard a lot about Jesus but very little about the world. I’ve gone to other churches and I heard a lot about the world but not much about Jesus.” Then he continued, “Last Sunday in this congregation, I heard a lot about Jesus and a lot about the world. But here’s my question: if I hang out at this church, will I meet people who are like Jesus?”

Well, of course, we were all taken by surprise at this serious, yet simple question. And I looked into his eyes for any signs that he was just being cynical or accusing. But I have to tell you, what I saw were honest eyes asking a clear and earnest question: Does following Jesus show?

That question has stuck with me through these years. Is our love of God, our commitment to Jesus Christ, visible in the way we live? Many in our time are justifiably skeptical. They have heard messages of exclusion and judgment thinly covered in Christian language. They’ve seen acts of hatred done in the name of Christ and watched churches preach love while practicing condemnation. Does following Jesus show in the way that we live our lives?

According to our passage this morning from 1 John, there is a straightforward and unambiguous way to determine this. The test is this: Do we love one another? It is as simple—and as difficult—as that. Do we love one another?

Back in the day, before memes became the popular means for communicating all of life’s clichés, there were bumper stickers. I still see a few vehicles out on the roadways that have their back end wallpapered with these stickers, offering those of us behind them the opportunity—or misfortunate—of reading whatever the driver thought was worthy of risking the resale value of their car. There have been a few that have stuck with me over the years, one in particular that left me with a bit of sticker shock. It said, “I love my wife, I love my dog; but everyone else can go to …” – well, you can guess the destination. And there I was at the stop light thinking to myself, “My wife, my dog”… that’s a pretty short list to have to keep track of.

You know, for reasons I can’t begin to explain, there are so many folks who believe that it is perfectly okay for us to pick and choose—among various lists and categories—those whom we will love and those whom we will not. But agape does not take into account these categories that we construct. If we are to follow the example of Jesus, we are not called to just love those that are easiest to love, or those most capable of responding in kind. Our faith proclaims an all-encompassing love accompanied by sacrificial acts.

For years now, one of the ways that this congregation has taken action toward loving all people has been through our collaboration with Week of Compassion. To get everyone up-to-speed, WEEK OF COMPASSION is the relief, refugee and development mission fund of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Our support of Week of Compassion has enabled us to show compassion through disaster response, humanitarian aid, sustainable development and the promotion of mission opportunities.

The impact that we have through Week of Compassion is great and widespread—both here and abroad, but I thought you’d be interesting in learning that Week of Compassion helps to fund a program called Global Mission Internships, which allows young folks between the ages of 21 and 30 the opportunity to serve alongside one of our many international mission partners.

To place young adults in the missionary context allows them to explore ways that we can extend the love of God to others across the globe. It is a powerful program. We currently have a couple from within our congregation that is serving through this program. Dusty and Kelsey Riebel just began serving alongside on of our denomination’s partners based out of Quito, Ecuador, and I very much look forward to hearing from them about how the Spirit is at work in that place.(1)

From 2007-2009, I also served as Global Mission Intern, thanks to the support of Week of Compassion. I was able to follow a calling to ministry alongside our sisters and brothers in Honduras; an experience that has deeply shaped my faith. And it was during my time there that my eyes were opened to the nature of agape love in a way it had not yet been revealed in my life.

I was on my way to meet with local leaders of a small, far flung village that was located in the heart of the Mosquito Coast, a massive expanse of rainforest most famously highlighted in a strange Harrison Ford movie of the same name that came out after the original Star Wars movies. There, in the jungles of La Mosquitia, there are no roads, the river is the highway—and long dugout canoes, called pipantes, are the means of transportation to your destination. These pipantes are impressive vehicles but, being wood, are also vulnerable to the occasion encounter with rapids that come at the rainy season, like the ones that flipped the vessel that I was traveling in…dumping us passengers and our contents into the quickly moving waters. I was soaked, but worse yet-already two days travel into the jungle, I was without my pack–no snacks, no clothing, no money…just little ol’ wet me.

I arrived at Krausirpe that afternoon and, in this strange twist of events, my first impression to these folks was no longer that of long-expected guest coming to offer support and guidance—I was first and foremost a stranger in need of help. I was the one who needed tangible expression of God’s love, and the community did just that for me, caring for me with food and supplies until my departure.

What I learned from that trip to the jungle, and the humble village of Krausirpe, is that it’s easy to forget that we are also the neighbor that stands in need of God’s love from others, and it is beautiful to see the face of Christ in those around us.

It is something that I hope that we are able to do for those around us, because we are called to pay God’s love forward to those around us. It’s the notable turn that agape takes in the scriptures. Notice that the passage this morning does not say “since God has loved us this much, we also ought to love God.” (That would be the logical conclusion to the sentence.) But what does it say? “Since God has loved us so much, we also ought to love one another.” (1 John 4:11)  This is the important turn of agape love—the love of God is not reciprocal. But then again, how could it be? We humans could never love God as God loves us. Of this the author of 1 John proclaims that God’s love is made complete when we, in turn, pour out love to those around us. It is then that God is made known in us—and divine love’s intention complete—when we pay it forward in concrete acts of compassion, justice, and kindness towards others.

Author, journalist, and radio host, Krista Tippett wrote that “When all is said and done, none of us will be judged on how much we accomplish but on how well we love.” (2) And so it is for church; we will be measured by love—how much of God’s love pours back into the world. And I’m convinced that there has never been a more important time to live out of that call.

We’ve spoken often of the divisive rhetoric and hateful actions that threaten to tear us apart. In such a time as this, an abstract love is simply not enough; we are called to more than that. And to attempt to love the world as Christ has loved us is a difficult, soul-searching, life-changing demand. Loving like Jesus requires each of us to question our intentions, and actions, and priorities, and commitments—to ask ourselves, “I wonder if God sees it that way? I wonder if I’m investing my whole heart and soul and mind in ways that God would intend?”

Attempting to model agape—unconditional, sacrificial love—is perhaps the single greatest challenge we are issued as disciples of Christ. But, friends, here is what I know: you can quote scripture until you are blue in the face, shout out pious proclamations of pure love for Jesus, you can boast and brag about how much faith you have, or how devoted you are to the idea of God’s grace and love, but simple fact remains that the only real evidence of our love of God we have to offer is the life we live. Can we love one another as Christ has loved us?

At the center of the Christian faith, there is a story—a story of which we are a part. It is the story of agape—of God’s unconditional love for the world that we are called to share as best we know how with every bit of creation. Church, may we be defined by nothing less than love.

(1) Keep up with the Riebels on their Facebook page, and at their blog.

⁽²⁾ Krista Tippett, Speaking of Faith: Why Religion Matters – and How to Talk About It. (Penguin Books, 2008) p111

Romans 12:3-10
For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgement, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. ⁴For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, ⁵so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. ⁶We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ⁷ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; ⁸the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness. 9 Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; ¹⁰love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour.

[singing]

Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.¹

For many years that song was the way that this congregation responded when someone would come forward and stand here where I am this morning to join this community in membership. The song’s words “Blest be the tie that binds” are an affirmation of just how powerful our connection to one another can be when we take seriously Jesus’ call to love one another just as he loves us.

If you’re at all curious, the song was written by a pastor named John Fawcett, who served a poor congregation in Wainsgate, England in the middle of the 18^th century. John had come to form deep and meaningful bonds with the motley crew from this town that one writer described as being as “poor as Job’s turkey.”² So, understandably, John Fawcett was hard-pressed to provide for his family while serving that community.

Well, one day, a large church in London came asking for John to serve their congregation. It was a move that offered his family a chance at financial stability. So John agreed and was set to go. But on the day of their departure, seeing the deep sadness of those impoverished folk that he had come to love; the despondence of those who he had come to call friends, John is said to have turned to the crowd and pronounced from atop the wagon, “We’ve changed our minds! We are going to stay!” And he did. Serving alongside those people for 54 years. Sacrificing the shot at financial stability, for love of the poor folks of Wainsgate. Even establishing an education center for the community’s children out of his home.² “Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love!” he wrote.

To me, it is always awe-inspiring to consider what some people will do for the sake of those they call dear friends. I hope you can think of moments in your own life, when a friend has shown just how unconditional their love for you can be.

The Apostle Paul, whose writings make up a sizable portion of the New Testament, spent his years considering the impact that these sorts of loving relationships could have on Christian believers. Today, nearly two thousand years later, it’s easy for us to make the mistake of reading his letters as though they were dissertations designed to shape Christian theology for all time. But really, the letters of Paul were written to Christian communities who struggled with how to live together. Take a look, and you will see that behind all those theological treatises is a care and concern for building Christ-like relationships. Paul wanted to help people see how they could come to work out meaningful and loving relationships in Christ…which are the building blocks of the community we call “church.”

In the passage from Romans that we just heard read, Paul paints a picture of church at its best. And in verse 10 of his appeal, Paul says “love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor” and in the koine Greek with which his text was originally written, that statement uses variations of the Greek word phileo.

Now, I am to understand that you are all experts on phileo because you saw the Super Bowl commercial, right? Which highlighted the four primary words used in ancient Greek that get translated to our English word “love.” And in this sermon series, we are taking time to look at these four words, not because of the commercial, but because doing so gives us some means of teasing out and making distinctions about different types of love; especially, since love is such a primary focus of our faith.

Phileo is the Greek word that describes a sort of love that has an emotional connection that goes beyond acquaintances or casual friendships. It suggests relationships that our bound tightly together in enjoyment, appreciation, and deep care—hence the translation in this text as loving each other with mutual affection. In other translations, it says “Be good friends who love deeply” (MSG); “Love each other like the members of your family.” (CEB); “Have kindly affection one for another with brotherly love, in honor preferring one another;” (KJV).

We seem to understand that there is a sort of deepening of love between friends when we use a phrase like, “I love you like a brother/sister/sibling.” That is phileo, and it is an important type of love to the Christian community because it is a deep part of what it takes to embody the way of Jesus in the world. In fact, it’s the only way; We cannot learn to love, or forgive, or show compassion, like Jesus taught, unless we commit ourselves to the messiness of human relationships. And so my word of encouragement to you this day is to expand the circle of those you call friends and work towards deepening those relationships.

But there is something else that must be said here, because we usually lean towards forming friendships with those who are most like us (or at least appear most like us, outwardly). We are encouraged by what is modeled to us in our culture and through the metrics of social media to cluster in comfortable enclaves of sameness, and to avoid the discomfort of difference. This lie has been handed to the church to some extent as well, sell visions of church as a tribe of like-minded individuals defined by a static set of convictions and a uniformity of perspective. This concerns me. The perception that the church is a club for likeminded people who already have it all figured out creates a barrier to meaningful community and radical hospitality.

And after all, we tell ourselves that birds of a feather flock together. But birds flocking with cats, impossible, right!? It seems for Yasha the parakeet and Fozi the housecat.⁴ It seems a meaningful friendship for them.

Or how about Anjana the chimp with her tiger cubs Mitra and Shiva?⁵

Or the friendship I am most delighted in, that Bubbles the African elephant and Bella the black lab have formed?⁶

Yes, turns out, they have more to bond over than you thought they might at snap judgement, like a mutual love for water and general aquatic antics.

But I digress. This is perhaps an entirely too cute way of trying to get at something far more serious: don’t buy the lie that is handed to you by our culture which says you only stand a chance with those that think and feel and act and vote like you. Many are finding it easier to end relationships than to listen to a different point of view. What was once disagreement has become outright disdain. And it’s so easy for churches to become conformed to this view of the world; a world of us versus them, polarized extremes, fractured relationships, shouting matches, hatred spewed on social media. God forbid we ever become so puffed up with pride in the church that we forget to listen to brothers and sisters who do not agree with us.

Rachel Held Evans, was a theologian and writer who tragically died last year at the age of thirty-seven. She was full of love for the church and, out of that love, she challenged the church to deeper engagement. In one of her blog posts she wrote, “Let’s learn to argue better. I have no problem with Christians arguing with one another. Really. We’re brothers and sisters, for goodness sake! Of course we’re going to argue…But surely we can allow differences to exist without questioning one another’s commitment to the faith and without rooting for one another’s demise.”³

I hear the Apostle Paul’s words echoing in my head, “Do not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgement…For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we—who are many—are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us…”⁴ I get that this is not an easy time to belong to people who don’t already share all your opinions or take part in the same social enclaves. To be conformed is easy. It is comfortable. It is tempting. It is not faithful.

Living out phileo also means that we will belong to others—other perspectives, other backgrounds, other ideologies, and, yes, even other political parties. To form loving relationship with those that are different than us is to assemble the Body that Paul speaks of. And seeking to build abiding friendships like this is to the greater lie of an age that pushes isolation, division, fear, and anger.

The Apostle Paul seems to believe that the faithfulness of our living is determined by the quality of the relationships that we form. So what if we did what Paul says? What if we loved with mutual affection?  What if the church was a place where we were so friended up in deep and abiding ways that we could tell our stories and be ourselves without fear of rejection or judgment? What if we were to invest in relationship in such a way that we were able to really rejoice with those who are rejoicing and truly weep with those who are weeping?  Oh, how desperately the world needs those who want to build loving friendships!

Listen; belonging to this congregation is no spectator sport. It is in our core values here at Harvard Avenue Christian Church—when we say “Beloved,” we mean to say that we are ready to do the work of building relationships grounded in love—that in deep friendship, we find profound fulfillment, greater joy, stronger character.

And this is what gives me hope about the future of the church. Because the community called the church—with all its flaws, imperfections, limitations, and faults—can be a holy place of building deep and abiding relationships of mutual affection. It can be community that outdoes itself in honoring one another as the beautiful children of God that all people are.

I believe that this community here at Harvard Avenue has learned something about the goodness of phileo. And we’re still learning. We’re continuing to learn that we need one another. We are learning that the impulse to divide is a snare that leaves us all short of God’s vision. We are learning that genuine community does not require conformity. We are learning that the God whose grace and mercy brings us together is far more powerful than all that seeks to separate us. In other words, we are leaning that we belong to each other. For as siblings in Christ, we are bound together.

[singing]

Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.

Oh Lord, may it be so in this place.

¹John Fawcett. “Blest Be the Tie that Binds” 1782.
 ² Dr. Michael Hawn. History of Hymns: “Blest Be the Tie That Binds” June 13, 2013. https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/resources/history-of-hymns-blest-be-the-tie-that-binds
³ Ibid.
⁴ https://www.thedodo.com/cat-bird-best-friends-2295178086.html
⁵ https://scoopempire.com/unlikely-animal-friendships-that-will-make-you-melt/
⁶ https://www.boredpanda.com/elephant-dog-friendship-bubbles-and-bella/
⁷ Rachel Held Evans. “Liberal Christianity, Conservative Christianity, and the Caught-In-Between.” JJuly 16, 2012. https://rachelheldevans.com/blog/liberal-conservative-christianity
⁸ Romans 12:3-5

Ephesians 3: 14 – 21
14 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, 15 from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. 16 I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, 17 and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. 18 I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

20 Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Somewhere in my early high school years, we realized I needed glasses. Conveniently, one of our church members, who also happened to be one of my best babysitting customers, was an eye doctor. So off to Dr Blair we go. Several rounds of ‘Is this better? Or is this better?’… ‘A? or B?’ later, and I’m on my way out the door with glasses.

Shortly thereafter, I graduated to contacts. I was also graduating high school, and I think those things were related.

I’ve been putting contacts into and taking contacts out of my eyeballs for … a lot of years. Every day. And for the longest time, when I needed a new prescription – because once all of that college reading and seminary paperwriting kicked in, and all of the reading and screentime that the last 25 years of ministry has involved, I needed a new prescription – I would still make the trip to see Dr Blair. Yes, at home in El Paso. Visit the Mom, see the eye doctor. Because when you find someone you trust to do things to your eyeballs, you stick with them. And because of the Favorite Babysitter status I’d earned with his daughter (who was by then, of course, an adult), I still got a “student” discount well past my student days. God bless him.

Dr Blair retired last year. I mean, of all the nerve.

Also last year, I finally got so annoyed with the contacts I was wearing, and the glasses that were at least three prescriptions old, that I made a quick stop here in town … and I now wear multifocal contact lenses. This is both incredibly weird, and really great. I get, theoretically, how bifocals work on actual glasses lenses. You’re looking through a lens that’s sectioned off and it corrects for what you need corrected. But when that lens is a liiiittle piece of plastic that goes onto the surface of your eye? I mean, how does it know what you need?! But it does.

At the same time, I’ve started giving my eyes a rest on the weekends. (I know, I should probably give other things a rest as well.) And here’s what I’ve learned: I can become unreasonably annoyed by even the smallest smudge on my glasses. You have to find something to clean the glasses with. And while sleeves and shirttails are convenient, they’re not always the best. Fabrics have different finishes and sometimes they leave more smudges than they clear. And carrying an actual for-real glasses cleaning kit is way too much responsibility for those of us who are only-occasional glasses wearers.

But here’s what happens. My friends who are legit glasses-wearers always have those cleaning kit things handy. And they share. And people will always offer friendly advice. Like the best cloth they’ve found to clean glasses. Have you tried this thing in particular? Or here, use mine. I even know one couple, who both wear glasses, and we were sitting around one night, and she was saying something and just took off her glasses, holding them off the side, and he just took them from her, took a cloth from his pocket, cleaned them, and handed them back. Never broke stride.

There’s the vision we have.
And the things we correct for.
And the people who make sure we have what we need.

Be loved.
Believe.
Become.

There’s where we start – we’re loved.
There’s where we go – to sort out what we believe.
And there’s the vision that the first two make possible. It’s who we become.

There is a physicality to vision, to what we see and what we don’t.
The same with the vision that God has of us, and for us.
There is a place and a time that God sees for our lives … here, and now, and always. It is easy in the life of faith to focus on the things to come … as if what we do or say earns us some future seat at a special event. But the gospel message of Jesus Christ is that heaven comes to earth … the kingdom of God is here, at hand.

There is a physicality to vision. Not just the thing we’re seeing, but the literal way we are seeing it, and where we are when it happens.

In this 3^rd chapter of the letter to the church at Ephesus, we are basically overhearing a prayer. “For this reason, I bow my knees before the Father…” (Eph3:14)

But it isn’t a prayer of ‘help them get themselves sorted out so they all get to heaven’. It’s a reminder that God is already at work in us, not waiting on us to arrive for some reward, but here and now, where we are – as we are – God is doing God’s glorious thing. The word glory is even used! (Who got ‘glory’ as their star word this year? Anyone?)

This is a prayer we’re hearing, probably a letter that the early believers, figuring out how to be church, gathered in their secret places, would have read over and over and been able to nearly recite together by heart. They knew what it meant to bend their knees, to give themselves over to a spirit so powerful they had to just let go.

It may seem weird (if you think about it, that is) that a prayer that sounds like a benediction and blessing would be shared in the middle of a letter, with so much instruction and reminder still to come. It might have been the random writing choice of Paul – or one of his students writing as Paul (there’s some debate about that).

But I think it’s actually more strategic than that. In this season where we are challenged to be and do certain things in certain ways; when the world is trying to tell us what we’re worth and what we aren’t; when people we don’t even know decide they are the arbiters of our value as human beings … before we get to any kind of instruction about our behavior, our choices, our decisions, our practices … this letter to the Ephesians points out that FIRST we are to remember that we. are. God’s. beloved. Everything else goes from there.

Sally Brown wrote to preachers some years ago about this text:

The indwelling presence of God is sheer and utter gift, not a reward for merit. God chooses to live among us, God’s glory fills us. This is sheer grace, unimaginable possibility, life-giving hope.[1]

This prayer, that we would not just recognize but truly know the richness of God’s presence, beyond our understanding – as it is said, “surpassing knowledge” – is not just about something beyond our capacity to understand. It IS that tremendous. It is indeed. But it is also something, that we simply can’t contain. The spirit of God just IS.

Which perhaps is a helpful thing for us to keep in mind as we await and receive and respond to information today in our own congregational meeting! Well beyond any information we can gather, God’s spirit is at work. Has been, and is, and will be.

We can only sort of make out the image. We have to adjust the lenses, look through the right glasses, be in the right place to get the things inside our brain to register what is happening around us. Let alone to sort out what sort of vision we’re offering to others.

Our three BE core values have guided us for nearly a decade, and are still at the heart of who we’ll be for the decade to come. It sounds good to say them: be loved, believe, become. They’re simple and roll together easily. When you’re here you’ll be loved, as you are, for who you are, with all we are, as Christ commands.

Together, in the strength of community, we’ll explore what and how we believe, and why.

And as the world clamors to make us self-centered and self-interested, we will work to be just the opposite … to become who God has called us to be: engaged, compassionate, looking beyond ourselves, and looking with care on the world God so loves.

This is 3-Be vision.

This is what we’re asking you to be part of, with that additional insert in your bulletin today. How will you connect in this new year? What opportunity opens your eyes and excites your spirit? Add these to the offering plate or return them to the office and we’ll move right away to engage that vision together.

God has done and will do far more than we can ask or imagine. And when we get small glimpses of that, our imagination tingles just a bit, because we are here together:

We want to grow the choir, they said. And so we committed to excellent worship and meaningful music and now we need to figure out how to get more chairs up here.

My mother has died and my heart is broken, and so a family gathers, and friends gather with them, bringing food, and desserts, and standing to welcome, and for as long as you need.

We have 400 or more pieces of paper to hand out every week, and each of those bulletins also has an insert. And so every single week, friends sit in the office and get that folding machine going and the bulletin you have today is in your hands because of them.

Every time you gather, do this in remembrance of me. So Christ instructed his first disciples, and so disciples have done for generations since. And every week, deacons arrive before worship begins to be sure that communion is prepared, and offering can be received, and everyone who comes will find their way and their place.

Certain pants and shirts and accessories are required uniform at most public schools today. But for many, those pieces are too costly and families were straining to provide basics for their children. No scholar should go without, our Disciples Women said, and so a closet was cleared and clothing was purchased and our neighborhood students have what they need when they need it.

We are happy to help get the space ready for the holiday season, we’ll take our Sunday morning hour together to do it. And while that Sunday small group carried garlands up and down stairs, draped railings and mantel in greenery, some of them also noticed that a few folks were on their own, not connected to a group. And so they said Do you want to help? And they did, and so they did. And the laughter was great and the décor was beautiful.

Will you pray for me? For my nephew? For our friends? We are so honored when you ask. And if someone is going to ask, then they should know that someone actually prays. Your pastors, the church staff, our elders, and two prayer groups take the time to read, and listen, and bow heads and speak names. Prayer matters, and transforms, and we want you to know that.

We are preparing for a new year, and for a new pastoral leader, and we don’t know what all that will mean. And rather than step back and wait … the church stepped forward … with confidence and hope and made 2020 our strongest stewardship response ever, with total pledges that surpass last year’s budget, and continued, even in a transition year, to steadily welcome new visitors and new members, fully half of whom came into membership after the announcement and during the interim season.

“If there is a divine being who made everything, including us,” Rob Bell said, “what would our experiences with this being look like? The moment God is figured out with nice neat lines and definitions, we are no longer dealing with God. We are dealing with somebody we made up. And if we made [God] up, then we are in control. And so in passage after passage [of scripture], we find God reminding people that [God] is beyond and bigger and more.”[2]

While God is doing more than we can imagine, Ephesians also says that God is doing it through us. And if God is working through us, then we can do more than we can imagine.

God is more than our grief …                           God is our shield.
Christ is more than our teacher …                    Jesus is our shepherd and guide.
God is more than our worry …                                     God is our calm.
Jesus is more than our uncertainty …              Christ is our salvation and our rock.
The Spirit is more than a notion that wanders around and sounds like something good that we might like if we could find it. The Holy is right here. The Divine calls us to join in. To clear our vision, to drop our walls, to dance with joy.

God can do, has done, will do more than we can ask or imagine.

“I have been told that I need to believe in Jesus,” Rob Bell went on to say. “Which is a good thing. But what I am learning is that Jesus believes in me.”

I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, 17 and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. 18 I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

20 Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

[1] Sally A. Brown, Preach This Week 7-29-12 http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1333 (the ‘not waiting on a reward’ part is hers too)
[2] Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith (HarperCollins, 2012)

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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/

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

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

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.