Sermon for Thanksgiving Sunday, "All Gathered In"

Sermon 11/22/09, Matthew 6:24-33

Giving Thanks: All Gathered In

What, if anything, do you worry about? That was a question posed to me in an interview about blogging that I did a few years back, and my response was something like this: “What don’t I worry about?” I was still serving my first congregation at the time, and my response expanded mostly in relation to pastoral ministry. I said, “I can be a worrier. I worry about my congregation, and whether I am serving them well, and if the church is growing numerically and spiritually, and if I visit enough people often enough, and if my prayers are too long, and if a new worship service will work, and, and, and . . .”

This interview response came to my mind because I was also thinking of another blog-related item about worry – a post I wrote about how I handle stress and worry. Sometimes, I can worry as that stress, anxiety, in the pit of my stomach. But sometimes, I’m stressed and worried and I can’t even remember why. I have that anxious, gnawing feeling, but I don’t know what about. This makes it feel even worse, even more worrisome. I recounted on my blog that I’ve gotten better, though, at stopping, when I feel this dread, and working to identifying the cause of my stress or worry so I can confront it and move on. One time I was feeling very anxious, and so I worked hard to find the source of my worry. Finally it hit me. I’d been reading news articles on CNN, and become worried over and article about the melting of the polar ice caps. That was my cause of stress! Now, I take issues of environmental justice very seriously – but my worrying about the ice caps wasn’t really accomplishing anything – it wasn’t helping me act with more care for the earth – it was just filling my stomach with dread without even remembering why I was so upset! What do you worry about? How does all that worrying make you feel?

Today, our text is about worry. It seems like an odd text, at first, to flip back to, after all these passages about discipleship in the gospel of Mark. And it seems like a strange Thanksgiving text, which is its primary purpose. Certainly it is maybe an odd choice for a text for Consecration Sunday – a day when many of us are thinking about pledges and giving and budgets and hoping things work out for the church financially. But as I think about our own life together as a congregation, I think it makes perfect sense – before we can move forward, before we can get out there and be in ministry, we have to make sure we aren’t so weighed down with burden and worry that we can’t function, can’t be disciples.

And so, I think this text is perfect for us today, because I think, as a congregation, we’ve been carrying with us a great deal of worry, and stress, and anxiety. I feel it, and I think many of you feel it as well. A long time of pastoral transition, from a pastor who was here for 28 years, to an interim ministry, and finally to a new permanent pastor, a sense of being in a suspended mode, waiting to see what would happen next, waiting to see how things would turn out, where things would go, how things would move forward, how things would or wouldn’t change – I think all of these things can cause stress, worry, and anxiety in a congregation. And in particular, we, like many churches, have been worried about money – our financial situation. We’ve been worried about keeping the lights on, keeping the bills paid, supporting our staff, supporting our denominational connections, keeping our ministry here going. We’re worried about our future, about how people will respond to our needs, about how we will take care of this faith community. And we can carry this stress, this burden, this worry with us everywhere – into every church meeting, into every gathering, into every decision we’ve been making. And I worry – I worry about what our worry does to us! I worry that with all our worries, we don’t have much energy left to do the work that Christ calls us to do. And into the midst of all this worry, comes our perfectly placed passage for the day.

This text comes as part of what we call from Matthew “The Sermon on the Mount.” It’s part of a long set of teaching by Jesus preached to crowds of people gathered with him on the mountainside. He’s just shared with the crowds a way to pray that we now call The Lord’s Prayer, and he’s been telling them that where their treasure is, there will their hearts be also. And today we hear Jesus saying that one cannot serve both God and wealth. This statement is a springboard for Jesus to speak about worry. Don’t worry, Jesus says, about what to eat, or drink, or wear. Life is more than these things. The birds of the air don’t work or worry, and have plenty to eat, and we are more valuable than birds. And the lilies are clothed with great beauty, but they only last a little while. Won’t God take even greater care of us? So why worry? God knows what we need. So strive for the Kingdom of God, not these other things, Jesus concludes. Strive to live righteously, and everything else will come as well.

In some ways I love this passage – it is beautiful, comforting. But I have to share with you my other reaction: Is Jesus serious? How can he be? Clearly he has no experience with financial stress or other worries. How can he be so naïve? How can you tell people who are hungry and homeless and without clothing or work not to worry? Sure, our own situation is not that bad – we’re abundantly blessed even though we’re facing these hard times. But how can you tell people who are going without not to worry and that everything will be ok? Is Jesus just an idealist? Is he exaggerating? Is he just out of touch?

For me, the key to understanding this passage is to consider what Jesus is really saying when he speaks of worry. The Greek word here is merimnate, which means more literally to “be preoccupied with or be absorbed by.” (1) When Jesus speaks of worry, he’s speaking of something that preoccupies us, absorbs our attention, takes our effort and energy and heart’s direction. In fact, in this way, Jesus is equating worry to something that’s very close to idolatry. Idolatry is when we take anything that is other than God, and give it the place of God in our lives. All through the scriptures, idolatry is one of the things that God most deplores about our human behavior. Again and again, we’re putting something else in a more important place than we put God. Worried? Preoccupied? Absorbed? Not only is your stress hard on you, it’s also putting your very soul at risk, because your worry is just another form of making idols.

Instead of being naïve, Jesus is, of course, being extremely wise. He calls our worry out for what it is – a way of distancing ourselves from God and God’s plan for our lives. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, writes about it this way: “Does not every man see, that he cannot comfortably serve both [God and wealth]? That to trim between God and the world is the sure way to be disappointed in both, and to have no rest either in one or the other? How uncomfortable a condition must he be in, who, having the fear but not the love of God, -- who, serving him, but not with all his heart, -- has only the toils and not the joys of religion? He has religion enough to make him miserable, but not enough to make him happy: His religion will not let him enjoy the world, and the world will not let him enjoy God. So that, by halting between both, he loses both; and has no peace either in God or the world.” (2) Wesley knew that by trying to strive for what’s important in worldly terms at the same time we strive spiritually would only make us miserable in the world and miserable in our relationship with God.

So what do we do? How do we change? How do we give up this striving, our obsessive anxiety, our stress, our worry, our preoccupation with so much that has nothing to do with God, faith, discipleship, ministry? How can we just “not worry” like Jesus says? He gives us the answer: We still strive, we’re still preoccupied, we’re still consumed – but all that energy is given to striving for the kingdom of God. And we’re able to do that when we recognize that our lives are covered already by God’s love. Our lives are given value already by God who created us, and if this God who created us even gives value to birds and lilies and grass in the field, which is here today and gone tomorrow, how can we doubt the value given to us? We’re precious to God, of such value to God. The value we get elsewhere isn’t real. The things we worry about only define us if we let them define us. But if we choose otherwise, if we strive after God’s kingdom instead, we’ll find our real value as children of God.

Does seeking God’s kingdom free us from worry? Does seeking God’s kingdom clothe us and feed us? Maybe not in the ways we’d expect. But I think striving for God’s kingdom ultimately turns our view from ourselves out to the world God has created. So striving for the kingdom lead us to feed others, to clothe others, to fill others. If the whole world strives after God first, I think we’ll find that Jesus is right – all the rest is added to us as well. We face some difficult times ahead as a congregation – we always will, as we struggle to exist in a world that is full of worry, ever torn, as John Wesley described, between more than one master, never being satisfied by either. Our life together can be so much more than we sometimes settle for. Strive first for God, God’s kingdom, God’s justice. If we do that together, God promises that the rest will come to us as a gift to God’s beloved children.

Today, we’re consecrating our gifts to God, our pledges, or our hopes for what we can give to support our ministry in the year to come. This very Sunday and all the responsibilities that come with it can be a source of stress and anxiety for us. Will it be enough? Are we giving enough? If there’s not enough, what do we cut? What do we go without? What do we not pay? But today is also Thanksgiving Sunday, and God always means giving thanks to be an act of joy, giving to be an act of love and hope and promise from God to us and from us to God. God seeks for us to give and receive with thanks, hope, and holy anticipation in the same way that we would feel about waiting for a loved one to open the carefully selected treasure we’ve chosen just for them. Today, then, as we consecrate our gifts to God, I’m seeking to let go of my worries, which take my energy from seeking after God and God’s kingdom. And instead, I’m letting myself be filled with Thanksgiving for the signs of the kingdom I see everyday, right in our midst.

This very week, I am thankful for Derek and Becky Hansen and the energy they’ve instilled into our young people for participating in the life of the church. I’m thankful for the youth that tried something new this weekend and went to learn about God with hundreds of other young people of faith. I’m thankful for Dale and Lori who stepped in to support our youth coordinator in his time of need. I’m thankful for your outpouring of support for the refugees over the past month in response to a plea for help, and for the people you will feed over the next weeks through your support of our Thanksgiving baskets. I’m thankful for those of you who consistently reach out to our homebound members, so that when I visit, they can tell me that they’ve already heard from one of you recently. I’m thankful for a congregation pulling together a church dinner that could go on while I was on vacation. I’m thankful for those who have been working hard to find ways to make our church more welcoming who those who come here seeking a closer walk with God. Our church is overflowing with blessings and riches that will help us as we seek to draw close to the heart of God, as we strive after the kingdom of God.

Today, as we offer our gifts to God to be consecrated, my prayer is that we ask God to use our gifts in ways we can’t even imagine yet. That God can transform our worries into thanksgivings. That God can turn our dollars into lives touched by God’s love through our congregation and beyond. Jesus said, “Strive first for the kingdom of God, and God’s righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” May it be so for us. Amen.

My Road-trip Route Map

Here's a basic map of my route over the next two weeks, in case you are interested in seeing where I will be for my vacation, and for my attendance at Exploration 2009. Sorry Kansas and Missouri - I'm making a giant circle around you. Maybe some other road-trip....

View Larger Map

Sermon for All Saints Sunday, "Giving Thanks: For All The Saints"

Sermon 11/1/09, Mark 12:28-34

Giving Thanks: For All the Saints

All Saints Sunday is not a day I remember celebrating as a child in my congregation. In fact, I really don’t remember celebrating this special until I got into seminary, although I’m sure we did at my childhood church. But I was lucky enough not to have experienced much in the way of loss and death until I was in college, and so I don’t think I was very tuned in to a day to remember those who had passed away. But since seminary, All Saints has become one of my favorite celebrations in the church – a precious day when we remember – remember our loved ones, remember members of our church family, remember so many lives who have shaped us, over the years, through our lifetimes, even through the centuries, through history. To our Protestant ears, perhaps we perk up a little, in confusion, when we hear talk about saints. Do we have Saints?

But, as soon as we ask the question, a million possible responses pop into our heads, as we think about the people who have touched our lives. In a time of pastoral transition, All Saints Sunday is unique – I don’t know – never knew – the people whose names we will read today – I have met family members, and heard stories, but I did not know these people personally. And today, in churches in Franklin Lakes, NJ, and Oneida, NY, people’s names will be read whose funerals I conducted, who I knew well. But in some ways, that hardly matters – because All Saints Sunday is a day when we can enter into the story together. These names here because my names, my people, my loss, and my celebration, just as they become yours, even though you may not know all of these names either. All Saints Sunday is a celebration in the community of faith, of the family of God, as we remember lives that have shaped us in different ways.

Who has shaped you that you are missing today? Probably, we all have that individual who we still miss dearly, who we hold up in our hearts and minds. For me, this person has been my grandfather, Millard Mudge. Grandpa wasn't a leader. He didn't start any great movements, he didn't make headlines very often. But when he died – can it be eleven years ago now? – over 500 people showed up for his calling hours and funeral, a friend of my brother's asked with awe, "Who was your grandfather?" Who he was, to me, anyway, was something like a saint. He was not perfect, certainly. But it’s hard now to remember anything not-wonderful about him. Today, the best compliment I can give anyone is that the person reminds me of my Grandpa Mudge. He simply was a faithful servant, a living witness to the power of God and the love of Christ working in his life. Though he worked most of his life at Rome Cable, when I was little he was retired and working as a gas station attendant, trying to make ends meet financially. And even there, he was a witness, always wearing his "I love Jesus" pin, always trying to share a word of comfort and love, and somehow transforming a job like that into a place where he made people feel loved every day. He loved God, and he truly loved his neighbors, all of his neighbors.

Who is the saint in your life? Who have you looked up to, and what was it that made you admire them? Today we remember our members, the gifts their lives were to their friends, to their families, to this congregation and community. And we also take time to remember those who are connected to this congregation in other ways – those who are sisters and brothers and children and parents and grandparents and loved ones of yours, those whose names you carry in your hearts today and everyday. And we celebrate the lives of those we have lost as a community, as a society. We celebrate those who have gone on before her, working for peace and justice in the world – treasures like Martin Luther King Jr., or Mother Teresa. We remember treasures that are lesser known – perhaps someone in the history of your family. And we celebrate and remember the lives of the saints that fill the pages of our church’s history. We remember the first disciples who followed Jesus, and the women whose names are lesser known but who also responded to the call. Today we call to our mind the early church figures who helped Christianity grow from a small sect into a worldwide faith. We remember those who gave their lives to make it so. We remember our Protestant history, and celebrate those who helped reform the church. We celebrate our Methodist heritage – John and Charles Wesley – and our Presbyterian tradition– with names like John Calvin and John Knox as leaders of the church. As we sit in these pews today, we stand on the faith of so many others – those in the long ago past and those in the all too recent past. These are the ones who have shaped our lives. These are the ones who have impacted our faith, whether we recognize it every day or not.

And so as I love to celebrate All Saints Sunday, I also approach it with caution. As soon as we name someone as a saint, we tend to put them into a category other than where we place ourselves. They are saints, so we can expect them to be good, kind, and to change the world. But we’re just regular people. Everyone can’t be Mother Teresa, right? God hopes and expects a lot for us, but we’re not really all meant to be like her are we? We’re not expecting to be put in the history books, are we?

And so we turn to our text for today. In our gospel lesson we hear Jesus reminding us of the greatest commandments, after being questioned by one of the scribes. This time, instead of so many scenes where a religious leader is trying to entrap Jesus in his teaching, the scribe seems sincere in his questioning, and Jesus tells that man that he is not far from God's kingdom. The scribe wants to know which commandment is first of all. Of course, Jesus tells us as he tells the scribe that the commandments we must follow are ones that the whole community in Israel knew by heart, and that most of us Christians today know by heart as well. "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this: you shall love your neighbor as yourself." The scribe responds, “You are right Teacher,” saying that following those commandments are much more important than making the proper sacrifices and appropriate offerings. Jesus sees that he has answered wisely, and says, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” And no one else dares to ask Jesus questions, at least not for the time being.

We are commanded, above all, to love. When I think of the lives of the saints – saints of the church or saints in my life – I can see how love was at work in their lives. Mother Teresa loved those others considered untouchable. Gandhi loved those who were oppressing his people, and loved those whose faith and beliefs were completely different than his own. My grandfather, imperfect though he was, loved freely, in spite of the prejudices he was raised with. He always acted in love. Jesus says that following the commandments to love brings us near to God’s kingdom. And to be in God’s kingdom is the best way I can understand sainthood.

That means, though, that we can’t shove sainthood off as a title only for those who have passed away, or as a title we use to get ourselves out of the responsibility God has placed on us in discipleship. Because loving is something we can all do, if we choose to open our hearts. You can bring in a thousand cans for our food drive, but if you do it without love, you’re missing the point. When you speak, do you speak with love? When you see those who don’t look like you, or dress like you, of live like you, do you look with loving eyes? The first commandment tells us that we must love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. Catholic Worker Dorothy Day once said, "I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least." We can only love God if we love one another. We can love that which God has created, and love God through our actions toward others.

When we talk about saints in the life of the church, we’re not talking about those who have completed some special tasks, or those who have gained world-wide renown. We’re talking about those who leave a legacy of love, those who take Jesus seriously when he reminds us that there’s nothing better we can do in life than loving God, and loving others. If you think about those saints in your own life, or even those saints in the scriptures and beyond, I think you’ll agree that these saints weren’t perfect. St. Peter denied Jesus three times in the hour of Jesus’ greatest need. St. Paul spent years of his life persecuting those who followed Jesus. Much has been made in recent years of letters showing the Mother Teresa had periods of struggle and anguish in her life, as we all do. John Wesley had times of great despair in his faith journey. And so we celebrate on All Saints Day not a class of perfect Christians, unfaltering disciples. To me, a saint is someone where you can tell that their life has been transformed by the love of God they carry with them, and so share freely with others. You can tell that they are living in a new way because of God’s love for them.

Today is All Saints Day. And you are meant to be counted in that number. Don’t count yourself out, and let yourself off the hook. We all know what it means to love. “Hear,” Saints of God, “the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength,” and “you shall love you neighbor as yourself.” Amen.

Sermon for Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost, "Take Heart"

Sermon 10/25/09, Mark 10:46-52

Take Heart

This week, my mother found out that she will need to have surgery on her ankle in January – surgery to fuse together the joints which have collapsed on her through the years. My family and I have been trying to put together a plan for her post-surgery – she’ll be in a cast for three months at least, and her house isn’t particularly friendly for a person who has a hard time with stairs. As we’ve been talking about plans for her recovery, one thing has become clear to me: my mom is in a bit of denial about the extent of injury to her ankle and about the extent of recovery time she will need. (And yes, I did let my mother know I was preaching about her today!) Somehow, my mom has seen her bad ankle as a minor problem that she should be able to get over with a better pair of sneakers. She’s embarrassed when the pain makes her limp. Although she was granted permanent disability from work, it is only just recently that she finally accepted that it would be smart to get a handicapped parking permit. She went to the doctor this week and seriously was expecting him to send her to physical therapy, when it has been clear to her family that her ankle is very far structurally past any non-surgical means of repair.

I’ve been wondering about her reaction. I tease her about it, to be sure. But it’s really not so unusual. I’ve been there. Most of us have, in one way or another. Mostly, we value our independence, and self-reliance. We hate having to ask someone else for help. But why? Since we usually don’t mind helping others, why are we so reluctant to accept help ourselves? I think that needing help makes us feel weak, and we’re certainly taught, from a very early age, to value strength over weakness in all things.

But I think it goes even deeper than that. I think, although we might not always think we do, or put it in just these terms, and regardless of what we think of Charles Darwin and his theories as a whole, we deeply believe in a practical application of the survival of the fittest. We deeply believe that the strong survive. That weak equals worthless. That to be worthy is to be the best. That we have to play to win, always – that losing is never an option. That mindset is pervasive in every area of our world – in school – from academics to sports; in the military and government, where political victories so often outweighs the costs; at work, as we seek promotions and climb the ladder and wind up putting ambition ahead of whatever it is we actually do; in our social circles, where even our closest relationship are layered with unspoken competitions about who has more, whose lives are more ‘together’, who can claim more success.

Of course, the trouble for us comes in that this mindset is in extreme opposition to the mindset, the teachings, the message of Jesus Christ. They just don’t line up, these points of view. We struggle and struggle to reconcile this world view with Jesus’ world view, but they just don’t fit together, and the only way we can make them fit together is by making Jesus about something he wasn’t. Our texts from last week and this week set up the perfect juxtaposition of these views. Remember last week, James and John had requested to sit at the right and left of Jesus in God’s kingdom. Throughout Mark, we see the disciples as the group that is sort-of failing to get it, failing to understand Jesus, no matter how clearly he seems to speak. They just can’t seem to let go of their expectations that Jesus will fit into the role of a typical leader, king, revolutionary, celebrity, or something else equally exciting. They seem to be in it for the rewards, at least a little. Maybe they’ve finally started focusing on rewards in God’s kingdom rather than earthly ones, but they still want a prize for following Jesus so well. And so they ask, with an amazing lack of embarrassment, for the seats at Jesus’ right and left.

Jesus explains that not only was this not possible for him to grant, but their asking missed the mark: “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant,” he said, ^44”and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. ⁴⁵For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.’” A completely opposite point of view – not about greatness and places of power, but about service, being “slave of all,” certainly a role of weakness and powerlessness.

Following this scene, we find Jesus and the disciples departing after a stop in Jericho, mixing in among a large crowd also at the city gates. A man named Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, is sitting by the roadside. We’re told that he is a blind beggar. When he realizes it is Jesus passing by, he begins to shout to Jesus: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many people, upset by the outburst, try to silence the man, ordering him to be quiet. But he just cries out even more loudly and persistently, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stops and tells the people to call them man over to him. They say to Bartimaeus, “Take heart, he is calling you.” Bartimaeus throw of his cloak, springs up, and comes to Jesus. Jesus asks what the man wants Jesus to do for him, and he responds, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus replies, “go; your faith has made you well.” And immediately the man’s sight is restored, and he follows Jesus on the way.

Why this story? It’s a miracle, of course. A healing. Another act of compassion by Jesus. But what’s special about it? What does it mean? Because some details of the passage make it clear that Mark finds this instance of healing of particular importance. First, Mark name this blind man – Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus. Most of the people Jesus heals in Mark, or in other gospels to an extent, are unnamed. It’s just, a blind man, a hemorrhaging woman, a lame man, a young girl. Bartimaeus has a name, and that let’s us know he’s important. He also stands out because of how he calls out to Jesus: “Jesus, Son of David.” That title, “Son of David,” shows that Bartimaeus sees Jesus as the messiah. In Mark, very few, including the disciples, have correctly identified Jesus as such. And finally, when Bartimaeus is healed, it says he follows Jesus on “the way.” That phrasing, “the way,” is the name the early Christians used to describe themselves. They were followers of the way. Bartimaeus is a follower of the way. So this passage shows that though blind, this is a man who sees clearly, who is on the right track. How he behaves, what he does, is probably being held up as an example for us to follow.

So, what does Bartimaeus do? Well, immediately following two of Jesus’ disciples asking for places of honor, we have Bartimaeus, asking for mercy. We have disciples who have argued about greatness, and we have Bartimaeus, a beggar, blind, pleading, humbling himself before an entire crowd of people. We read that Bartimaeus throws off his cloak, and springs up when Jesus calls him over – and almost always when Mark talks about leaving behind a garment in his gospel, the symbolism is about leaving behind and old way to embrace a new way. So Bartimaeus is leaving behind whatever has bound him, and coming to Jesus. And it is to Bartimaeus, the one who asks nothing of Jesus except for mercy, that Jesus speaks these words: “What do you want me to do for you?” When Jesus heals Bartimaeus, it is not his goodness that makes him well, his position or status, not his achievements or successes. It is his faith, Jesus says, that makes him well.

In the end, the message is simple here, as simple as my children’s sermon – but we have such a hard time living it out. If we are already full - no matter what the quality of the stuff is that we’ve filled our lives up with, what can God possibly give to us? The gospels are full of Jesus interacting with people that are on the margins of society – the blind, the sick, the unclean, the shunned by society, those sinning in ways that got them rejected from the community. But I don’t believe Jesus kept company with them because they were any more sinful than the others – the Pharisees, the disciples, the elders. Jesus kept company with them because they were the ones who were ready to admit that they needed help. They were the ones who had enough space in their lives for God to actually move and breathe. They were the ones who knew that they needed mercy more than they needed seats of honor.

If we are so strong that we can do everything ourselves, what need could we have of God? If we are always right, what could we need to learn from the one Bartimaeus called teacher? If we must be first, best, winners in every aspect of life, how will we build a relationship with the Christ who has put himself at the end of the line? Take heart; Jesus is calling you. Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on us: we pretend we are so strong. Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on us: sinners. Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on us. Amen.

In honor of Ella, my cat

So, I haven't blogged in forever, and all I give you is this graph? But it made me laugh out loud - I couldn't help it. Also, Graph Jam is hilarious.


see more Funny Graphs

Sermon for Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, "Be Challenged"

Sermon 10/11/09, Mark 10:17-31

Be Challenged

I’ve been thinking, over the last several weeks, in light of some of the powerful lessons from the New Testament that we’ve focused on in worship, that it’s amazing that we even read the Bible aloud and pretend to like it. I wonder why our very reading of the words of Jesus and his closest followers doesn’t offend us. I wonder how we can even bear to hear what Jesus says sometimes, if we believe that he’s the Messiah, if we believe that we’re supposed to try to practice what he preaches. I think this because sometimes I’m struck with such force at how much distance there is between what Jesus teaches and what we do. Jesus challenges us. More than that. Pushes us. Tells us we’re getting it wrong. Quite wrong. Tells us we have to completely change what we know, how we live, what we do.

I recently happened on one of my favorite quotations, by 19^th century philosopher and theologian Søren Kierkegaard. He writes, "The matter is quite simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But we Christians are a bunch of scheming swindlers. We pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well that the minute we understand we are obliged to act accordingly. Take any words in the New Testament and forget everything except pledging yourself to act accordingly. My God, you will say, if I do that my whole life will be ruined. Herein lies the real place of Christian scholarship. Christian scholarship is the Church's prodigious invention to defend itself against the Bible, to ensure that we can continue to be good Christians without the Bible coming too close. Dreadful it is to fall into the hands of the living God. Yes, it is even dreadful to be alone with the New Testament."[1]

The Bible is easy to understand, Kierkegaard says. But we have to pretend it’s hard to understand, because following it – well, that would mean too much of a change in our way of life to be able to stand. There is, I think, a sense of humor, a facetiousness in his tone – but also a powerful truth. How can we read this Bible, if we believe it to be the word of God, and go on living as we do? This week’s gospel lesson is a prime example of what Kierkegaard writes about, and of what I mean by wondering that we even dare to read Jesus’ words in a public setting. Did you know that fully 40% of what Jesus teaches about in the Synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke are about money or use economic metaphors? We hate talking about money, don’t we? Or at least, talking about our personal money. How much we have, how we spend it, how we use it, how much we need, how much we don’t have. How is it that we like to spend so little time talking about our money, when Jesus focused on money and faith so much? As Christians, we seem to get ourselves all tangled up in three or four verses that talk about homosexuality, or a few passages that talk about women’s roles, or that speak to some other controversial social issue of the day – we make these issues so important, but we like to stuff all the money talk in churches into a few weeks when, by necessity, we must have a stewardship campaign. And we don’t even like to talk about it then very much. And yet, almost half of what Jesus says has something to do with money, our stuff, how we share, or don’t share our wealth, and what all this means about our relationship with God.

Our gospel lesson today is a challenge. Everything that Jesus says is challenging – but this is a standout lesson for sure. As Jesus is setting out for a journey, a man falls on his knees before him and says, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus answers strangely: “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.” He then continues, listing several of the ten commandments to the man. The man tells him that he’s done this already, kept these commandments since he was a child. Jesus looks at him and loves him, the text says. And he responds, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” The man is grieved and shocked, and walks away thinking of his many possessions.

Jesus then turns to his disciples, and tells them it is easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. At this extreme statement, everyone is astounded. They ask who can possibly be saved if these are the standards. Jesus replies, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.” Peter seems to want to show that he and the other disciples have done what the rich man seems to be struggling with: “Look,” he says, “we have left everything and followed you.” Jesus says then that there’s no one who has left someone behind to for the sake of the gospel won’t receive a hundredfold back both now and in eternal life. But he, concludes, with often repeated words: “Many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” A challenging text. What do we do with it?

As Kierkegaard expected, many of the commentaries about this text try to find some way to soften it. Jesus says, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” And as soon as he says it, we try to unsay it for him. One pastor writes, “Nearly irresistible is the urge to soften this passage’s demands.”[2] Another[3] writes that he had come across two ways to interpret the metaphor of the camel and the eye of the needle that might make Jesus’ metaphor more bearable. First, he shares, “some interpreters of the Bible suggest that apart from the large gates into Jerusalem, there may have also been one small gate. This narrow gate, [easier to use than opening the big city gates, and] just high enough for human entry, was called the “Needle’s Eye.” Maybe a camel might be able to squeeze through if the beast hobbled in on its knees. As you can see,” he explains, “this tames the words of Jesus a little, and would suggest that a rich [person] humbly on [his or her] knees might be able to enter the kingdom of God.” However, there’s simply no evidence for the existence of such a gate. It’s totally speculation.

So he shares a second possible interpretation: “A second interpretation hangs on the undisputed fact that in the Greek of the New Testament the words for camel and thick rope cable are similar. Camel is “camelos” and rope cable is “camilos”. Maybe the later copiers of the New Testament got the words mixed up. This is a plausible theory. But it does once more blunt the words of Jesus.” Of course, a thick rope cable might be easier to fit through a needle eye than a camel – but I guarantee that thick rope cable isn’t going to actually going to make it through either.

Even if we take Jesus’ words at face value, some of us still don’t feel worried by this text, because we figure Jesus isn’t talking to us. He’s talking to someone else – someone who is tied to their possessions. Someone rich. We’re not rich are we? I’ve served three very different congregations now, and I have yet to run into anyone who actually considers themselves rich. The way I figure, as long as we know of someone who has more than we do, we figure that they may be rich, but we sure aren’t. It’s understandable. It’s hard to think of ourselves as rich if we struggle to make ends meet. But consider this – in my family, between me, my three brothers, my mother, my sister-in-law, and my nephew – that’s 7 people – we have 6 televisions, 5 computers, 8 telephones, 6 cars, two houses and an apartment, a swimming pool, probably 1000 DVDs and 3000 CDs, thousands of dollars worth of musical instruments including guitars, a piano, violins, and drums, 3 mp3 players, some gaming systems, 3 well-fed and pampered pets, at least a hundred stuffed animals, and at least 25 bins of “storage.” This comes from a family of workers that would consider themselves thoroughly middle class. But if we’re not rich, what’s rich? What’s the standard?

A good rule to follow when reading the scriptures is this: If Jesus is talking, he’s talking to us – to you, and to me. He’s not talking to someone else, about someone else. He’s talking about us. Jesus was really emphatic about tending to your own struggles rather than pointing out the sins of others. So if he’s talking, he’s talking to us. We might try to shed the label as best we can, but when it comes to being rich, there’s probably only a small handful of people in this congregation who could argue that this text isn’t really applicable. But if that list of stuff I shared sounds like a list of stuff you might rack up in your own family – Jesus is talking to you. Somehow, in the end, we have to come to terms with that – Jesus is talking to us. We don’t have to like it. We don’t have to follow him, to listen to him. But if we do decide to follow, then Jesus is talking to us.

So now what do we do with this text? To me, it’s a question of before and after. In this passage, we have two sections that talk about following Jesus. First, the rich man wants to know what to do to inherit eternal life, and he tells Jesus he’s been following the commandments. Jesus tells him one to do – one thing – sell his stuff, give the money to the poor, and follow Jesus. We don’t know if the man decides to do this or not. But we know he was grieved at the prospect. At the end of the passage, we have Peter saying to Jesus, “we have left everything and followed you.” In other words, the disciples have already done what Jesus was asking the rich man to do – left everything to follow Jesus. And Jesus says they will ultimately receive a hundredfold because of it. I think the rich man was hoping that he could be a follower of Jesus without having his life after he met Jesus be too different from his life before he met Jesus. He was hoping he could be a follower, be a disciple, but not have to change anything about his life. But if your life as a disciple doesn’t look very different from your life before being a disciple of Jesus, what’s the point? What’s the purpose? Following Jesus changes us – or is supposed to – making our life after significantly different from our life before. The rich man said he followed the commandments – but really, can’t most of us say we’ve done those basic things? Following Jesus is more of a commitment, more radical of a change in our lives. In fact, a complete change. We’re new creations in Christ. But so often, from trying to interpret Jesus’ words to make them easier to bear, to trying to convince ourselves Jesus means someone else and not us, we try to minimize what Jesus is asking of us, rather than trying to change ourselves.

When Jesus speaks these challenging words to this rich man, we might over look the powerful beginning of verse 21. Just before he tells the man to sell everything and give away his money, we read, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said.” Jesus loves this man. And what he says to him comes out of that love. If you love someone, you want the best for them. So Jesus is convinced that if this man does as he advises, he will have the very best life he can have, the fullest life that Jesus can offer, which comes from letting God fill us up, rather than trying to be the source of our own blessings. Jesus challenges us, asks the impossible from us, asks us to turn our lives upside down. He does it not to make following him a task we can never perform, but because he loves us, and wants us to stop settling for an imitation of real life.

The disciples themselves are overwhelmed by the uphill task of following Jesus. “Then who can be saved?” they wonder. Jesus responds, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.” Alone, we’re in trouble. With God, we have grace, unconditional love, unlimited second chances. We spend too much time hoping God will lower the expectations placed on us. In doing so, we diminish the perfection of what God offers us. Instead of lowering the standards so we can meet them, God offers grace and forgiveness, and the help to do what we never dreamed we could. So let’s hear what Jesus is really asking of us. And despite the difficult road ahead, we can give thanks: With God, it’s possible to change our lives, change the world, and to fit a camel through the eye of the needle.

Amen.

---

[1] Kierkegaard, source unknown.

[2] Skinner, Matthew.

[3] Prewer, Bruce. http://www.alphalink.com.au/~nigel/doc/20031012.htm

Sermon for Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, "Be Childlike"

Sermon 10/4/09, Mark 10:13-16

Be Childlike

Today we come to the third in a set of texts where Jesus draws children into the scene, draws children to the center of a circle of adult men, to the center of a circle of his most trusted colleagues, to the center of his teaching. In our first text two weeks ago, we read about the disciples arguing over who was the greatest, and in response, Jesus brought a small child into their midst, and said, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Then, last week, we talked about stumbling blocks, and heard Jesus say, probably of this same child, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your heck and you were thrown into the sea.”

And today, finally, we get to this passage of four short verses. People are bringing their children to be blessed by Jesus. The disciples, apparently not having absorbed much from the conversations they’ve seemingly just had with Jesus, speak sternly to them. We’re not sure exactly why they are upset with these parents and children. But we can make some guesses – the children were distracting, Jesus was busy, teaching, doing something more important. The children were in the way, Jesus had a lot on his plate; the children wouldn’t understand Jesus anyway. But Jesus becomes indignant at seeing this happening – another strong response from him after some passages of strongly-worded teaching. He says, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” And he takes the children in his arms, lays hands on them, and blesses them.

This passage is short, but powerful, as long as we don’t just skim the surface of what Jesus is saying. At surface, I think our impulse is, as I mentioned a few weeks ago, to conjure images of Jesus and children, which is fine, but not if the only response we can have is “how sweet.” Jesus is doing some serious teaching here. At the least, the passage hopefully causes us to think about children in the life of the church. How do we see children? What place do children have in the Body of Christ? I recently came across an article about a church that actually prohibits children under a certain age from entering the sanctuary. The church adamantly defends the practice, insisting adults shouldn’t have to be distracted during worship. They don’t seem to see any relevancy, apparently, between their practice and our passage for today. Beyond worship, though, are questions about how children are part of everything we do at church. Why do we want young people here and involved in what we’re about? Is it just for the survival of the church? Or because we want young people to experience God’s unconditional love? How do we welcome and bless children in our midst?

But still, Jesus pushes us beyond even those questions. He says, “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” We’re not just being asked to be nice and welcoming to children. We are being asked to learn from children, to in fact, ourselves, be childlike, so that we can receive God’s kingdom like they do. If we want to enter God’s kingdom, in this life or after, we need to receive it like a child. And that’s a little more challenging. What does that even mean? How do we receive the God’s kingdom like a child? How does a child receive God’s kingdom? What characterizes children, and how they approach things, and how they approach God? I spent some time considering these questions this week. Of course, when we think about children, we could come up with many different adjectives and descriptions. But thinking about children and God, children and faith, I’ve focused in on curiosity, vulnerability, and receptiveness.

Children are curious, aren’t they? From the moment they’re born, babies are curious – you can see the amazement in their eyes when they discover that their hands and feet are attached to their bodies, or when they become fascinated by a light on the ceiling, or a whirring fan. Children ask why. Why does this work that way? Why does this happen? Why does this rule exist? Why? Children ask until adults finally give in and say, “because I said so!” My nephew Sam is at the age where he can think the smallest thing is funny, and laugh at some new thing he has discovered over, and over, and over. On my vacation this summer, Sam spent an hour shining a flashlight into each of the adults’ faces, fascinated by seeing the light shine. Children are curious, and they are filled with awe and wonder.

As adults, are we curious? Do we have a sense of us? Do we look at the world around us in wonderment? Do we ask “why?” Sometimes, when it comes to faith matters, we’re afraid to be curious, and ask why, and wonder about what God is doing, and how God moves in the world. But actually, I think that some of our deepest growth in discipleship can come from asking questions. Not having any questions about our God who moves in such mysterious ways only says we’re not very interested in what God has going on. We need to wonder and ask. I think, as we get to adulthood, we’re afraid of not knowing the answers to questions. We’re afraid to be caught, called out, like a student called on in class who was busy daydreaming. I’ve certainly been in that embarrassing situation – you know, where you laugh at a joke but you haven’t even really understood what the other person was talking about? We’re so interested in appearing to know what’s going on, that we let ourselves miss out on fully experiencing things. We’d rather just pretend we know what is happening.

And we can get caught up with doing that in our relationship with God too – we’re worried about not looking like good disciples. We’re worried that we don’t seem to hear God’s voice as clearly and confidently as the person in the pew next to us seems to. We’re worried that our questions about God mean our faith isn’t strong. We worry that because we don’t know the Bible well, or don’t know our history well, or don’t know enough about our denominations, that we are somehow failing as Christians. We must be curious! Eager to ask about God and God’s ways. You have to rest assured that despite appearances, everyone one of us here, including your pastor, is filled with questions about God and how we are meant to follow God. We’re in this journey of faith together. So be curious, be filled with awe, and wonder.

Children are also vulnerable. In fact, humans are dependent and need the care of adults longer than virtually any other species on the planet. Newborns depend on others for every single thing in their lives. And any parents will know that children continue to depend on you for the next 18 years at least, but probably more like the next 25 years, or 30 years, or more. But seriously, children are vulnerable. They must put their trust, faith, confidence in others every day. Their very life is dependent on someone else providing for them every day.

As adults, one of the last things we want to be is vulnerable. In fact, in this society, we value our independence and our privacy so much that we’d usually rather not have to ask anyone for anything. And we certainly don’t want to appear vulnerable to others. If you think way back to the primaries before the last presidential election, you might remember a time on the campaign trail when Hillary Clinton started crying in response to a question someone asked her about the demands of her candidacy for the presidency. With the media coverage, with the incredible response – supportive or critical – of Clinton’s tears, you would think that the capacity to cry, to be moved to tears, to have an emotional response to something, must be some very, very rare thing. That’s how much we dislike being vulnerable in front of one another. And I can relate. I have long hated crying in front of others. I may be in extreme emotional distress internally. But externally, I will do everything I can to keep it together.

And why? For what purpose? Why are we so obsessed with seeming like we have everything together in front of others? What would be so horrible about being vulnerable? Perhaps we know that others are sometimes not gracious in their responses to our vulnerability. We close up and self-protect because we’ve been hurt. But with God, things are – or can be – different. God is merciful, and gracious, and gives us strength, where we see weakness. If nowhere else, we need to learn how to be vulnerable to God, and stop trying to put on a show for God of how together we are. When we’re vulnerable, then God can actually reach us, shape us, and change us.

And children are receptive. And I mean this in some very literal ways. Children have the ability to receive things, to receive gifts, with ease and openness. Children love receiving presents, and they delight in every part of the gift, from the shiny wrapping paper, to the box, to the item inside all the wrapping. They don’t worry about getting too many gifts. They don’t even really mind getting a lot of the same gift. Hopefully they say, “Thank you!” But hopefully, the joy with which children receive gifts is in itself a ‘thanks’ to the gift-giver.

Adults seem to have a hard time accepting gifts. We worry that there are really strings attached to gifts that we receive. We worry that something is expected of us in return. We worry that we don’t deserve the gift. We only want certain kinds of gifts. You remember this summer when I was talking about making a wish list for Christmas and birthdays. We go beyond that really – for weddings or baby showers or other special events, we actually register for the gifts we want, just to encourage people to get us only the things we’re asking for. Or we give each other gifts that we would never want ourselves, because we’re giving out of obligation, rather than generosity. Giving and receiving gifts, something that should be easy, and all about showing love and affection for others, becomes a tricky and stressful endeavor full of proper etiquette to uphold and unspoken expectations.

God is the best giver of all good gifts. God gives to us never out of obligation, but always out of love. And God gives to us as one who knows us completely, knows what we want, and what we truly need. And God always gives us the best. But so often, we’re not receptive to what God is giving us. God gives us talents and skills and abilities, and we neglect to use them, fail to appreciate them, act like they are a burden to us, and wish we had some other gifts or talents instead. God gives us forgiveness, grace, love without condition, and we feel like we have to earn the gift, do something to pay for it, be good enough to have received what God wants to give freely, not so that we will be in debt to God. If we are receptive, open to God’s gifts, God’s abundant generosity will overwhelm us, and satisfy us more completely than we can imagine.

Today we celebrate World Communion Sunday, a day when we rejoice to know that Christians all over the world, despite our different practices, structures, and theologies, we are members of the One Body of Christ. Today as we share this meal, let us come, childlike. Come and be curious and filled with wonder at how God can be present in the breaking of bread and the sharing of the cup. Come, be vulnerable, and open to God changing you through the simple meal. Come, receive these gifts, freely given, given with love, offered without price. Come, like a child, and receive the kingdom of God. Amen.

Sermon for Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, "Be Healed"

Sermon 9/27/09, James 5:13-20, Mark 9:38-50

Be Healed

Today’s gospel lesson of those times when I feel like the author had a few scenes of Jesus’ teaching that he didn’t know where to put, and just sort of jumbled them together in one scene. We have several snippets in today’s text, words from Jesus, that at first don’t seem to go together. Follow me through the text. First, we have the disciple John coming to Jesus apparently upset because someone else was casting out demons in Jesus’ name, someone who was *not* one of the twelve. Apparently, this bothered John and the others – they tried to stop the man because he wasn’t one of the inner circle. But Jesus tells them “whoever is not against us is for us,” and he tells them to let the man continue in his work. Then, Jesus says, “For truly I tell you,” implying that what he says next will be a conclusion to what he has said so far. “Whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward.” Next, Jesus begins warning against putting stumbling blocks in front of any of “these little ones” – here I assume he is speaking about the child that still must be at the center of their circle, the child Jesus used as an example of who to welcome in our reading last week. He says that anyone that puts a stumbling block in front of a child would be better off with a great millstone hung around their neck, thrown into the sea. Then Jesus, still talking about stumbling, seems to shift gears a little, saying whoever has an eye or hand or foot that causes them to stumble in sin would be better to cut off these body parts in order to enter the kingdom of God than to end up going whole into hell, certainly a vividly memorable and compelling image! And finally, Jesus says, again, as if it relates smoothly, “For everyone will be salted with fire. Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”

What’s the message for us in this jumble of texts? Can we find a lesson in this mix of teachings? Turning back to the beginning of our text, we see that the disciples are upset because someone else is casting out demons in Jesus’ name. Why are they upset? If already, so early into Jesus’ ministry, and early into the disciples’ own outreach, if already, others are taking up the cause, taking the message of Jesus, and using God’s power to heal, to free others from demons, wouldn’t this be a good thing? Shouldn’t they be happy to hear the effect that their message has had already? But instead of being happy about the obvious success of the message of the kingdom of God, they are upset and possessive – they want to control the message – control who spreads and how and who gets credit for it. So they try to stop this man, saying, “because he was not following us.” Already you can hear in their response that they are speaking of who is following the collective them, rather than who is following Jesus. Already they’ve forgotten that they aren’t the leaders – they’re servants of the one, the only one, they’re following.

Would we be any different than the disciples if we were in their place? Actually, I think we are in their place. We’re much the same as the disciples. Unfortunately, the church universal today is the center of a lot of fighting among its members – fighting among the various denominations, fighting among the various members within denominations. What is everyone fighting over? Our fighting may take different forms, focusing on how to interpret the scriptures, or social issues like sexuality or abortion, or even on organizational structure – but the main idea is usually the same – we believe we do things the right way, and that the others are doing things the wrong way. That’s perhaps to be expected. But, often, because we believe we do it right and they do it wrong, we actually spend more energy trying to stop them from doing what they’re doing than we do just doing what we’re doing. In the long run, Christianity as a whole doesn’t have a great public image. Right now, we are struggling to remain relevant and important in people’s lives. But instead of functioning together as the body of Christ, we compete with each other, in congregations, denominations, and between them, and end up losing the interest in the process of those with whom we seek to share the gospel – the good news about God’s redeeming, unconditional love.

Jesus tells the disciples that even a small gesture like giving a cup of water is an act that is part of this kingdom of God – and so even a man casting out demons who is not one of their group – if he is doing it in the name of Christ – as an act of the kingdom – this man too – this act too – it is an act worthy of God’s reward. It may not be the way the disciples wanted it done, and it may not be done by who they wanted to do it. But frankly, Jesus indicates, it isn’t up to them to decide. In fact, he continues, they do more harm by criticizing than the other man does by casting out demons. He says that what they’re doing is putting stumbling blocks in the way of others in their journey of following Jesus. And Jesus says that putting stumbling blocks in another’s path is the greater evil. In fact, he feels so strongly about this that he says it is better for a person to throw themselves into the ocean with a millstone around their neck than to be the one who puts a stumbling block before another. Those are very strong words – an expression of hyperbole or exaggeration to be sure, or indeed, we would all be without eyes, hands, and feet. But the image lets us know exactly how Jesus feels.

We all make mistakes. We all sin. And God asks us to repent and again journey in God’s direction instead of our own. Our own sin is one thing. But when by our actions we lead others into sin – that’s another, more serious matter. When, by our actions, we keep others from following God, and prevent them from answering God’s call to them, Jesus tells us that this is a very serious thing. So, in the life of the church in the world, when we work against each other and not with each other, or at least in support of one another, we not only restrict our brothers and sisters in Christ from doing what God has called them to do, we also keep them from reaching people in need of God’s message of love.

When Jesus talks about the eyes and hands and feet that cause sin, I think he’s saying that when someone stumbles on a path, it’s smarter to remove the cause of the stumbling than to remove the person traveling, or to have the person change paths. The person is right, the path is right, it is only the source, the stumbling block, that is getting in the way. We have to be more honest with ourselves. Most of us, thinking about stumbling blocks, can probably quickly call to mind times when others have been stumbling blocks for us. That’s easy. But that’s not what Jesus is saying. He is speaking directly to us: “If you put a stumbling block before [some]one . . .,” “if your hand causes you to sin.” Jesus isn’t asking us to think about what others have done to us. Jesus is asking us to think about our actions toward others. Today, each of us must think about our actions, and our actions only. Where in our lives have we caused someone else to stumble? Where have my actions – your actions – prevented someone from answering God’s call? We hope, I’m sure, never to be responsible for such a thing. But I’m ready to admit that sometimes I want to tell others they’re doing it wrong, going about ministry wrong, getting the details wrong, following God wrong. I’m tempted to tell them how to do it right, like I do. I’m tempted to put a stumbling block in their path, even though I wouldn’t want to call it that, but you can believe that as a pastor, there’s not a thing in our spiritual lives that I don’t have at least an opinion about! But if what I do – if what you do – if what we do as a congregation, or denominations, or as an entire faith tradition actually puts distance between someone else and God? Jesus says we better think seriously about the consequences of such actions.

I’ve mentioned to you that James is one of my favorite books of the Bible, and it is again the source for our second text today. In part, James is a favorite because James is very practical and straightforward in talking about how to live as a disciple. The apostle Paul might get the credit for his theological depth in all his letters to the churches, but to me, James does the important thing – he tells us how to live. He translates what Jesus has taught into how the early Christians should act with one another. And so James tells us what it looks like when we stop working against each other and start working with one another and for the sake of Jesus. In our passage today, James is writing about the power of prayer, which is just to say the power of actually talking to God, and the power of acting out of concern for one another. “Therefore,” he says,” confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.” Healing in the community comes from this mutual relationship of intentional care for one another, under God’s love.

This congregation has certainly been through a long time of transition. Now, I’ve been here with you for three months, and I’ve been working to get a sense of where you’ve come from and who you are. But I think, after a time of transition, a time of waiting and preparing, you are also ready to move forward. There’s a lot going on in this congregation that I’m excited about. The Spirit of God is moving among us. God is calling us. We are ready, I think, to follow Jesus, down the challenging, surprising ways paths of discipleship. But before we go any further, I want us to pause here today – to pray for healing, to ask forgiveness, to share forgiveness, wherever there has been pain or hurt in the process of transition. I want us to pause here today and try to identify the stumbling blocks on our path – what is holding you back from following Jesus with your whole being? Where can you help clear someone else’s way? Today, following the benediction, I will remain in the sanctuary to offer prayers with you for healing, any kind of healing that you might need in your life – physical, emotional, spiritual. If you choose, I invite you to come to the rail, kneel or stand, and I will make the sign of the cross on your forehead with holy oil, and pray for God to guide your life on a clear path of discipleship.

And today, I’m asking all of you to pray for God to help us to remove those stumbling blocks from our path, so that nothing stands in the way of our walking with God. Because I think we’re standing on the edge of the wonderful things God is hoping and dreaming for this community. I think we’re standing at the starting line, and I’m so anxious for us to really embrace this journey together.

Jesus said, “whoever is not against us is for us. For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will be no means lose the reward.” Amen.

Sermon for Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, "Be Last"

Sermon 9/20/09, James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9:30-37

Be Last

I have to confess to you – it may not seem like it to you at first – but I’m actually a very competitive person. I like to win, and not so much even just to win, but to be the best. Now, I don’t mean that I will get upset and be a bad sport if I lose a game of Scrabble against you. But you might catch a glimpse of what I mean as we approach the CROP Walk next month – I will really want us to raise more money than any other church. Yes, because it will help hungry people, of course. But also, because I want us to be in first place! Throughout school Todd, my youngest brother, and I would always compete over grades and other academic achievements – Todd had a higher rank in high school than I did, but I had the higher SAT score, and we still argue about which is more important, even though now we are both well out of any situations where it matters!

So I have a competitive spirit. Most of the time, I can use this for the good. But sometimes, I have to be careful, and aware of when that competitive nature might be distracting me from what is important or right, or what God is calling me to do. Some of you might know that when I was serving in New Jersey, part of my plan was to return to Drew, where I went to seminary, to pursue a PhD. A PhD is on of the highest academic achievements you can achieve in any given field – it’s the “best,” in a sense, and I wanted it. And it had been my plan since high school to eventually seek my doctoral degree, part of the mental schedule I had mapped out for myself.

Now, I’m a big fan of learning, and higher education, and continuing education, and generally using our minds, the precious gifts that God has given us, to learn more and experience more of this world God has created. But suddenly, as I was going through the application process for the PhD program, I couldn’t figure out why I was doing it – why I wanted to go back to school. I didn’t want to teach in seminary, or work at an agency that might require the degree. I was missing Central New York, and my family. And I didn’t have the drive, right then, for the course load that I would have to take and try to balance with my church work. Finally, I realized that I just wanted the title because it was available – and I wanted the best degree available – the highest, top level thing I could get. But nowhere in my reasoning did I feel like going to school was necessarily what God was calling me to do, or what I felt like was going to really enhance my ministry as a pastor. And I try, always, to make my important decisions by listening for God’s leading voice. I still might go back to school some day. But if I do, it will be in God’s time, and for a purpose, and not in my time, and for a title.

Why were the disciples following Jesus? What was their purpose? As we look at our text today, our motivations are brought into sharp focus. We skip ahead a little in Mark this week from where we left off last week. But the conversation is a bit the same as it was in our text last week at the start – Jesus is sharing with the disciples, as they are passing through Galilee, that the will be betrayed, killed, and then rise again. We read that the disciples don’t understand what Jesus is talking about, but wisely, this time, Peter does not rebuke Jesus for his words. Unwisely, however, when they arrive in Capernaum, Jesus asks them what they were arguing about along the way. Rather than trying to figure out what Jesus means about this betrayal, killing, and rising, they’ve been arguing about which one of them was the greatest.

In response, Jesus sits down with the twelve and says to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” And then, by way of example, Jesus takes a little child and put the child in the midst of the group. He says, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

At first it strikes me as funny that the disciples are actually arguing about which one of them is the best – how could they get caught up in something so silly – they, who were following Jesus, who couldn’t be more obvious in his lack of caring about matters like status and power and titles and places of honor. But on the other hand, if I can let myself really imagine the scene, I can see how it might unfold: These disciples are a group of twelve people, probably never chosen for anything before, and now, just twelve out of so many, they are called, by name, to follow Jesus. And Jesus is something of a celebrity, this man who teaches with authority, goes toe to toe with the Pharisees, and feeds people, and heals the sick wherever he goes. To be a disciple is like being in a pretty small inner-circle. I can see how over the course of three years with him, the disciples might start arguing, pointing out who was called first, or who Jesus confided in most, or who Jesus sent out most frequently, or who Jesus corrected most often. Which disciple was the best? The greatest? I can see how it would happen, as it happens to us in so many situations today. We get caught up in our own importance, and want to know where we stand in relation to everyone else.

Jesus clears this up really quickly: if we are to be his followers, where we stand in relation to everyone else is last, at the end of the line, serving others. That is some concise and clear perspective. And to illustrate, Jesus brings a child to the center of the circle, and talks about welcoming them. The child is at the center, and the disciples are moved to the edges of the circle. Now, today we come upon the first of three weeks of texts where Jesus talks about children, a rare topic of conversation in the Bible. And I think most people like these little passages, because children today are so treasured. We value children, love children, dote on children. And so, when we read these texts, we get these heart-warming pictures in our heads. Indeed, images, paintings, sketches of this text, and the ones that follow today’s selection usually depict a happy friendly Jesus bouncing some cute and rosy-cheeked baby on his lap. Sweet, touching pictures of Jesus with children that make us smile.

But such images don’t tell the whole story, let us know how significant these mentions of children in the Bible are, or help us to understand what an important point Jesus is trying to make here. Every time we hear the size of a crowd quoted in the gospels, the number given would be the number of the men only in the crowd. As the texts sometimes explicitly note, women and children were not counted in these numbers, because they weren’t considered important enough, or significant enough to count. What mattered in Jesus’ day was how many adult males were present. Women were considered less important, and children were even less so. Children were certainly loved, and they were important in terms of being able to carry on a family line. But children, in Jesus’ day, were not what they are today.

Why was this? Were people just less loving in Jesus’ day? No – they loved their families like we do, I’m sure. But children were vulnerable. Perhaps as many as half of all children simply wouldn’t survive until adulthood. And children didn’t have any social or legal standing or status in society. They had no power. They were simply not-yet-adults who were being trained to be adults, and they would count for something when they became adults. So when Jesus talks about children, he’s bringing to the center of attention a group of people that no one else is particularly interested in. Jesus is talking about people who weren’t even really considered worth counting, thinking about. He’s making them the focus of his example, the object of his teaching, the important center of attention.

The disciples, for all Jesus had taught them, were still interested in power and status. But, Jesus says, the way to be first where it matters is to welcome those that are not just lower in status – but to serve those who had no status at all, who weren’t even high enough to be counted or given a status. Jesus wants us to take those who don’t even count, and put them at the center. In doing so, we take ourselves out of the center, to the edges, placed as servants. In doing so, we welcome Jesus, and welcome God. And the one who welcomes God to their table – surely this person would feel themselves to be the greatest in a way that actually matters.

The only question left for us then is this: who is it who is like the unseen, uncounted child for us today? Who are we not counting? Not seeing? Not including? We can ask ourselves that question in many settings. Who don’t we see right within the walls of this church? Whose opinion do we count as less than our own? Sometimes we look at someone who has been here less years than someone else, and we don’t really see them. Sometime we look at someone who has been here their entire life, and we don’t really count them. Sometimes we overlook someone because they are too young to take seriously. And sometimes we count someone out because they are too old. I don’t believe we do things so intentionally or overtly – but whenever we become very focused on making sure thing are how we want them, we’re probably putting ourselves at the center of the circle, and not leaving room for someone else. Who don’t you see in your community? This week I encourage you to think about who we don’t count in society – who don’t we even notice? Maybe it’s a waiter bring your food to the table, or a bus boy cleaning up your dirty dishes. Maybe it’s the person collecting your trash, or checking you out of the grocery store. Maybe it’s the immigrant we overlook, or the teen dressed in something we can’t understand why they’d wear, or the person trying to discreetly buy food with food stamps. Jesus wants us to welcome them, welcome them, by putting them at the center of our attention. And the only way we can do that, is if we get out of the middle of the circle, and take a spot on the edge, so that there’s room, a place, for the ones who don’t get counted. And then, we serve.

“Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me, but the one who sent me.” Amen.

Sermon for Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, "Be Followers"

Sermon 9/13/09, James 3:1-12, Mark 8:27-38

Be Followers

This week, at the eighth anniversary of September 11^th, 2001, like many people, I thought about where I was and what I was doing when I first heard word of what was unfolding in New York City, Pennsylvania, and Washington, DC. I was in my second year of seminary at the time, in Madison, NJ, and I had just started my internship at the General Commission on Christian Unity and Interreligious Concerns, the ecumenical and interfaith agency of the United Methodist Church, which is located in Manhattan. I had worked just two days so far, and was feeling pretty brave for commuting into the city, making my way on the subway, and getting to the busy location of my workplace. Now, September 11^th was not one of the days that I was in the city – but going back to my job afterwards – there was such a climate of fear and anxiety, I can’t even explain to you. Every time a subway car stopped on the tracks between stations, people were afraid. When we had a fire drill in the building where I worked, people were afraid. When the train back to NJ had an anthrax scare, people were afraid. For the first time in many people’s lives, there was a realization that perhaps we weren’t really safe. We feared, in a way we hadn’t before, for our safety. For our personal safety, our physical safety, but also for our sense of national safety, safety for our society, a way of life we’d gotten used to. We desire, hope for safety in our lives – safety in our homes, schools, communities, on our streets, in the air – aren’t we seeking after a world that is safe?

Thinking about these issues of safety, keeping those thoughts in your mind, we turn to our text from Mark’s gospel. It’s another text that appears more than once in the lectionary, and we usually associate this passage with the season of Lent – when Jesus talks about denying ourselves and taking up crosses – that’s imagery that fits in with giving up or taking up something for Lent. But here it is, at the edge of fall, and we find this passage again. Our scene opens Jesus asking his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” They answer truthfully that some speculate that Jesus is John the Baptist back from the dead, or that he is Elijah in his second coming, or at least one of the prophets. Then Jesus asks a more personal question: “But who do you say that I am?” And Peter answers, “You are the Messiah.” This is the first time that Jesus is so identified by the disciples in Mark’s gospel. Peter has identified Jesus as the Christ, the Messiah, for the first time. Jesus wants to know: what do I mean to the people? Who am I to them? And who am I to you? And the people, the crowds, the religious leaders – they’re confused, questioning. They all misname Jesus, misidentify who he is and what he is about. But Peter, for once, gets the answer right - You are the Messiah, he tells Jesus. Peter's answer shows that he knows who Jesus is.

But just as soon as Peter makes this identification, we find ourselves in the second section of this scene – Jesus describes for the disciples the events that will happen in their coming time together – the Son of Man will undergo great suffering and eventual death, and then rise again. Mark notes that Jesus “said all this quite openly.” Peter wasn’t pleased, apparently, with such openness. He takes Jesus aside and rebukes him. But Jesus turns the tables back on Peter, with blunt words. “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things, but on human things.” Then Jesus calls the crowds and disciples together. “If any want to become my followers,” he says, “let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lost it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?”

Denial. Crosses. Saving and losing lives. Gain and forfeit. Jesus’ words are tongue twisting and circular and confusing. To save our life we must lose it, and if we lose it, we save it. What does it mean? For answers, perhaps we can look to the first part of this passage again, where Jesus has a rebuking showdown with Peter. What triggers Jesus’ reaction, I wonder? If someone you loved told you that all sorts of terrible things would happen to them, even if they thought those things were necessary, wouldn’t you want to stop these things from happening? Wouldn’t you insist that it wasn’t true, that they were just pessimists, with bad outlooks on the future? Isn’t Peter just trying to get Jesus out of this negative state of mind?

But then, on the other hand, I wonder: Are Peter’s motives really so selfless? Does he rebuke Jesus just because he does not want to hear about what his master will have to endure? Is he really just unable to bear hearing what Jesus will endure? If that’s the case, why does Jesus respond to him so harshly? Wouldn’t Jesus know Peter was speaking and reacting out of love? I wonder, then, if perhaps Peter was speaking out of fear – not for Jesus, but for himself. He has been following Jesus day to day, step to step. Now Jesus is talking about a path of suffering, rejection, and death. Won’t Peter have to follow Jesus on this path, too, to continue his discipleship? Perhaps Peter is not ready to give, or give up, what it takes to follow Jesus. Jesus is offering salvation – but perhaps Peter is looking for safety instead.

This is the crux of the passage. This is what I’ve been wondering about as I’ve been thinking about 9/11 this week. Are we looking for salvation? Or just safety? Because I think there is a big difference between being saved and being safe. Being safe means that we are protected from threats, protected from harm. But being saved – the word save is connected to the world salve, as in a healing balm. Being saved is something that brings wholeness, wellness, and life. But there’s no guarantee of safety. The thing about following Jesus is that he never promises that it will be safe to follow him. He’s very clear about that with Peter and his disciples in our text today. Following Jesus involves denying ourselves and taking up a cross, and actually following Jesus. There’s nothing safe about that at all. It’s risky, actually. But Jesus is taking about saving our lives, when we stop hanging onto our safety.

Are you looking to be safe? Or saved? If we think about the ways that we give – of ourselves, our money, our time, our possessions, our talents – we usually are willing to give so long as it doesn’t make us change our usual patterns and behaviors. I’ll give as long as I don’t have to give up something else. We serve, but within our comfort zones. We love, but with limits to protect ourselves. We risk, but not so much that we’re really be in trouble if things don’t work out. We, like Peter, fear being asked to give more than we’re able – to give our very selves. We can think of the motto, “Give until it hurts.” This sounds like an apt description of Jesus’ plan for us, doesn’t it? Laying down our lives? Taking up a cross?

But Jesus doesn’t see it this way. He turns our usual understandings upside down and inside out. To live you must get rid of your carefully constructed safety nets so that Jesus can actually save you. And to save, you must lose. After all, Jesus asks us, what can you give that equals the gift of your life? Not giving until it hurts. Giving until it gives you life. Unless we give up what we’re holding onto so tightly, unless we stop hanging on for dear life to our safety, we won’t be free to take up the cross that Jesus is offering to us. And we want to take that cross, though it seems hard to bear. Because if we don’t take up that cross, there is only so far we will be able to follow Jesus, only so far he can travel with us, before our paths must part. His path leads to the cross and beyond – to salvation – wholeness – life. His path may seem painful, but it is the path to the fullest kind of life we could desire. It is the path that will meet our deepest hopes. It is the path of abundant life. What can we give to walk such a path? Everything! “If any want to become my followers,” he says, “let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lost it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

Jesus gives us the choice, as he gave to Peter and the disciples. Safe, or saved? Safe, but empty, unsatisfied? Or saved, risky, but whole, well? Your life, your real life is at risk. And saving it is worth giving everything. Amen.

"Whoever wants to be frist must be last of all and servant of all."

From the lectionary this week: "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Mark 9:35b

I've posted this quote before, but in light of this week's scripture text, I've had it on my mind, without being able to really work it in to my sermon:

From Kent Carlson's Soul Journey: "I am convinced that personal ambition, and a pastoral ethic centered around productivity and success is brutal to our souls and destructive to the souls of the people we lead. I believe there is a better way. But it requires us to walk right into the messiness of our own ambitious hearts, ready to die to those ambitions. We must become skilled at detecting the odor of personal ambition, then flee from it as if the church's future depends on it. For I believe it does."

Sermon for Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Sermon 9/6/09, James 2:1-17, Mark 7:24-37

Be Opened

This week, we’re starting a new focus in worship, centered on asking ourselves the question: Who and what is God calling us to be? Who are we meant to be, each one of us? Who are we meant to be as a congregation? Each week, through October, we’ll look at a different aspect of what God seeks for us to be, and think about how we can live out God’s hopes for us. This week, we start with a challenging beginning.

No matter how many times I read this gospel lesson from Mark, I can’t quite come to terms with it. I’ve read commentaries and articles and scoured sources for inspiration. Nothing satisfies me. I want a clear explanation of the passage. Tell me why Jesus says what he says to this woman, please. I even find myself going back and forth in my own understanding and interpretation of the passage. This text appears in more than one gospel, and so it shows up in the preaching cycle every year. I’ve preached a few times on this passage, in some form, and it never fails to stretch me. The first time I preached on the passage, I thought perhaps that Jesus had simply had his understanding of his own mission widened by a persistent woman who demanded attention. She shared grace with him. A role reversal of sorts, but one that foreshadowed the universal nature of the gospel message that would come in the fullness of time. Another time I preached on the text, I figured that actually, Jesus gave in to the woman’s demands so easily that he could not really have meant to not heal her daughter in the first place. Jesus was somehow playing a role or something. And somewhere in the process of struggling with this strange text, I barely even remember to study the second half of our passage for today – a second healing, where Jesus opens the ears of a man who is deaf.

Let’s look at this strange set of healings more closely. Our passage begins with Jesus setting out after his teachings to the scribes and Pharisees, disciples and crowds, about what is clean and unclean, the lesson we heard just last Sunday. Jesus reminds them that it is what is inside a person that can make them clean or unclean, not what is outside, external, what goes in. It is not the superficial that makes us unclean or clean, but the contents of our hearts. Jesus reprimands the religious leaders for holding onto human traditions so tightly that they miss the point of the commandments of God to love.

After this confrontation, we find in our text for today that Jesus has set out for the region of Tyre. Tyre was a region that was primarily inhabited by Gentiles – by non-Jews. We’re told that he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s there. But, as usual, “he could not escape notice,” and a woman comes to him with a “little” daughter who has an unclean spirit. She comes to him because, we read, she “immediately” heard about him when he came into town. She falls on her knees before Jesus and begs him to heal her child. Jesus’ response? “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs,” he says. Meaning has changed somewhat over time, but calling a woman a dog – even, in this situation, something like a ‘puppy-dog’, wasn’t exactly nice then either. Jesus seems to be saying that she doesn’t count as one of the children he’s trying to feed, but is like a dog begging for their food. But the woman has her own snappy comeback for Jesus – “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” This somehow suits what Jesus was looking for apparently, because he says to her, “For saying that, you may go – the demon has left your daughter.” After this healing, Jesus takes an awkward route by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee. Here, a man who is deaf and who has a speech impediment is brought to Jesus. Jesus heals with a command – “Ephphatha – be opened.” Jesus tries to keep the healing quiet, but of course the news spreads quickly. People say of him, “he has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.”

When I’m confused about the meaning of passages in the Bible, it often helps me to check the immediate context – what happens right before and right after this passage. Knowing where the story falls in the overall scheme of things can help point us to what the story means, instead of trying to take a passage out of context as a stand-alone teaching. In context, we can ask: Why is the story here? Does it illustrate a point made in an earlier scene? Is it setting the stage for what comes next? If we look at the ‘before’ to today’s passage, and remember that Jesus was talking about it being what is inside, not what is outside, that makes a person clean or unclean, and then see him interacting with a woman who was, well, a woman, and a foreign woman, a Gentile woman, a woman of a different race, a woman with an unclean, demon-possessed daughter, a woman begging on her knees, strike after strike against her, according to ritual, custom, tradition, practice – where is this story leading us? If Jesus had been teaching about what really defiles a person, and how people weren’t unclean for the superficial reasons the Pharisees insisted on, and then he went from there directly to a region where the majority of people were foreigners, unclean under purity laws, for no apparent reason, what can we suspect about Jesus’ intentions with the woman? Despite appearance to the contrary, it seems Jesus must have gone to Tyre on purpose to interact with non-Jews. He must have at least anticipated a non-Jew coming to him for healing. And though his first words to her are at first hard to hear, what strongly held belief against healing her could be so easily overthrown after a one sentence exchange? I must believe, given the positioning of these two passages, that Jesus’ trip to Tyre is an illustration, a demonstration of his point about what – who – is clean and unclean, unaccepted and accepted in God’s terms over human terms.

If we turn to our epistle lesson for today, the meaning of the interaction between Jesus and this woman becomes even deeper. This letter is one of my favorite books of the bible, written by James the brother of Jesus, but it is almost overwhelming in its depth of convicting teaching. Today, we read his most famous words: “Faith, by itself, if it has no works, is dead.” James, much in the vein of last week’s gospel lesson, is writing that it is not a person’s outside appearance, outside status, outside position that matters in the eyes of God. Such a simple lesson, isn’t it? Haven’t we known this since we were children? Been taught this since kindergarten? Perhaps in a way, James’ text can seem to us patronizing, or even, at least irrelevant. Do we really need someone to tell us not to judge people by what they’re wearing? We must really be advanced from the folks of Biblical times by now, right? But I suspect that actually we are often like I was in show and tell all those years ago. We’re ready to dole out expert advice because we’ve read the Book, but we’ve never actually put its contents to use yet ourselves. What does our living say about our believing? James says, “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”

James’ understanding of faith and works can be applied even to Jesus’ ministry. Faith by itself without works is dead. Teachings about what is right, knowing and being able to say what is right, means absolutely nothing if you don’t actually do what is right, and live rightly. How many followers do you think Jesus would have had if he had talked all this good talk about who was clean and unclean and then refused to be in ministry with those who were outside the typically accepted community? If such leadership cultivated followers, we could all have our own disciples, because we’re mostly very good at knowing the basics of faith. It is the living-out-of-faith part that causes us to stumble, where Jesus did not.

The problem with our understanding of “loving your neighbor” is that we have sculpted our lives until our only neighbors, the only ones we interact with, are people who look like us, who dress like us, who shop where we do and own the same kinds of things we do and who generally believe the same kinds of things we do. Despite Jesus’ living examples to the contrary, despite his habit of literally walking miles out of his way to find himself among people different from himself, we always seem to define neighbor in the narrowest, most literal ways possible. Hey – living, as I do, above a quiet insurance agency, on a block that has only two other homes, one of which is empty, I can declare that I get along with all my neighbors perfectly. But Jesus literally traveled across the country to find examples of what he meant by neighbor. He went from region to region to show us the full scope of what it means to love your neighbor, putting into practice all that he was teaching.

If we finally go back to the second part of the gospel lesson, where Jesus heals a deaf man, I’m now struck in particular by some phrases in the text. Jesus says, “Ephphatha – Be opened!” And the people react, “He has done everything well; he makes even the deaf to hear.” God’s words seem so often to be lost on us – we’re unwilling to hear what God is shouting, unwilling to accept God’s love for ourselves and God’s love for others. But even those of us that are seemingly deaf to God’s calling to us, Jesus has, can, will open us. How does God need to open your heart? To whom do you need to be opened? Whose voices are you unable or unwilling to hear? Will you let Jesus help you hear God’s persistent calling?

Let’s not be distracted from the heart of the message this week – don’t be so caught up in how Jesus addressed this bold Syrophoenician woman that you miss the bold things Jesus did for her. He crossed a boundary, and reached out a hand, and extended God’s grace, where no one else deemed the people worthy of receiving it. He has done everything well. Let us go and do likewise.

Amen.

Sermon for Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, "Inside Out"

Sermon 8/23/09, James 1:17-27, Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Inside Out

Are you all familiar with the story and music from Fiddler on the Roof? When I was in high school, I was in a community theatre production of Fiddler, and have most of the lyrics and choreography permanently imprinted in my mind. In the opening scene, Tevye, the lead character, a poor milk man, asks the question and gives the answer that frames the whole story: “How do we retain this fragile balance in life?” He can tell you in just one word: Tradition! Throughout the musical, Tevye’s three daughters marry in turn, but each match poses a challenge to Tevye’s sense of tradition and how things are meant to be done. His oldest daughter, Tzeitel, asks her father to be let out of the arranged match for her, so that she can marry the man she truly loves, Motel, the tailor. Tevye groans and complains, but finally agrees that they can marry for love. Then his second daughter, Hodel, wants to marry revolutionary Perchik. When the approach Tevye, they tell him they are not asking for permission, only for his blessing. Again, Tevye is distressed and refuses at first, but finally gives in. And then finally his youngest daughter Chava falls in love with a Christian man, Fyedka. She, too, seeks to change her father’s heart about her match, but Tevye says “enough” – he has bent enough and let go of too much tradition. Here he will not bend. Near the end of the story, he does pray God’s blessing on Chava and Fyedka. Tevye is not able to accept Chava and her marriage with open arms, but he is at least willing to keep Chava connected to his life.

As enjoyable as Fiddler is as a musical, as much as the songs make you (or me at least) want to sing along, and as much as the script makes you laugh, the questions asked are serious ones, important ones. How far should you change traditions to meet the demands of an ever-changing world? How far is too far to bend? When do the traditions hold us to what is good and important, and when do they keep us from moving forward, from growing and changing in healthy ways? What traditions are based on simple habits that have extended over generations, and when to they represent the unchanging truth?

Traditions can be such wonderful parts of our lives. We take comfort in traditions. They give us identity, and order, and bind us together when traditions are shared. No doubt you have favorite traditions that have shaped your childhood, your adulthood, your family and identity. I remember with clarity and affection the traditions, for instance, that guided our Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations. I remember being in charge of making the place cards every Thanksgiving – decorating them with stickers or corn kernels, while watching the Macy’s parade. I remember spending every Christmas Eve at my grandparents, first eating dinner with them, then going to church with them, and then opening presents from them. But these traditions eventually changed. The process of change was sometimes hard – indeed, is still hard. My youngest cousin is in high-school now, and it is extremely difficult to gather the full extended family together for holidays, as once was commonplace. And I’m still getting used to my brother and sister-in-law staying home with my nephew Sam on Christmas morning, rather than spending the night at my mothers! It’s hard to let go of these things that have brought us so much joy. But today, my family celebrates new traditions. For a few years, we’ve been going to my aunt’s in Cortland for Thanksgiving, and it turns out she’s wished for years that she could have a chance to play hostess! My Christmas Eves look quite different these days too, naturally. Traditions are so important, so powerful. But there are circumstances and situations that call us to reconsider what has been tradition.

Today we finally leave John 6 and return to Mark in our gospel lesson, and Jesus is gathered with the some of the scribes and Pharisees, and tradition is the underlying topic. In Mark’s account, this scene happens just after the feeding of the five thousand, which we read about in John. The Pharisees and scribes right away notices that Jesus and his disciples are eating with unwashed hands – defiled, ritually unclean hands. Mark goes on to elaborate how concerned the Pharisees are with following the tradition of the elders when it comes to these rituals of cleanliness, rituals prescribed since the days of Moses. The scribes and Pharisees call Jesus out on his behavior – why don’t you and your lot follow tradition and wash your hands before you eat? Why eat with dirty hands? Jesus responds by calling the Pharisees out too – “You hypocrites,” he says. And then he quotes from the prophet Isaiah: “This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.’” Jesus concludes, “You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.” And then Jesus calls the whole crowd into the conversation. “Listen,” he says, “understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.” In the verses we skip in our passage today, there is more of the same – Jesus says to the Pharisees, "You have a fine way of setting aside the commands of God in order to observe your own traditions!”

Today when we read gospel lessons featuring the Pharisees, we tend to think of them as the bad guys in the story, because Jesus is usually calling them hypocrites and telling them they’ve got their beliefs and practices all mixed up. But we have to remember, the Pharisees were the religious folk of the day – the active folk in the community of faith, who dedicated their lives to studying God’s word. In other words, they were the first century equivalent of active church-goers. Whenever we read a scripture passage featuring the Pharisees, it easy to fall into a pattern of scapegoating these religious leaders. We know we’re not supposed to do what they do. But we should always seek to see in ourselves the Pharisees that Jesus so challenges. How are we like the people he describes? How do we engage in the same practices Jesus talks about here?

As I think about this conversation with the Pharisees, I’m struck that what they’re saying to Jesus isn’t so crazy at core – after all, we certainly would recommend washing your hands before you eat, washing your food, and washing your dishes! The practice itself is not what upsets Jesus. It’s that the practice they’ve developed has become more important than the reason they were meant to do it in the first place. While our washing practices are centered on hygiene, the Pharisees valued cleanliness because these acts of cleaning were part of the law that they sought to follow to the letter. But in following the law so carefully, they forgot that for them, the meaning underneath their rituals was symbolic of being pure in heart when coming before God. They’d forgotten that though, and were following the rules – and enforcing those rules – without caring anymore whether the reason behind the practice was in tact. They may have had clean hands, but Jesus wasn’t convinced about their pure hearts.

I wonder if sometimes we, like the Pharisees, don’t lose sight of why and what we’re meant to be doing, because we’ve become so focused and concerned with making sure we get the details of how we going to do it “right.” I only just recently learned, for example, that the coverings that we use over the cup and bread during communion came into usage simply to keep flies off the food and out of the chalice. They didn’t begin with any spiritual significance. But now covering the elements is seen as a sign of respect, perhaps even indicating the veiled nature of the mystery of the gift of communion. There’s no problem with viewing the communion coverings with this extra layer of meaning, but only as long as we don’t confuse the tradition of the practice with something that God is actually worried about whether we do or not!

For Jesus, the way in which we do something, how we go about doing it, is never as important as actually doing the thing in the first place. It’s about following God’s commandments to us – that’s much more important than how we follow, the details, the practices. Jesus told us that the greatest commandments are that we love God, and that we love one another. But too often, we worry so much about how we will implement a plan for following those commandments. We become obsessed with the details, the plans, and the right ways to do it. We get upset when others won’t agree to our plans. We’re sure we’ve got the best way figured out. And somehow, before we know it, we’ve spent a lot of time figuring out a good system for loving God, and loving others, and spent very little time actually loving. Jesus calls us, as he calls the Pharisees, to put things back in the right order. The way we do things isn’t unimportant. And Jesus isn’t saying you should change things for the sake of changing. But the methods and practices we use to carry out our mission, following God, can never become the most important thing. Because whenever we hold too tightly to how we want things to be done, we end up not having room in our hands for God’s grace, and then, we are really in trouble.

Jesus reminds us that it is not the things outside ourselves that make us who we are. Our practices, traditions and rituals can and should show our love of God and our service to God, but God does not love us because of our traditions. Who we are is what is inside of us, and God hopes that what is inside of us is love. Love for ourselves, love for God, love for one another, without condition. Let us live as God’s precious children, a life of love from the inside out. Amen.

Sermon for Twelfth Sunday after Epiphany

Sermon 8/23/09, Ephesians 6:10-20

Dressed for Success

I have to admit to you that when I first read our passage from Ephesians, when I first skim this text again after not having considered it for some time, my first response is always a bit of a cringe of dislike. This is the closing passage of Paul’s letter to the community of Ephesus, the last chuck of major teaching for this new community of faith before he signs off with some personal words and a benediction. And here we find a sort-of “dress code” for the Christian believer. The imagery is vivid, certainly, painting bold pictures as we hear and read about putting on the whole armor of God. We read, “Put on the whole armor of God . . . our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rules, against the authorities, against the cosmic power of the present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Paul then continues by describing six pieces of this armor of God: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, shoes to proclaim peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit. These pieces of armor, donned by the Christian believer, are to guard against evil, and provide strength.

I cringe at this passage because I struggle with such an image of a Christian warrior. For example, we as Christians in the United States don’t feel the same kind of threats against our faith that the early Church felt. Whatever we might feel about the place of Christianity in the US, we are not persecuted in a way that compares with that of the early church, not threatened systematically, not martyred and tortured if we won’t renounce our faith in Jesus. Do we need these warrior images? And, in the midst of all that is happening in the world today, with civil war in regions of Africa, with men and women from this country serving in the military, stationed in places like Iraq and Afghanistan, where lives of the military and civilians alike are at risk, where whole nations are indeed caught up in a time of chaos and disarray, what are we to make of an image of a Christian warrior, dressed in God’s armor?

If anything, it seems we as the church have been trying to move away from such image, trying to disassociate ourselves from images like this one that unfortunately have described us all too aptly in the past. True, the earliest Christians had to worry about persecution by the Romans and other groups, but once Christianity started to spread, Christians were too often the perpetrators of violence and war against non-Christians. Is this what is meant in this letter to the Ephesians? I wonder, what kind of warriors are we meant to be?

So what is Paul saying in this passage from Ephesians? Let’s return to the text and listen closely to the words. We read, “Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

Actually, after reading these words more closely, when we dig into them, it sounds like Paul here is actually offering a counter-image of a warrior to us, the readers. This is no regular warrior described. This warrior carries no harmful weapons, has no deadly equipment. This suit of armor is one that is equipped for proclaiming the gospel of peace. This is a different kind of warrior – not one who seeks to conquer or who seeks victory, but one who seeks to spread God’s word, the word of peace, love and grace. What Paul does here completely subverts our normal concepts of a warrior’s armor, and creates for us a whole new understanding of what it means to be dedicated to serving Christ, providing a sort-of instruction manual for us: as people of faith, we clothe ourselves in truth, justice, peace, faith, salvation, and God’s Spirit and Word.

In Paul’s day, people would have been very familiar with the image of a soldier. The Jews and these early Christians lived under Roman military rule. I wonder if they, too, would start to read Paul’s words and wonder at what kind of armor he was encouraging them to don. Was Paul going to urge them to fight back against occupation? Seek revenge? Many would have wanted to. But instead, Paul is reminding them that their biggest struggles were not about dealing with these “enemies of blood and flesh,” not about dealing with the Romans, or those who ridiculed their beliefs, or even those who would commit violence against them. Their biggest struggle would be against the forces and powers of darkness, anything that acted to put a wedge between them and God. Paul wanted them to equip themselves carefully, dress themselves carefully, so that they were prepared for the spiritual challenges they would face. So that meant dressing themselves with truth, peace, and faith, rather than with armor, shields, and weapons.

So what can this mean for us – for 21^st century Christians, living here in Central New York. What are the threats that we’re facing? What’s our equivalent struggle today to the “rulers,” the “authorities,” and the “cosmic powers of this present darkness?” As I read Paul, I see him as trying to turn our attention from the outer struggle to the inner struggle, from worrying about equipping ourselves for living in the world, to worrying about equipping ourselves for living as disciples in God’s world. If we’re worried about the outer struggle, equipping ourselves, preparing ourselves for a world that’s business-as-usual, we’ll find ourselves focused on different things than Paul has in mind. We’ll be protecting ourselves with possession, money, and anything that seems like it brings us security and safety. We’ll be focused on getting ahead, even if it means someone else is falling behind. We’ll be looking out for self first instead of neighbor. And we’ll be accepting the false promises of happiness from things other than God, things that really leave us empty, because those things are sometimes easier than the path of discipleship that God calls us down. But Paul has a different vision of what it means to be equipped – equipped for the inner struggle, the spiritual struggle. How can we equip ourselves for that?

To me, making disciples, calling disciples, encouraging people to begin a path of discipleship, a journey of following Jesus, is, of course, our primary work as a community of faith. We’re here to make disciples – that’s the mission God calls us to. But in order to be disciples, and especially in order to grow as disciples – which is, actually, just a word that means students – so to grow in knowledge as students of Jesus our teacher, we have to be equipped. We have to take advantage of the tools that we have to be able to be the best students we can be.

How, then, do we seek equip ourselves with truth, justice, peace, faith, salvation, and God’s presence in word and Spirit? My hope is that this congregation will make efforts to help people, to offer opportunities, for equipping disciples. This can happen in so many different ways. We worship through words and songs and prayers and more, praising God and being equipped with truth and salvation. If you need to equip yourself with faith and God’s word, I hope that you will commit to participating in a study or small group – we already have some active groups, and I will be leading some new studies this fall. We have Sunday School, and are investing in a youth program, and sponsor our children for camping programs because we are in the ministry of equipping them too – they are disciples, students of Jesus. If you need to be equipped for peace and justice, there are an abundance of ways that you can push yourself, stretch yourself, to engage in service here, in the community, and in our global neighborhood, and there are resources from two denominations just waiting for us to take advantage of.

The point is this – we know we’re called to be disciples. But sometimes we forget that God puts right in our reach so many tools to help us prepare for being workers in God’s kingdom. If we’re seeking to grow in our faith, we need to make sure we’re ready, prepared, equipped, trained. My challenge to you in the coming months is that you find at least one new way that you can equip yourself for discipleship. Paul certainly followed his own advice, and made it his life’s work to seek after the very truth and peace and justice and faith he speaks of in this passage, and so equipped, he was able to share the good news of God’s grace and love with boldness, just as he prayed he would be able today.

That’s my prayer for us too – I pray that we can be a bold congregation, bold in sharing the gospel of peace, the mystery of God’s unfailing, life-changing love for us. Let’s prepare ourselves well for the task. Amen.

In honor of Exploration 2009: My Call to Ministry

Today many UM Young Clergy are writing about their call as part of an encouragement for young people who are attending (or still thinking about attending) Exploration in November, which is a discernment event for 17-24 year olds thinking about ordained ministry in the UMC.

I think sharing my own call story can be both frustrating and encouraging for others considering a call to ministry. Frustrating and encouraging, because for me, everything about hearing, responding, and following through with my call to ministry went well. I have very little in the way of discouraging horror stories about people trying to prevent me from seeking to become a pastor. I have a story about what happens when everything goes like it is supposed to.

As a small child, I attended Westernville United Methodist Church, in a little, two-road town. Somewhere at about age 5, I thought I wanted to be a pastor, and started collecting the bulletins after worship each Sunday. I kept them in a pile on my corner shelf in my room, so they'd be all ready for me when I was the pastor. Of course, that desire went away, as I soon wanted to be a truck driver, ballerina, actress, and other things. But the huge benefit I received from that tiny church was that I had, by the time I was in 6th grade, experienced at least 3 clergywomen. Women often got appointed to little churches like that - appointments, I learned as I got older - that no one would want - it was part of a three-point charge and must have drained the energy out of every pastor that went there. But for me, it meant that I had no idea at all that it was unusual in any way for women to be pastors. So I am very grateful for that. I also have pastors in the family - including one uncle who is still active in ministry. They didn't all love the ministry in the same way, or model pastoring in the same way to me. But again, the idea of being a pastor was just not unusual to me in those early years, and I can't imagine how much they contributed to my call.

In addition to those foundational pieces, I also grew up believing that I was called to something. That God would call me, and I would have to listen for what that was. Thanks Mom! So, I had the advantage of being on the lookout for God's call from the start.

It was really during my time at Rome 1st UMC that I heard and answered God's call. The pastor during most of my time there was Rev. Bruce Webster, now, unfortunately, retired. Bruce was so encouraging and supportive - not just of me, but of everyone who had something they wanted to try. He was very permission-giving in his leadership. I had been thinking about camping ministry, working at our church camp, Aldersgate. When that wasn't clicking quite right, I was thinking about youth ministry instead. Bruce let me plan and lead a youth service at church - and he really just let me run with it. People started making comments about me attending seminary, which I brushed off. I was *not* headed for seminary. Obviously.

Searching for a college to major in youth ministry was where that plan fell apart. I was, even then, aware that I was theogically - well, I guess I wouldn't have used the word liberal or progressive then - but I was finding it hard to not to feel totally - wrong and out of place - in some of the Christian colleges that offered youth ministry. Bruce helped me again - pointing out some UMC-affiliated schools, including Ohio Wesleyan. Ohio Wesleyan didn't have youth ministries, but it had a pre-theology track, and by the time I started in the fall of 1997, things had just fallen into place, and I was sure I was called to be a pastor. It's hard to recount exactly when and how that shift happened. But once it did, I hardly cast a backward glance.

My journey through the ordination process and accompanying schooling was a positive experience for me, with only the occasional paperwork mix-up. I had a supportive home congregation, who affirmed me and gave me chances to work and learn and experience and preach. Just before I was appointed, I was filling in for a then-very ill new pastor, and the same folks that saw me as a 6th grader were willing to let me preach to them week after week. My first congregation was a bunch of people practically made to support a candidate through the provisional-member process. And here I am, somehow in the blink of an eye, in my 7th year of pastoral ministry.

And so, my call may be frustrating or encouraging. Frustrating if it hasn't been so clear to you. Encouraging to know that sometimes things do fall into place and go smoothly.

What I would most like to lift up though, is that while God might be calling you into ordained ministry (or not,) God might also be calling you to show someone else that they're called. Helping someone see that God is calling them - that's a ministry that is so essential. Who do you see God calling? Can you help them hear?

Thank you, to so many people who helped me hear, and then encouraged me on my journey: Mom, Bruce. The clergywomen who served Westernville UMC: Polly Burdett, Jody Watson, Gail Eddy, and Crystal Markowski. Freddie Stanulevich, and Rich Hartz, my Sunday School teachers. Ruth Dietrich. Jane Butters. Dave Hays. Tom Weiss (whose frequent-flyer miles sent me to Exploration in 1996) and Beth Benham (who talked about Exploration at Annual Conference that year.) Bertha Holmes. Uncle Bill, Uncle Bob. Rev. Van. Rome 1st, Oneida St. Paul's. Thank you.