Aug 29, 2010

Luke 14:1-14

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely.
Just then, in front of him, there was a man who had dropsy.
And Jesus asked the lawyers and Pharisees, “Is it lawful to cure people on the sabbath, or not?”
But they were silent. So Jesus took him and healed him, and sent him away.
Then he said to them, “If one of you has a child or an ox that has fallen into a well, will you not immediately pull it out on a sabbath day?”
And they could not reply to this.
When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable.
“When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place.
But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.  For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid.  But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.
And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Randy and I like to banter about which Gospel is the “best”. He’s a big fan of Luke’s Gospel. I am not. There are certainly stories and passages I appreciate in Luke, but it is not my “go to” book. In this story, I appreciate that Jesus calls us to be humble. I appreciate that Jesus reminds us that hospitality and generosity are done best when they are shared with people from whom you aren’t expecting a return invitation.
But I don’t always agree with Jesus.
I recognize there are some problems with that.

I know he’s the Son of God and all that.

I know he has a bigger perspective on things than I do and I’m willing to acknowledge that he’s the one you should listen to, not me.

But here’s what I want to know.

Why would he go and eat dinner at the home of a Pharisee?

The Pharisees didn’t like him. They’re trying to kill him, after all. He’s a threat to everything they hold dear—their power, their authority, their privilege.

Did he end up there because they are trying to trap him? They’ve already asked him some “gotcha” questions in Luke’s gospel. And if that’s why he’s been invited, I want to say, “Jesus! Don’t do it. These people don’t like you. They want to use this against you. Be careful.” But Jesus doesn’t need my advice.

Did he end up there because there’s a Pharisee who is convicted by Jesus’ teachings and wants to learn more? Even then, I feel myself being stingy with grace. “But the Pharisees are so mean, Lord. Do you really want him as a follower? What will it look like to the people who have been judged by them to see you eating at this table?”

Why would he go and eat dinner with Pharisees when he could have gone out for pizza with the man he just healed?

Why would he go and eat dinner with Pharisees when he could have eaten at a homeless shelter, or been at the CATCH fundraiser—bidding on items at the auction to raise money for homelessness relief?

Why would he go and eat dinner with the Pharisees when he could have been marching in a Civil Rights march with Martin Luther King, Jr?

The frustration that hits me again and again when I encounter these stories of Jesus is that he is beyond my control or my ability to predict. Even when I think I know something about Jesus—he’s the champion for the poor, the outcast, and the oppressed—then he stops what he’s doing and says to me—Marci, I am also the champion of the rich, the oppressing, and those who have bought in to the illusion of their own power.

ARGH….

Jesus drives me nuts! Can’t he just like the same people I do?

It would be so much easier.

The writer Anne Lamott, when referring to someone she didn’t like much, said that she was sure God couldn’t stand this person either. “Although when I mentioned this to my priest friend Tom, he said you can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”
Perhaps I don’t like Luke because I don’t like the way he throws Truth in my face.

Okay, so Jesus is having dinner with Pharisees and I should too….

And while there, Jesus comments on a particular 1st century Palestinian custom. As people would gather in homes for meals, it was the custom to have the more prominent people, who were all men, at the head of the table near the host. The lower down you were on the social ladder, the further away from the host you sat. So when Jesus comments on their seating arrangements, he’s making a broad comment on cultural behavior.

“Do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place.”

I don’t know about you, but this is a tough custom for me to understand. I can’t quite find the 21st century parallel. I would feel, I am sure we would all feel, horribly uncomfortable if we showed up late to a dinner party and the host told someone they had to move further away so that we could sit where the other person had been.

For many of us, taking the seat furthest away is just the polite thing to do, right?

Isn’t that why you are all in the back pews?

But this humility that Jesus is talking about plays out in different ways for different people, often depending on the situation. Sometimes we are over prideful, which keeps us from recognizing the gifts and the worth of others.

Sometimes we have too much humility, not thinking that our gifts are worth sharing, not clear on what we bring to the table. Perhaps this can even keep us from sharing our gifts at all, afraid nobody would come to our dinner party.

Sometimes we don’t have enough humility and limit who we invite to the table.

But it is important to remember that whenever Jesus starts talking about tables, meals, and invitations, he is NOT just talking about your next dinner party.

“When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid.  But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.”

Whenever Jesus talks about inviting people to the table, he is talking about this Table. About his Table.
And at this Table, there isn’t room for excessive pride because it isn’t our table. It is Christ’s Table. And we are but guests.

At this Table there isn’t room for false modesty either. Because God knows our hearts and recognizes, as we do, when the words we speak don’t match what we believe.

At this Table, there isn’t room for excessive and untrue humility, because we come to this Table as God’s own children, who have been uniquely gifted. So to say, “I have nothing to offer. I don’t bring anything to the Table”, is to deny the gifts of the one who created you.

So when we’re here we can say, “thank you” for the gifts we have to share with the world.

At this Table, there isn’t room for exclusion. Jesus ate with sinners and outcasts. Jesus ate with Pharisees and Tax Collectors.

Today, we’ll baptize Milly, and we’ll set one more place at the Table as welcome one more member into the family. What a gift and a responsibility for us to have the privilege to welcome her to our family!

And this Table is a reminder to us that we are all connected. That our gifts are supposed to come together for the benefit of all. Yesterday was the anniversary of the day in 1963 when Martin Luther King made his “I have a dream speech” in front of 200,000 Civil Rights Supporters and before the entire world. I missed that speech the first time around, but we listened to it yesterday, and I was struck by the importance he placed on mutuality—about how it matters not just that people of all colors are free to live their lives, but that they are free to live together, holding hands as brothers and sisters. We are NOT called to just live our lives as if the well being of those around us is unimportant.

Here’s a quote from Dr. King, from a commencement address he gave at Oberlin College in 1965.

“All I’m saying is simply this, that all life is interrelated, that somehow we’re caught in an inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. For some strange reason, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. You can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be.”

This is, I think, what Jesus’ speech about the Pharisees dinner party is about. At the very end of his instructions, he tells the people at the table, “And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

So, friends, who is invited to this Table?

Who are you inviting to this Table?

Because this is no place for either excessive pride, for false modesty, or for exclusion.

When you look around at the people in your life, don’t limit your invitation with thoughts of “they wouldn’t want to come eat with me” or with thoughts of “I wouldn’t want to eat with them”. Because Christ has called us all to feast together.  So live lives of invitation and welcome! And when we live into Jesus’ call to inclusion at the Table, we will see more clearly how we are an “inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny”.

May it be so. Amen.

Boise, Idaho

August 15, 2010

Isa 5:1-7

Let me sing for my beloved
my love-song concerning his vineyard:
My beloved had a vineyard
on a very fertile hill.
He dug it and cleared it of stones,
and planted it with choice vines;
he built a watchtower in the midst of it,
and hewed out a wine vat in it;
he expected it to yield grapes,
but it yielded wild grapes.

And now, inhabitants of Jerusalem
and people of Judah,
judge between me
and my vineyard.
What more was there to do for my vineyard
that I have not done in it?
When I expected it to yield grapes,
why did it yield wild grapes?

And now I will tell you
what I will do to my vineyard.
I will remove its hedge,
and it shall be devoured;
I will break down its wall,
and it shall be trampled down.
I will make it a waste;
it shall not be pruned or hoed,
and it shall be overgrown with briers and thorns;
I will also command the clouds
that they rain no rain upon it.

For the vineyard of the LORD of hosts
is the house of Israel,
and the people of Judah
are his pleasant planting;
he expected justice,
but saw bloodshed;
righteousness,
but heard a cry!

I’d like to apologize for our Scripture passage this morning.

I didn’t like it any more than you did.

On first glance, it appears that Isaiah was having a no good, very bad day when he wrote this passage.
I thought about abandoning it in favor of something light and easy, like Leviticus or Judges.

But it wouldn’t let me go. This morning, I invite you to rest in the discomfort this text brings and together seek the Good News where it may be found.

“Let me sing for my beloved my love song concerning my vineyard.”

We begin today with a love song. It is easy to forget this is a love song by the time you get to the end, with all of the trampling, devouring, and desolation. This oracle of doom takes place in a love song.

The owner of the vineyard puts love and care and back-breaking labor into this vineyard. Digging and clearing a field, investing in choice vines and the infrastructure needed to make wine are all signs of the owner’s love and of his hope for a future of prosperity.  And this isn’t just a garden of pretty flowers. This is a vineyard that will bear fruit—so that people can eat, so people can drink. It isn’t just for the benefit of the gardener. It is for the benefit of the community.

Many of you grow zucchini and other produce in the summer, and I know this because you leave them outside my office door. I’ve been warned not to leave my car doors unlocked in the summer, or my car will be filled with zucchini when I leave church. And let me state for the record that you would never hear me complain about too much zucchini.

But I digress.

Those of you who garden and farm know that the harvest is too much to only benefit one person. An abundant harvest benefits others.

Well-tended vineyards and gardens are illustrations of abundance, of how you live when your cup is runneth-ing over.

So the owner of the vineyard has done everything that can be done to assure that this vineyard will be a blessing.

But, as evidenced by the wild bitter grapes, there is clearly only so much that the owner can do to affect the harvest.  What else, he asks, was there for him to do for the vineyard that he had not already done?

Somehow the vineyard doesn’t produce the good grapes it should. There is no abundant harvest.

This really just doesn’t make sense.  Good champagne grapevines just can’t decide to disobey the gardener and grow into wild bitter grapes. And why would they?
When they could be champagne?

But of course this story isn’t about grapes. It is about us. “For the vineyard of the Lord is the house of Israel and the people of Judah are his pleasant planting.”

This story is about us.

We, who have been created in love, and put on this earth to be an abundant harvest of good things for the world, choose, instead to be bad grapes.

Much like the grapes in the story, it doesn’t make sense. Why don’t we, as humans created in love by God, live our lives as blessings to the world?

Love’s labor is lost when we don’t.

Before this story was about you and I, this story was being told about Israel. And God’s expectation, for all of the care and provision he had given Israel, was for Israel, God’s pleasant planting, to share the abundance of the harvest. A harvest of justice and righteousness. These two words function together in the Hebrew scriptures to remind us of a “society in which the rights of all, including the most marginalized, are respected. This is God’s reasonable expectation, given the divine provision.” (Anna Case-Winters Feasting on the Word Year C, Vol 3 (WJK, 2010), p 344.)

Listen again to the middle verse of our love song:
And now I will tell you
what I will do to my vineyard.
I will remove its hedge,
and it shall be devoured;
I will break down its wall,
and it shall be trampled down.
I will make it a waste;
it shall not be pruned or hoed,
and it shall be overgrown with briers and thorns;
I will also command the clouds
that they rain no rain upon it.

Israel, who had been carted off into exile by this point in their history, had seen Isaiah’s words come true. They knew what it meant to live through the devastation described.

Where do we see this story playing out in our lives today?

Isaiah functions under a model of retributive justice, as do most of the other writer’s of the Old Testament. We’ve heard it before. 
“Israel sinned and did what was evil in the eyes of the Lord and the Lord delivered them into the hands of their enemies.”

While this tactic does have the unpleasant side effect of kicking people who are already down—“Yes, you are in exile and dealing with destruction and let me also point out that the fault is yours”—It also serves to reassure the people that they are NOT where they are because God has abandoned them. God did not change his mind and get a new people. “You want to know who to blame for this mess you’re in?”, God seems to be asking them, “here’s a mirror.”

But when you are in the midst of crisis, it helps to take stock of your responsibility. When you feel you’re hanging on by a thread, it can be helpful to figure out which part of the problem is within your control. What role did you play in getting here and what can you do, now, to get through the day.

But I want to be clear that while there is a connection between our sinful behavior as humans and the judgment of God—not all suffering that we experience on this earth is deserved or caused by divine judgment.

In light of the world falling apart around him, Isaiah is wise enough to suggest that our response to God matters. God expects a right response to the love, care, and work that God has put into the people.

While the Israelites can’t immediately change the reality of the crisis they are in, they can start paying attention to justice and righteousness. They can take control of their own behavior. They can turn back to God.

And if they were to start being a good vineyard of righteousness and justice, it would look like a healthy vineyard at harvest time, with abundant fruit to share.

Here is the Good News, friends. Despite the brokenness of the world in which we live, despite the fact that we turn away from the goodness of God, God is still singing a love song for us. And we can yet choose to be God’s justice and righteousness in our world.

And, of course, we have already been doing this. The history of Southminster is a story of people standing for justice in the community and in the world.

But this is a story that ever needs to be told.

Each day we have to decide to stand for justice and righteousness.

Each day we have to seek the common good and the larger welfare of our community.

It begins, of course, with prayer. Opening ourselves to hear God’s voice and direction in our lives. This year, as we begin to focus on our Year of Prayer, I invite you to pray to bear fruit of justice and righteousness. I invite you to use the Prayer Center, either during worship, or during the week, to be called into prayer in new ways.
And after we pray, I invite you to be the harvest of God’s justice and righteousness in the world.

The Mission Committee would be glad to help you participate in this harvest. Whether it is helping out at Jazz in the Park in 2 weeks to raise money for CATCH, helping people get out of homelessness and back on their feet. Or whether it is supporting our neighborhood school, Grace Jordan, by being a presence in the life of a kid.
You can join Randy and others tonight at Brewed for Thought, as they continue a discussion about how the choices we make in our lives contribute to justice.

The Session is continuing the discussion of how we can continue to work for God’s justice and righteousness. I invite you to share with them your ideas. I invite you to join with them in making those ideas concrete actions.
Another thing to consider about vineyards is this—grapes don’t grow overnight—whether they are actual grapes or the fruits of justice and righteousness.

It takes a long time.

And even when you can’t yet see the fruit on the vine, you have to continue to water, prune, and care for the plants. God as the owner of the vineyard has done that for us. We continue to receive the nurture and care we need to become a harvest of justice and righteousness. So, as we work toward justice and righteousness in our community, we also need to remember it is a long process.

As we spend time with the kids at Grace Jordan, we need to remember that the fruits of that labor may not be seen by us. But we need to trust that it still matters. We need to trust that somewhere down the line it matters that people gave of their time to be present in the lives of these children. In 1850, abolitionist Theodore Parker said “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

As we seek justice, in whatever area, we need to remember this and not lose hope.

In yesterday’s New York Times, Gail Collins wrote a piece about the anniversary of Women’s Suffrage. Suffragist Carrie Chapman Catt, estimated that the struggle to give women the right to vote had involved 56 referendum campaigns directed at male voters, plus “480 campaigns to get Legislatures to submit suffrage amendments to voters, 47 campaigns to get constitutional conventions to write woman suffrage into state constitutions; 277 campaigns to get State party conventions to include woman suffrage planks, 30 campaigns to get presidential party campaigns to include woman suffrage planks in party platforms and 19 campaigns with 19 successive Congresses.”

The work to get women the vote took a long time and a lot of work.

But the people working for justice and righteousness never gave up hope. “Susan B. Anthony… never lost hope. The great day was coming, she promised: “It’s coming sooner than most people think.” She said that in 1895.” Women’s Suffrage wasn’t ratified in the Constitution until 1920.

So we work for justice and righteousness. And we do so in hope with an eye to the future, which is coming sooner than most people think. Because God is still singing a love song for God’s vineyard.

If Israel can face the devastation of exile, if we can face the devastations at play in our lives and in the world, “we might just be ready to submit again to the bruised and aching hands of the master gardener, who still dreams of—and sings for—a vineyard yielding fat, gorgeous fruit for the whole world.” (Stacey Simpson Duke p 344)
May it be so.

Amen

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.
By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going.
By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise.
For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.
By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old—and Sarah herself was barren—because he considered him faithful who had promised.
Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, “as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.”
All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland.
If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return.
But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.

If I were to ask you how to describe the word “faith”, I am confident there would be 100 different definitions. And that’s a good thing. It’s okay. One of the great things about being Presbyterian is that we believe, we have faith, that God intends for diversity of expression.

But part of the reason there are so many understandings of faith is that the word, itself, contains so many meanings in its definition. The dictionary defines faith as “complete trust or confidence in someone or something”. But the second definition “is strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof.”

So, one could say, “I have complete faith that my Faith is the most faithful expression of a Faith.”

Faith is both the act of believing, and often the object of that believing.  No wonder it is so difficult to speak of.
The author of Hebrews was writing to people just like us. People who were living after the Resurrection and waiting for God’s kingdom and reign to fully break into this world of human brokenness and pain.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

And our experience of faith is just one of those things. I can’t just stand here and tell you what your faith should be, because it is a very personal thing.

What looks like faith to one person looks like foolishness to another.

About six years ago, our family was living a comfortable life in Farmington, New Mexico. Justin had a job he loved. I enjoyed only working part time and being able to spend time in the kids’ school, serving as PTA president and class volunteer. Justin’s whole family was in this same town. Life was good, by all measurements.

But I was uncomfortable. Nothing felt right.

One of my friends, who knew I had been thinking of seminary for a long time, said to me one day, “Marci, maybe the time has finally come for you to go to seminary.”

I can still picture everything about that moment because it was such a moment of truth and clarity for me.

I went home and told Justin the time had come. The next year involved applying to seminary, Justin interviewing for jobs, selling our house, saying goodbye to friends and family, and moving across the country to Georgia.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

I have a friend whose faith in Jesus Christ compels her to pick up hitch hikers. She has been known to bring these kids into her home, let them shower, give them a change of clothes and then call their parents in whatever city to let the parents know their runaway is okay before she takes them to the bus station and sends them on their way.

But she says that the Gospel compels her to look at these kids and see Jesus. And surely, if we saw Jesus on the side of the road, we’d give him a ride? And her faith tells her that Jesus wasn’t kidding when he told the disciples, “when you ministered to the least of these, you ministered to me”.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

I have another friend who recently quit her job. She doesn’t have another job yet, but she felt certain that the time was right to leave her last job to prepare for whatever was waiting for her. Many of her friends, perhaps including me, suggested, ‘you know, you could just stay in your current job a little longer until something better comes up’.  But in the time since she’s left her job, I don’t think she’s regretted her decision one little bit.

Because she has faith that the right position is out there for her.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

I could name tons of other examples of people acting on faith. And I’m sure each of you could share stories from your own life.

And I bet that there were people sitting by you who told you it was foolishness.

And the reality is that sometimes both sides of the argument are right. Sometimes they both have valid points.

The Session is dealing with one such situation right now. The Personnel Committee requested that we run an additional pledge campaign to raise money to hire a youth director. This is an act of faith, trusting that the future of our church will be stronger if we put our resources in the nurture and support of the youth of our church. But raising the extra money can also be seen as an act of foolishness. We are behind on our giving this year and running a deficit. Is it responsible of us to ask for more money?

Both sides are speaking truth. And I confess I am stuck living in both of those viewpoints. As your pastor, I feel responsible for both the financial health and the spiritual health of this congregation.

So what should we be doing?

The author of Hebrews doesn’t just define faith for us, but also gives us some reminders that we aren’t the first people being called to live in faith.

Abraham and Sarah lived in faith. If you go back and re-read Genesis, from about chapters 12 to 25, it is a testimony to their life by faith. From leaving their home and becoming wanderers in a new land to changing their names. From trusting that God would make them, as a barren couple, ancestors of all the nations, to having faith in God’s promise even as God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, the son of his old age.

And their story isn’t pretty. There are times in their story when they laugh at God, when they doubt God, when they ignore God all together and try to chart their own course. But, in general, they respond in faith.

And you can just imagine that in all of those faith moments in their lives, there were well intentioned friends and family standing by, giving them different advice.

“Abraham. Why would you sell the ranch and all of these camels to become a sojourner? In this community, you are a man of wealth and importance. Where are you even going?”

“I don’t know, exactly. But God told me to go to the Promised Land and said I’ll be the ancestor of the nations.”

“But you and Sarah don’t have any children. And you’re OLD. And you just remodeled your kitchen! Sarah isn’t going to leave those granite counters without a fight!”

But the writer of Hebrews does something more than just remind us of our ancestors in faith, as important as those reminders sometime are.

Listen to the text again:

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland.

Abraham and Sarah died before they ever met their great grandchildren.

They died before Israel became a nation and before the Promised Land was settled.

They died long before the shepherd boy David grew up to unite the people.

They died long before Jesus came for the salvation of human kind.

They died long before the church went from group of frightened disciples hiding in an upper room and spread to the corners of the world, even to Boise.

They died before the church stood up to advocate for the end of slavery, and for voting rights for women, and for child labor laws.

They died before the church went to stand with African American Christians in the South to show their support for the Civil Rights Movement.

They died before Southminster was founded to share God’s love in this neighborhood in Boise.

And that is something for us to remember as well. Because we are a part of a much larger narrative. Because of what Abraham and Sarah did thousands of years ago, we are here today. Because of what those who have come before us have done, we are here today.

So, how are we participating in this great faith experiment, so that people down the road will benefit from God’s love?

A little later in worship, we’ll be blessing these backpacks, which the Presbyterian Women will then distribute to schools and agencies in Boise so that kids who can’t afford to buy school supplies will have them. Over 400 children in this community will begin the school year with dignity and with the basic needs that you and I take for granted. I don’t know how long it has been since you last started a school year, but a new backpack can be a powerful thing.

You have participated in this great faith journey by supplying backpacks and school supplies to fill over 400 backpacks, even though none of these backpacks will benefit you directly.

And that’s another part of faith. Often the times we answer in faith are times that we do things to benefit someone else. Like Abraham and Sarah, who didn’t get to know their great grandchildren, we still respond in faith so that our children and our children’s children will have a better life.

More than that, we respond in faith because, like Abraham and Sarah, we are seeking to participate in bringing the Kingdom of God to this world.

And that is something worth having faith in. Because the God who has called us is dreaming a future for us that is better than anything we could dream up on our own. I want to leave you with some quotes about faith that I collected this past week.

“Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof.” Kahlil Gibran

“Faith is deliberate confidence in the character of God whose ways you may not understand at the time.” Oswald Chambers

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”

Elie Wiesel

“I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me–that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns.” 
— Anne Lamott (Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith)

“To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.”

Thomas Aquinas

“Faith is not trying to believe something regardless of the evidence; faith is daring something regardless of the consequences”.  Sherwood Eddy

Faith is a bird that feels dawn breaking and sings while it is still dark.
                                                                           -Rabindranath Tagore

And, finally, from my Aunt Gail: “Faith is trusting that the unknown will turn out to be loving.”

Friends, may we walk in faith, trusting that the unknown future will turn out to be loving. Amen

Aug 1, 2010

Hosea 11:1-11

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals,
and offering incense to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.

They shall return to the land of Egypt,
and Assyria shall be their king,
because they have refused to return to me.
The sword rages in their cities,
it consumes their oracle-priests,
and devours because of their schemes.
My people are bent on turning away from me.
To the Most High they call,
but he does not raise them up at all.

How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, O Israel?
How can I make you like Admah?
How can I treat you like Zeboiim?
My heart recoils within me;
my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim;
for I am God and no mortal,
the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come in wrath.

They shall go after the LORD,
who roars like a lion;
when he roars,
his children shall come trembling from the west.
They shall come trembling like birds from Egypt,
and like doves from the land of Assyria;
and I will return them to their homes, says the LORD.

The Book of Hosea is a good illustration of why we should take the Bible seriously, but not take it literally. Because Hosea is filled with all kinds of metaphor and imagery. In the beginning of the book, God gives Hosea an odd instruction: “When the LORD first spoke through Hosea, the LORD said to Hosea, “Go, take for yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the LORD.”

The idea that Israel, by following false Gods, was behaving as a spouse who doesn’t just cheat on their spouse, but does so for supposed gain as a prostitute. But the imagery is strong, none the less. Because nobody wants to be in a relationship with someone who intentionally hurts them. And, for Hosea, that is exactly how it felt for God to be in the covenantal relationship with the fickle and unfaithful Israelites.

By the time Hosea is writing, in the 8th century BCE, the Northern Kingdom is about to fall to Assyria. Hosea sees a direct connection between this failure of the Nation and the behavior of the King and the people. Worshipping other Gods, seeking alliances and making compromises with other nations, rather than trusting in God. For Hosea, these actions are proof of Israel’s infidelity and their tendency to prostitute themselves to their neighbors.

But by the time we get to chapter 11, which we read this morning, we have some additional imagery. In this chapter, God takes on the role of parent.

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.

Whether or not we are parents, we have seen parents doing exactly what God did for Israel. Holding out arms and encouraging a toddler to take their first steps, all the while ready to catch them before they fall. Kissing boo-boos and putting Hello Kitty band aids on invisible wounds. Giving hugs and lots of affection because it is just what parents do. And it is how children grow up to be secure and confident in themselves. Knowing that they are loved.

Being followers of Christ is no guarantee of the easy life, or the tame life. But it is the rewarding life. And today Hosea calls us to remember that life to which we have been called. To listen for the roar of God’s voice calling us home. Because God will continue to roar until all of God’s children are safely home. May it be so. Amen.

But the truth is that we don’t consciously remember our own childhoods, at least not the early parts.   I have pictures from my first Christmas, just a few days after my parents adopted me. But I don’t remember that Christmas. But in the photo, I can see my mother looking at me, not leaving my face to smile for the camera. In this image, I remember that I am loved.

I have pictures from the day I was baptized. I also don’t remember that day. But I see the people in my life who gathered to welcome me into the Faith. My parents, grandparents. My sister. Our next door neighbors, who stood in as my godparents. Visible signs of the communion of saints. I don’t remember that day, but through this picture, I can remember my baptism and I can remember the people who love me and who brought me up in the faith.

That is what Hosea gives us in this chapter—Israel’s family album. So that we can look through it and remember how much God loves us.

We’ve heard the story of Israel before. The Old Testament tells us again and again of God’s love for Israel and of Israel’s tendency to walk away from that love. Again. And again. And again.

But while Hosea does hit Israel over the head with reminders of her infidelity, he wants to do more. He wants them to REMEMBER.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.

Hosea wants Israel to look back at their collective memories and to remember who they are and whose they are. He wants them to remember how much they are loved and cared for. He wants them to remember their covenant relationship with the God who has delivered them from slavery in Egypt.

This part of the text reminded me of the Prodigal Son text in Luke’s gospel. He takes his inheritance from his father, while his father is not yet dead, and then he squanders his inheritance on, how shall we say, bad choices. He wakes up one morning, homeless, hungry, and wishing he had even the food to eat that he was feeding someone’s pigs. And the text says, “when he came to himself”. When he remembered who he was and whose he was, he realized he could go home again. He remembered the love of his father whose heart he had broken. And he went home. He remembered and repented and had his relationship with his family restored.

This is what Hosea offers in the 11th chapter.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.

But then there’s the whole Assyrian invasion problem. The behavior of God’s people leads them into some dangerous situations, like invasion, destruction, and exile at the hands of the Assyrians. Our behavior, and the behavior of others, does that to us as well. We end up far away from home, starving in a pigsty like the prodigal son. We end up in exile in Assyria, or alcohol, or homelessness, or whatever it may look like for each of us.

And the text tells us that God can’t just leave us there.

How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, O Israel?
My heart recoils within me;
my compassion grows warm and tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim;

As we navigate this earthly life, things are going to happen to us that cause us pain and sadness. And those things cause God pain and sadness too. “My heart recoils within me. my compassion grows warm and tender”.
And this is where we realize that God’s love for us is different than our human relationships—even the best human relationships. Because God, who calls us, again and again, to return to God, has the right to be angry with us when we don’t repent. God has every right to leave us to our own destruction and the messes we make.

But God doesn’t do that.
I will not execute my fierce anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim;
for I am God and no mortal,
the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come in wrath.

God chooses not to exercise God’s fierce anger and Hosea reminds us why: because God is God and no mortal—the Holy One in your midst.

Friends, God’s voice will roar and call us and, quite frankly, scare the pants off of us at times. Yet, like Israel, we are called to remember God’s claim on our lives. We are called to remember exactly who we are and whose we are. Like Israel, we are called to remember and to have faith in the gifts God has given us.

This is Good News! God NEVER gives up on us. Even after we have given up on ourselves and given up on others, God remains on our side. For God is God and no mortal, the Holy One in our midst.

This is Good News, for sure. But it is not necessarily easy news. God is not all sweetness, light, and cute little puppies. Hosea describes the return of the people to God like this:

They shall go after the LORD,
who roars like a lion;
when he roars,
his children shall come trembling from the west.
They shall come trembling like birds from Egypt,
and like doves from the land of Assyria;
and I will return them to their homes, says the LORD.
I can’t help but think of CS Lewis when I read this last section from Hosea. In the Chronicle of Narnia books, Aslan is the Christ-like lion who helps and guides the characters through their journeys in Narnia. But the characters in the books take care to remind people that “Aslan is not a tame lion.” I don’t know how much time you have spent in the presence of a lion, personally, but it isn’t something that sounds comfortable, safe, or even vaguely relaxing.

God’s call to us is like that. God roars like a lion and when God roars, we shall come trembling from wherever it is we have been scattered.

The difficult truth in this passage is that God’s voice is not the comfortable one in our lives. The sweet and pleasant voice in our lives might be the one Israel heard, telling us to rely on Egypt, or to rely on any power but God’s. Yet God’s voice of steadfast love roars at us.

Or it might be the quiet voice that tells us that we are just fine on our own, that we are better looking out only for ourselves, causing us to forsake each other, our community, and the Kingdom work that God has in store for us. Yet God’s voice of justice and compassion roars at us to love each other, to care for those less fortunate, to reach out in love.

The comfortable voice might be the one that tells us we can keep quiet when people are victims of prejudice, hate, and bigotry. Yet God’s voice roars at us to stand with the oppressed, the outcast, and to hear the voices of those long silenced.

Boise, Idaho

July 25, 2010

Luke 11:1-13
Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.”
He said to them, “When you pray, say:
Father, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial.”
And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread;
for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’
And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’
I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
“So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.
For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.
Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish?
Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion?
If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

We’re done with the Year of the Bible, although I hope that you aren’t done with reading the Bible. I hope that you feel more comfortable now than you maybe did a year ago, to see connections between your story and the story in the text.

But, for those of you who miss the corporate routine of all reading the Bible together, the Session voted to make this coming year, beginning now, the Year of Prayer.
Again, many of you were reading the Bible and praying long before anyone declared years that were dedicated to them. But we’re hoping that during this coming year, we can enter into some new conversations about prayer.
How do we pray when we are together?
How do we pray alone in our room?
For what should we pray when we gather at the bedside of people who are ill?
Who can pray?
Why do we pray?

And we don’t pray just to inform God about things. “Dear God, my mom is in the hospital.”
“WHAT?” says God. “When did that happen? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

No, God knows what is going on before the words are even on our tongues. Yet we still are called to pray.

Yesterday at the Presbyterian Youth Triennium, one of the many great preachers we heard this week, Tony Campolo, told a story about his son as a child. He came to his parents and said, “I’m going to bed now. I’ll be saying my prayers. Does anyone want anything?”
Often, perhaps, our prayers are like that. Giving God a list of things as if it is Christmas and God is Santa Claus.
So, for what should we pray?

Jesus’ disciples seem to have had similar questions to ours. “Lord, teach us to pray.”

I never knew there was a wrong way to pray until my brother came home from school in 2nd grade and told our family, as we were saying the blessing for dinner, that we were all praying wrong.  He had recently started attending a Catholic school and the nun who was his teacher told the students that the our prayers go to heaven if our hands are pointed up straight to heaven.

Our family were hand curlers, with our fingers dangerously pointed d o w n. I’m sure his teacher was just trying to come up with a clever way to help her students attain proper prayer posture, but my brother took it very seriously. Because, like the disciples, we want concrete answers to very mystical and mysterious questions.
“Lord, teach us to pray.”

Jesus doesn’t talk about what we should do with our hands. He doesn’t get into specifics much at all, actually. This passage is short. And it seems cryptic, to me, at least.

Let’s look at the prayer itself.
“Father, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

This is not, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, the prayer we say every Sunday. The one we pray each week is clearly related, but comes from the 6th chapter of Matthew.

Pared down from the language that seems so familiar to us, this prayer makes me uncomfortable. It is asking for just a few things.
For God’s kingdom to come.
For people to have what they need to eat so that each person can live.
For forgiveness of sins—both in heavenly and earthly relationships.
And for deliverance from the time of trial.

Yesterday, on my journey home from Triennium, I had an interesting experience going through security. For the first time in my life, I think, I packed light enough to only need a carry-on sized bag, which is a notable achievement for me. But that meant I had to put my bag through security. And the screener called a few people over to look at the image of my bag. And then they pulled it out and asked me, “do you have some sort of cup in this bag?”
“Yes, it is a communion chalice”, I said.
“We’ll need to x-ray that”.
So, my bag was unpacked and they pulled out this communion chalice, and put it back through security.
I have nothing to say against the security screener. He was just doing his job. And it turns out that there is a metal rod inside this chalice to hold it together. Who knew?
But the image of a communion chalice, a symbol of our Christian faith, being subjected to extra security made me think of this prayer in Luke’s gospel.

Because the Lord’s Prayer is dangerous.

If we really, truly pray for God’s kingdom to come, rather than praying for our wishes, then things will change.

If we really, truly pray for our daily bread, and not for a stockpile of food for some and none for others, things will change.

If we really, truly pray for the forgiveness of sins in our heavenly and in our human relationships, things will change.

I don’t think the Lord’s Prayer would make it through security. There is nothing safe about it.

The world does not want us to pray this prayer. Our world prefers the kingdoms of this world to be in charge, because it adds to the illusion of our own power. The powers of this world don’t tell us to seek to God’s Kingdom. Because that would require justice for all, not just for those who can afford it. In God’s Kingdom, people aren’t subject to prejudice because of the color of their skin, or because of their sexual orientation, or because of their gender, or because of the way they serve God. When God’s Kingdom comes, things are going to change.

The powers of this world also don’t want us to pray for our daily bread. Our economy is not built on each person having just enough. Our economy is built on the idea that you and I need to buy as much as we can, to fuel the engines of our economy. And in order for some of us to have too much, others of us must go without. Those are the laws of scarcity.

In 2008, in our very prosperous country before the economy tanked, 49.1 million Americans lived in food insecure households—32.4 million adults and 16.7 million children. That is almost 15% of our population. People who aren’t sure how they are going to feed their families this week. Today.
Give us this day our daily bread.

Across the world, the numbers are worse. Over 1 billion people across our planet are hungry right now. Every day, almost 16,000 children die from hunger-related causes. That’s one child every five seconds. Over 600 children will have died from hunger-related causes in the hour we spend here today worshipping God.
Give us this day our daily bread.

If we really, truly pray the Lord’s Prayer, things are going to need to change.

And then we’re supposed to pray for the forgiveness of our own sins and for the restoration of our relationships with others. We pray the Prayer of Confession each week in worship. It is one of my favorite elements of worship because it is so freeing. To be able to approach God and acknowledge that we have not been all we would be, frees us to try again.
During worship at Triennium, after 5,000 kids prayed the Prayer of Confession and received the Assurance of Pardon– I declare to you in the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven—the auditorium burst into applause and shouts of joy. I don’t know if you’ve ever worshipped with 5,000 teenagers, but it gives me hope for our future. None of them have studied Theology and Worship, learning about the relationship between the elements of worship, etc, etc. But, on a visceral level, when they heard the good news of forgiveness proclaimed, they responded appropriately. They raised the roof. Why don’t we do that each and every week? The forgiveness of our sins is something to celebrate, people! (Triennium worship photo by David P. Young)

If we were really truly to pray for the forgiveness of our sins, seeking repentance and change, then things would change. And that change would have to spill over into our human relationships as well.
To pray that we forgive everyone indebted to us would change everything.
Do you suppose Jesus meant we were supposed to actually forgive debts, as it says in the prayer? He couldn’t have really meant what he said.  Did he mean real debts, do you think?

And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.

In Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer, God’s forgiveness of our sins is tied to the idea that we’ve already forgiven everyone indebted to us.
“And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.”

Luke’s version suggests to me that we have to keep very close the connection between our relationships with others and our relationship with God. We can’t just say, “God please forgive me for my sins. But I can’t stand so and so, and I don’t want to be in relationship with them NOW, and I don’t want to forget about what they did to me yesterday, but I know that we’ll get along fine someday in Heaven.”
That isn’t going to work, friends.

If we really are to pray the Lord’s Prayer, we have to believe, on a deep level, that if God can forgive us for the things we do, then we have to be able to do the same for the people in our lives.

When I first read this text, I thought I would focus most on what Jesus said to his disciples after he taught them the prayer. About the bread for the late night guests, and the scorpions to the children. But I think the Lord’s Prayer is enough for today. Maybe even too much for today.  So I promise that I will address that part of the text at some point in the future.

Friends, we are people who have chosen to walk this journey of life together as followers of Christ, like the disciples in our text this morning, and so we ask, Lord, teach us to pray.

But we can’t ask that question casually. Because it is dangerous and would not make it past the security screening of this world.

Because if we’re asking to enter into a conversation with God, we need to expect that God will speak to us. So we need to listen.

We need to expect that God will listen to us when we speak, so we need to mean what we say.

And we need to be open to change, to be the change that God needs us to be in this world so that God’s kingdom can break in to our brokenness, to our pain, to our injustice, and to our violence, bringing a kingdom of peace, of equity, of wholeness and health for all of God’s children. Lord, teach us to pray. Amen.

July 11, 2010

Southminster Presbyterian Church

Gen 2:1-4
Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all heir multitude. And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested form all the work that he had done in creation. These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.

Luke 10:25-37
Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into that hands of robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Who is my neighbor? That is often the question we hinge on from this familiar gospel story. We’ve each probably heard a half a dozen sermons about the Good Samaritan, many no doubt asking us important questions about how we treat those around us, and who we consider to be neighbors, or maybe even why we should show people kindness. But I’d like to take us in a different direction this morning.

Some of you may have heard about a study conducted in 1973 by a couple of psychologists who used the story of The Good Samaritan as their template. Their intention was to look at personality factors that affected whether or not people would stop to help another person in distress. Interestingly, they recruited seminary students (of the Presbyterian variety, from Princeton) as their participants, and instructed each of them to travel from one building to another where they would give a talk. They had a few variables, half the students were asked to talk about job prospects in that talk, the other half were asking to preach a sermon on the Good Samaritan. Then each of those two groups were broken into thirds, one third was told to hurry over to the next building, they were going to be late! The second was told they were on time, but not to dilly dally, the final group was told the program was running late and but they could go ahead and make their way over. Every student passed an actor playing a homeless man who was in health distress on their way to the second building to talk.

The researchers were hoping to find that these benevolent seminary students would differ in their responses mostly based on personality, but what they found was that the biggest factor in whether someone stopped to help was whether or not they were in a hurry. Those who stopped the most, were those who had been told the program was running late and had extra time to spare.

When was the last time you were in a hurry? Maybe Friday afternoon, rushing to get out of the office and beat weekend rush hour traffic? Perhaps it was yesterday as you made your way to a meeting or the kids practice. Or was it this morning as you left the house in a flurry to make it to church on time?

Being busy is a status symbol in our culture today. It is a compliment of sorts to hear, “Wow, you must really be busy” and reply with a non-chalant, “nah, not really.” Being too busy is the number one reason why people say they can’t vote; half of people who don’t attend church say it’s because they’re too busy. We have twitter because we’re too busy to read an entire letter or e-mail about how our friends are doing, we’ve got blackberries because we’re too busy to remember what comes in the next hour, we’ve got 8-minute ab workouts because we’re too busy to find time to be active outdoors doing something we actually enjoy that is good for our bodies.

Thomas Merton talks about this business as a kind of violence; he says:
“To allow oneself to be carried away by the multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace, [because] it destroys our own inner capacity for peace.”
And indeed, when we look at the story of The Good Samaritan and the priest and Levite who both passed by, or the study in which even budding do-gooder pastors walk by the homeless man, we begin to see how this busy life might in fact deliver violence in our world.

So how do we respond to this life? How to we resist the status of a full calendar, and find time to rest, to nurture ourselves, those around us, and our relationship with God?

I had the opportunity to think more deeply about this in seminary. I found myself at the end of two full years of studying and interning, and realized I didn’t have it in me to do another summer of work; Clinical Pastoral Education was next on the docket. So I went to one of my professors to talk it over with him, and said I just needed to take a break, I was overwhelmed and so emotionally dry that I couldn’t begin to imagine serving as a chaplain for the summer. He supported my decision to postpone CPE, but corrected my description of it, telling me that I was not merely “taking a break”, but instead practicing Sabbath.

I think this ancient faith practice, one that we only vaguely recognize as Christians today, is one way we can respond to our hurried culture. When you hear the word Sabbath, many of you might first think about Judaism, or even Seventh Day Adventists, and indeed they are two traditions that prioritize the Sabbath.

Jews have several texts that inform their practice of Sabbath, but there are two that seem particularly foundational, and Christians also hold these passages in high esteem. One of these texts was our first scripture reading from this morning in Genesis, in which God creates the seventh day, rested, and hallowed it. But this alone, might seem like not enough of a reason that we should deserve a weekly rest, creating the world must have been harder work than anything we could have ever possibly participated in. So look then to the Decalogue, the ten commandments. We generally attempt to follow these basic laws right? We’re all familiar with thou shall not steal, murder, or covet your neighbor. You shall honor your father and mother, and not make false idols.

But we often forget the fourth commandment; can you name what it is?

“Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work.”

You may be wondering what is the Sabbath, or how do we practice it? Certainly we go to church on Sundays, and you may have heard about other traditions like Judaism in which they refrain from labor and work, but also cooking, or use of light or transportation, and eat traditional meals with family. It may even conjure up memories of the old blue laws which prohibit the sale of liquor, gambling, bingo, labor, or recreational sports on Sundays depending on which state you are in.

But Sabbath is not about restrictions or rules, nor is it about idle rest. It is an active cessation of work, a rest in motion. Sabbath is not a time intended for us to make it as far as we get until we collapse into a desperate repose in which we can do nothing for our exhaustion.  Instead it is an intentional time to regularly tend to God, to community and self, to celebrate life. In fact it is less a particular practice and more an observance of a particular time.

Let’s turn to the Genesis passage again. Throughout the entire story, God has created each portion of creation, declaring each good at the end of the day. But what happens on the seventh day is unique. God creates another day, another portion of time, and then God rests and blesses that time. The Hebrew is qadosh, which means holy, or to make holy. It is the first appearance of that word in the Bible, and notice it is not used for creation, not on the Earth, the waters, the animals, nor even us. God makes time, a particular time, holy. And then God dwells in that time, and later invites us to do so too.

Abraham Heschel was a rabbi born in Germany, but came to the US just before WWII. He was adjusting to his new life here with fellow Jews who were trying to figure out what it meant to be American. His book, The Sabbath, was written largely in response to what he saw happening to the Jewish Sabbath. I quote his daughter’s introduction of the book, “The Sabbath appeared at a time when American Jews were assimilating radically and when many were embarrassed by public expressions of Jewishness…For them, the Sabbath interfered with jobs, socializing, shopping, and simply being American.”

Heschel talks about how we have lost the distinction of time. Time has become a commodity, a thing that can be traded and measured. He contrasts time to space, arguing that space is the real commodity we’re after, and we use time to gain more space (more property, more things, more power, more cubic feet). Hence the phrase, time is money.

But try as we might, we really cannot conquer or dominate time, it does seem to march on incessantly no matter how hard we try to contain it. And whether we like it or not, time is not as uniform as we may think. We do not consider being five minutes late to a dinner party the same as being five minutes late to work. Nor do we consider a 10 minute traffic delay the same as a ten minute delay spent catching up with friends. Or consider the nine long months of pregnancy compared to the first nine months of your child’s life. There is work time, vacation time, chore time. In our faith we have Ordinary Time, Lenten Time, Advent Time, and Christmas and Easter time. Sabbath is another particular time, one that happens weekly. And it is time that has been made holy by God first.

When I began to think about Sabbath more intentionally, I realized that part of the purpose of Sabbath was to participate in sanctification (or the making holy) of myself and of the world. And I thought that if I could just get the right practices down, and spend time dedicated to those practices, I would be on the right track. But then I realized it is the time itself that is holy, not the practice. And it isn’t until I submit to that time, not until I dwell in it, revel in it, celebrate that time, that I too experience the holy.

The Sabbath is a sanctuary from the world as we know it, from the time we battle during the week, from the labor and work we are required to do, from the reality of this world. It is a day for praise, a day for the celebration of life. It is a day where we stop thinking about space, and think about time in a new way. It is a day to stop thinking about what we need to do, or what needs to get done, and rest in a time meant for God, for community, and for self.

What is on your to do list for this afternoon? Mow the lawn? Do the budget? Read those documents from work you didn’t get to on Friday afternoon? What would happen if you didn’t get to that list?

I mentioned that Sabbath is more an observance of time than it is a practice, but that doesn’t mean that certain practices can’t help you transition into that time. Certainly coming to worship with your faith community is a good place to start. Simply being with others who are attempting to enter into that time collectively can help any one individual resist the temptations to succumb to another six or seven day work week. Worship can set the tone for the joyous celebration of the day of resurrection that we observe as Christians on the Lord’s Day. It can be a time where the community swells with life. But what happens after church? What will help you find that different mode of time, and let go of the anxieties and to do lists? What will help you create a sanctuary in time?

Maybe you turn your cell phone off for the day, or refrain from using the internet. Perhaps you do house chores on Saturday and spend the day enjoying your garden or lawn by playing games or sitting and reading in it. Maybe you extend your time with community by sharing a meal. Perhaps you journal, run, sit in silence, sing loud, or dance. Maybe each week you do something new, or you might develop a regular practice. Whatever it is, it should take you away from those spatial comforts Heschel talks about, and draw you nearer to the people you love, nearer to God, and nearer to self. It should not just be a distraction from you work, but a delight in life and rest. It should feel like a different time, so that when step out of it, you feel somehow lighter, you feel fed, more alive.

The poem on your bulletin this morning I think summarizes how Sabbath should feel quite well. Wendell Berry is a writer, and lives on his farm in Kentucky. Part of his Sunday Sabbath is to walk through his property, often in silence, and sometimes he writes (he writes poetry though, which is intentionally different from his day job). This poem is one of his Sabbath poems, and I’m just going to read you the end of it:

The mind that comes to rest is tended
In ways that it cannot intend:
Is borne, preserved, and comprehended
By what it cannot comprehend.

Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by
Your will, not ours. And it is fit
Our only choice should be to die
Into that rest, or out of it. (from A Timbered Choir by Wendell Berry)
May we walk away from this sanctuary, but remain in a sanctuary of time where our mind and our hearts are tended, where community is nurtured, and out of that rest is born life. Our own lives, the life of our community, and life that extends beyond us; life that reminds us to be the Samaritan who will stop, and maybe even take a step out of our daily time, even on a Tuesday.

Amen.

(Editor’s note: Lucy Waechter Webb is a Candidate for Ordained Ministry in the Presbyterian Church (USA) and is seeking a call. She blogs at Sowing Sabbath).

July 4, 2010

Southminster Presbyterian Church, Boise, Idaho

2 Kings 5:1-15a

Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the LORD had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy.  Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman’s wife.  She said to her mistress, “If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.”  So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said.  And the king of Aram said, “Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel.”

He went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments.  He brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, “When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy.”  When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, “Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me.”

But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, “Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel.” So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha’s house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean.”

But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, “I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?” He turned and went away in a rage.

But his servants approached and said to him, “Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?”
So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.
Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel”.

The kids at Vacation Bible School used this text a few weeks ago to show that kids can be heroes—like the slave girl who is brave enough to offer a word of hope to a foreign military commander.

It is a great text because is full of conflict and juxtaposition and surprise agents. People who have—kings and commanders—are contrasted with people who have nothing—foreign slave girls and servants. People who are in the faith—like the king of Israel—are contrasted with people who are outside of the faith—like Naaman, the Syrian and the Syrian king. And notice that the behavior we expect and presume from people within the tradition—like the king of Israel—is shown to be lacking when compared to the outsiders.

This text also disproves the notion of the “prosperity gospel”—that idea so popular in the American church today that says if you only have faith, you will be rich, successful, prosperous beyond measure. But the person in this text who has faith is not the one who is rich and famous and king of Israel. The person with faith in this text is an Israeli girl who has been captured into slavery, taken away from her home and family, and living in servitude in what is today Syria. This text should be a reminder to us that cultural, political, economic, or other advantages don’t equate to spiritual advantages. God is an equal opportunity grace bestower—no matter how much we wish God only liked the same people we do. No matter how much we wish it were easy to just look at people and decide if they are worthy or unworthy, in or out, good or bad. Stories like this remind us that God doesn’t operate in ways that make snap judgments possible.

Additionally, this story suggests that worldly advantages may get in the way of our faith.
When you can look around your life and rely on your own devices, gumption, and success—does that keep you from being able to rely on God? The King of Israel didn’t seem to consider that God might have something to do in this situation. He panicked because he looked around at his resources—armies, advisors, gold, and authority—and realized that there was nothing he could do to heal Naaman. But it never seems to cross his mind that he could rely on God.

To fully appreciate the King of Israel’s plight, let’s look at the context of this story. It is likely that the King during this time is Jehoram, son of King Ahab. Ahab, whom you might recall from a few weeks ago with his wife Jezebel and the vanquished prophets of Baal on Mt Carmel, was killed by the King of Aram in battle. This same King of Aram then writes a letter to Jehoram, asking him to do the impossible—cure someone of leprosy.

Now, I don’t know about you, but if someone who had killed my father asked me to cure someone of leprosy, I’d probably freak out a bit too. Do you know how to do that? I certainly don’t!

And he isn’t asked to cure just anyone. He’s asked to cure the David Petraus, the biggest military commander, of their biggest military opponent.

So there’s no pressure. None at all. Easy schmeazy.

But the King of Israel makes the mistake of presuming he knows the motives of the King of Aram. He reads into that letter ALL sorts of things that aren’t there.  Jehoram reads the letter and thinks, “he’s trying to trap me! He’s sent me an impossible request! His commander is going to die and he wants to blame me for it!”

But here’s what the letter actually said, “When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy.”

Just a simple letter and ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of designer clothes.

Perhaps the King of Aram could have given Jehoram a little more information, but it is as if the King of Aram was also making assumptions—presuming that if there was a prophet in Israel who could heal people of leprosy, that the King of Israel would certainly know about him and would automatically send Naaman to him.

And what does it say about General Petraus, I mean Naaman, that he is still the commander of the Syrian army even though he has leprosy? All of the other lepers we meet in scripture, if I recall correctly, are outcasts. They are marginalized and excluded. Naaman was clearly in high favor with the King, and was militarily that important, to still have his job and to be sent to Israel with those kind of gifts.
But it appears that being a Big Deal gets in Naaman’s way too. Naaman is sent to Elisha to be healed and he pulls up in the driveway with all of his chariots, horses, and hangers on. But he doesn’t knock on the door. He just stands there—looking very impressive, I’m sure—waiting for Elisha to come out and thank him for the opportunity to heal such an auspicious man.

We don’t know what Elisha is doing in the house—rearranging his sock drawer? Watching the World Cup on TV? Reading the Wall Street Journal?—but he sends his messenger out to Naaman with some simple instructions. “Go wash in the Jordan River seven times and your flesh will be restored and you will be clean.”

The next time this happens, when your yard is full of Syrian chariots, here’s a tip—don’t send your servant out to greet the General. They get a little insulted.

And, apparently, Elisha should have also come up with a more impressive cure. Don’t just send them off to do something simple—come out and make a big show of it! And if you are going to send someone to wash in a river—make sure it is an impressive body of water—and one that would have been familiar and comfortable to the General.

Are we like Naaman? When we are seeking healing and cures, do we put conditions on our requests? Do we have pre-conceived notions of how healing is supposed to look that get in the way of receiving the healing when it comes?

But then again, like the slave girl, Naaman’s slaves, the people with no voice in society, speak wisdom to Naaman. “Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?”

Thank God for people who speak truth to us, especially when it comes with some risk to them. Slaves weren’t usually invited to point out their masters’ mistakes, I’m guessing.  Yet, here, they did.

Who are the people in your life, trying to speak truths to you? Are you open to hearing truth from the people to whom society gives no voice?

Naaman, to his credit, recognizes the truth when it is spoken by his slaves and he goes to the river to be cleansed.

His flesh was restored. He was cleansed. He was healed. He was saved. And his healing led to faith. His response to being made clean was to acknowledge, before Elisha and all of the hangers on that “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel”.

His claim about God is a big claim. This Syrian General, commander of the armies, announces that the one true God isn’t from his hometown. He has to let his partisan allegiances go to make this claim about God.  He could have said nothing, taking his healing and going silently back home to Aram.

He could have said, “thanks for the healing. For a bunch of Israelis, your God is pretty good, but now I’m going back to Aram where the gods are awesome!”

But he doesn’t. He makes a public claim for a god who is not backing his particular candidate.

I really had no interest or desire to mention the 4th of July in my sermon. After all, it is not a religious holiday we are celebrating today. But as we celebrate our nation’s independence today, I do think Naaman is worth remembering. Because while he was certainly involved in the politics of his day, his faith was a much bigger issue—one that rose far above his politics.

And that is one thing that makes America so great—the political and civic involvement of her people. Each of us are called to be involved in this political experiment that has been underway in this country since the Declaration of Independence was signed on this day in 1776. And how that looks to each of us is different.

But, as Christians, like Naaman, we are called to something higher than the American political process. We are called to proclaim “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel”.

So, as we prepare to share communion this morning, I invite you to consider that here we gather as people of many nations, many ideologies, many understandings, and many differences. But we will gather as ONE because it is through Christ we are connected.  Listen to the words of the apostle Paul from his letter to the Galatians:

“As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

Naaman lived before the time of Christ, but his declaration at the end of his healing reminds me of Paul’s words. Naaman, having been washed and cleansed in the same river that would one day baptize Jesus, could have said, “in God there is no longer Israeli or Aramean, there is no longer slave or king, there is no longer clean or unclean, for all of us are one in God”.

So, friends, it is right for us to be proud to be American and to wear our red, white, and blue. It is right for us to celebrate this day that for over 200 years, our nation has stood for freedom, giving voice to the voiceless, and being an advocate for liberty and justice around the world, often at the cost of American lives.

But I hope we’ll also remember Naaman, and our calling as Christians to serve a greater kingdom, coming together despite our differences to be united in a common purpose, that there may be healing for us all.

Amen.

Luke 8:26-39

Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee.  As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”—  for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.)
Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him.
They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.
Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission.
Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.
When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country.
Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid.
Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed.
Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned.
The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying,  “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

Luke’s text picks up right after Jesus has calmed a storm and rebuked the wind on the Sea of Galilee. As Jesus and his disciples get out of the boat, freshly delivered from perishing on the water, Jesus encounters a man, perishing in his own ways.
Now, our friend Jesus is known for hanging out with unsavory characters, but this one might just take the cake.  He is outcast among outcasts.
First off, Jesus is on the wrong side of the Sea of Galilee.

The west side is the Israeli side. The east side is the gentile side. the foreign side. The opposite side.  This man lives in a place where they raise pigs, for goodness sake. And we know that no good Hebrew will have anything to do with pork or pork products. And this man is naked. awkward. And he lives in tombs, which makes him unclean, because you shouldn’t have anything to do with dead bodies, as you know. And, as if all of those things weren’t bad enough—and they are, bad enough—he is demon possessed. Not just by one demon. But by a legion, which was a Roman military unit of 4 to 5 thousand men. In a world of “us” and “them”, he is as “them” as you can be.

But even the people on the wrong side of the sea of Galilee don’t have anything to do with this man. They put him in chains and leave him at the tombs.

But this man, who was lowest of the low, sees Jesus, falls at his feet, and shouts out for all to hear: “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?!” He may have his troubles, but he has no trouble recognizing who Jesus is.

This story may seem hard for us to imagine, because we don’t approach the world in quite the same way as those first century believers would have. We don’t talk about demon possession nearly as much as we talk about germs, psychiatry, or malignant diseases. But don’t let that get in your way. We can’t answer a 21st century question about his disease. And we may or may not have “demons” in our vocabulary. But we do know people like this man.

People who are so far on the outside of society that they are alone, living among tombs.
Who is that in your life?
The homeless person you pass on your way into the store?
The bad guy who committed the crimes you hear about on the news?
Osama Bin Laden?

Whomever it may be for you, we all know people whose lives are so messed up that fixing their own problems is way beyond their capabilities.

And Jesus, for his part, doesn’t ask the man, “what did you do wrong so that the consequences landed you in this mess”. Maybe the man deserved every moment of his demon possession. I don’t know. But Jesus doesn’t seem to care WHY he’s in this situation. But Jesus does seem to care enough about this man, this foreign, pig eating, tomb dwelling, demon possessed man to heal him.
The word for “heal” in Greek is the same as the word for “save”. Remember that when you read about Jesus’ stories of healing. Healing and salvation come from the same place and are connected.

Healing, Salvation, are offered to this man on the wrong side of the Galilee just because that is how Jesus operates. The man is the least likely candidate to receive salvation. He doesn’t follow the rules. He makes everyone uncomfortable. He’s not an Elder in his church. He should stand as a reminder to us as disciples that we can’t limit the recipients of God’s grace.

This is the only story in Luke’s gospel where Jesus intentionally leaves Israel to travel to other lands. But in the narrative of Luke and Acts, we hear that the disciples are told to take the gospel to the ends of the world. This one excursion by Jesus is a dramatic illustration of what that looks like. This gentile mission that will take the Good News far from the banks of the Sea of Galilee—all the way to Boise, Idaho, even—begins dramatically here.

But not everyone in the story sees this encounter as Good News. We aren’t told what the disciples thought, but I can imagine that more than one of them, who had moments before been so thankful to be out of the boat and on dry land were wondering if, perhaps, perishing at sea was a better alternative to welcoming an unclean, naked, tomb dwelling demoniac to the club.

And the gerasene pig herders weren’t so thrilled either. Because their income had just run into the sea. There were some real economic consequences to this healing. Their loss of income would not have been seen as good news.

The pig herders run into town and tell everyone what has happened and the crowd comes running to the scene. But it isn’t what they expect. Instead of their friendly neighborhood demoniac, they find a man from whom the demons had gone, sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.

And they were afraid.

The legion of demons recognize the Son of God when they meet him, but the townspeople aren’t so sure.

They ask Jesus to leave.

And I confess that this story leaves me with that uncomfortable little voice in my head, asking me, “would you ask Jesus to leave if he healed a Boise demoniac?”

Of course the right answer is “no, of course not.”

But I wonder.

Because change is hard. Even good change. Maybe especially good change. Certainly the townspeople, before Jesus came across the Galilee, would have argued that they wanted their government to fix the demon problem out by the tombs. Take care of these people! It isn’t safe! What if one of them moves in to our neighborhood?! They must be healed!

But when faced with the fact of a healed man, clothed and in his right mind, they ask Jesus to leave because they are afraid.
Afraid of what?

Maybe they are afraid of what healing might be coming for them—“If Jesus can do that for that guy, then just think what he would ask me to do to change.”

Maybe they secretly liked having a demoniac living among the tombs—he made them seem so normal and successful. “I may have had a bad day, but at least I’m not that guy.”

You know that saying about “better the devil you know than the one you don’t?” Perhaps they have learned to live with this dysfunction and will fight to maintain it rather than live into unknown change. “Yes, he’s a naked demoniac, but he’s our naked demoniac.”

This is the one that worries me the most. This is where I can see myself, can see us, asking Jesus to just get back in his boat and go to the other side.

Because we’re pretty comfortable in our routines, no matter how good or bad those routines might be. The thought of change scares us. Last week, Alden came up to me after worship and said, “mom, someone was sitting in my seat today in worship.” We’ve not even been here two years, and my kids have assigned seats!

But when Jesus heals us, when Jesus saves us, we have to change. We can’t continue to be the naked demoniac living in the tombs. Certainly, being clothed and in our right minds, sitting next to Jesus is the preferred way to be. And yet, how often do we choose NOT to change? How often do we choose to stay in the comforts of the “we’ve always done it this way” past?

I hope we’ll look at this text and see that even though healing and salvation require change and disruption of the status quo, the end result is worth it.

There is no indication that the healed man sees the crowd and thinks, “hey, they’re right! I wish I were naked and living in the tombs again!” The Good News is certainly good news for him and is change he’s willing to believe in. He begs Jesus to come along with him, back to the other side of Galilee, and into new life and a new future.

I suppose a small part of him might have wanted to go with Jesus also to get away from the people who chained him up and made him live in a tomb.

In any case, Jesus sends him back to the Gerasenes—“return to your home and declare how much God has done for you.”

And the man does.

Salvation and healing for our friend the man formerly known as the demoniac is free but is not easy. There are things he must do as well. He must go live amongst people who don’t want to see signs of change—being a constant reminder of what they wish to forget. He must declare what God has done for him.  And remember, these people can see full well what God has done for him. Right before they ask Jesus to leave because they were afraid, they saw him clean, clothed, and in his right mind, sitting there talking to Jesus.

Often, the changes we deal with are more subtle. You can’t tell by looking at someone if they are in the midst of bankruptcy or if they just quit drinking. You can’t tell who is anxious or worried about many things. You often don’t know someone’s story until they declare it to you.

But that requires time—to build relationships and to listen. It requires safety and trust—can I declare to you what God is doing in my life and trust that the story will be safe with you?

It requires courage—can I tell you the truth about who I really am and declare to you what God is doing in my life and still have you call me friend?

Is this the kind of place we are creating, here at Southminster? A place where people can declare what God is doing in their lives? A place where the change that is necessary for salvation and healing can be faced?

I keep thinking about the disciples, who are largely silent in this story. If it weren’t for the first sentence “then THEY arrived at the country of the Gerasenes”—you wouldn’t know they were with Jesus at all.

But they had just been saved too. Like the naked demoniac at the tombs, they were perishing in a storm at sea immediately before today’s story begins. Jesus saved them too.

I wonder if they saw similarities between their deliverance and the saving of the man by the tombs.

I wonder if, before they met the man on the shore, they thought, “sure is great to be one of Jesus’ friends. Glad we knew someone who liked us enough to save us!”

I wonder how that reaction would have changed when they realized he also saved a complete stranger, who happened to be naked, demon possessed, and living with dead bodies.

I wonder if this encounter encouraged them to see similarities with people when others saw difference.

I wonder if later on, when Jesus tells them to take the gospel to the ends of the earth, they thought of this man by the tombs and thought—“if Jesus gave healing and salvation to that guy, then we can take the good news every where and to every one.”

Whether you see yourself as one of the disciples or as the man formerly known as naked, tomb dwelling demoniac, know that the salvation and healing offered by Jesus is for you, it is for us, it is for all.

Thanks be to God.
Amen.

1 Kings 19

Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword.
Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.”
Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.
But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.”
Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.”
He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again.
The angel of the LORD came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.”
He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.  At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there.
Then the word of the LORD came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”
He answered, “I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”
He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.
When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”
He answered, “I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”
Then the LORD said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram.
Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel; and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place.
Whoever escapes from the sword of Hazael, Jehu shall kill; and whoever escapes from the sword of Jehu, Elisha shall kill.
Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.”
So he set out from there, and found Elisha son of Shaphat, who was plowing. There were twelve yoke of oxen ahead of him, and he was with the twelfth. Elijah passed by him and threw his mantle over him.
He left the oxen, ran after Elijah, and said, “Let me kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow you.” Then Elijah said to him, “Go back again; for what have I done to you?”
He returned from following him, took the yoke of oxen, and slaughtered them; using the equipment from the oxen, he boiled their flesh, and gave it to the people, and they ate. Then he set out and followed Elijah, and became his servant.

Our text this morning picks up after quite an exciting story. Elijah takes on the prophets of Baal and Asherah, all 850 of them, and challenges them to a scene made for reality TV. Israeli Idol would be a good name for it, in more ways than one.

Because Israel is following false Gods. Remember that after Solomon’s rule, the united kingdom of Israel collapses. The Northern Tribes rebelled against the Davidic line and they become Israel in the divided kingdom. The tribes of Judah and Benjamin, in the South, become the nation of Judah.

Ahab is king of the Northern kingdom of Israel. His wife, Jezebel, is a foreigner. Their marriage was a political alliance to bring peace on the Phoenician border. And she brings with her some false Gods. Who must be appealing, because there are lots of prophets and the people seemed to flock to these false gods.

So the prophet Elijah shows up and is a thorn in the side of Ahab and Jezebel. They don’t like him at all. He’s trying to call the people back to the Lord. They’re trying to keep their political alliance together by promoting the worship of all of the gods.

And they want to kill Elijah. They’ve already killed over a hundred prophets of the Lord.

So, to our reality show, Israeli Idol.

I’ll let you read chapter 18 in your free time, but here are some highlights—Elijah challenges the prophets of the false gods to a show down. His God against them. He even stacks the deck in their favor. And then he mocks them. And then he crushes them. And then he has them all killed.

And then he flees while Ahab goes back and tells Jezebel what happened to all of her prophets, which is where our text today picks up.

Elijah knows all about the power of God. He’s just seen it in full and public display. But did you notice that in this text, he doesn’t seem to believe it? “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.”

I can’t decide if Elijah’s humanity here is horribly depressing or comforting.
I’d like to think that if only I could see God’s awesome acts of power, as Elijah did on Mt Carmel, that I’d have faith enough to spare. That’s all I really need, I think. Just one big miracle like the showdown with the false prophets and I’ll be good.

But just a few verses after his moment of triumph, when he wins Israeli Idol, Elijah is asking to die because he feels alone. He may not be afraid of false prophets, but he is certainly afraid of Jezebel.  And, even though he has just seen God put on a resounding display, it doesn’t occur to him that the God who delivered him then will deliver him now.

We are like that too, of course. We see miracles all around us, even in our own lives. But then something happens, Jezebel comes making her threats, and we go blank. A crisis of confidence, that erases what we know to be true and replaces it with panic.

I don’t know why this happened to Elijah. I don’t know why it happens to us. You’d think that the signs and wonders he had seen would have been enough to sustain him. You’d think they’d be enough to always sustain us.

But, they don’t. Perhaps this text is a reminder to us that signs and wonders, like the show Elijah puts on before the prophets of Baal in the earlier chapter, are not what sustain faith.

Perhaps this text is a reminder to us that the voices of this world, the threats of Jezebel, are more than mere words. They are often scary enough to cause us to forget what we know to be true. They are often loud enough to drown out the cries of our faith.

Perhaps this text is our reminder not to become isolated, or else we’ll end up like Elijah, alone and huddled in a cave, crying “I alone am left”. When I read this passage, I confess that I tend to think Elijah is being a little melodramatic. “I alone am left! Woe is me!” But maybe he really does feel that alone. That isolated. So cut off from other people and even from God that he feels that he alone is left.

One commentator on this passage said, “convinced of his unique status as the last remaining person of faith, Elijah’s primary temptation is to think that he has to go it alone, that it is all up to him. This illusion presents itself to us when our concepts of reality do not include the dynamic presence of God, which empowers us to trust in the resources of divine grace” (Trevor Eppehimer in Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol 3 , (WJK Press, KY 2010) page 150).

But no matter how alone Elijah feels, notice how God responds to Elijah’s crisis of confidence. After Elijah says, “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors,” God’s angel replies with this: “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.”

God does not tell Elijah to get over himself and quit being a whiner. God instead reminds Elijah to take care of himself. “Eat, or else the journey will be too much for you.” Before we can handle our crises of confidence, we have to take care of ourselves. God will engage Elijah in a conversation, but not until he’s ready for it. “eat, or the journey will be too much for you”.

How does that look for you?

What does it look like, in your life, to eat so that you can be ready for the journey?  I invite you to consider that question this week.

Because we have to eat, to feed ourselves, to nurture our bodies and souls before we can journey through the wilderness to listen for God. And some of you, I know, are very good at feeding others—providing either physical or spiritual nurture for your family, friends, and congregation. But I wonder more about our ability to feed ourselves. To accept help when it is offered, perhaps. To allow ourselves permission to feed ourselves before we offer food to others.

After Elijah eats, twice, he journeys for 40 days and nights and comes to a cave at Mt. Horeb.
And then God asks Elijah a question. It will be asked twice, just as Elijah is told to eat twice.
“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

I love this question. It can mean so many things.
Why are you here as my prophet, Elijah?
Why are you here—40 days into the wilderness—and not somewhere else?
Why are you here feeling sorry for yourself?
Why are you alone and so far from others who could help you?
Why are you here—on this earth?

Elijah gives the same answer both times the question is asked. Here it is:
“I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”

Do you think he answers God’s question?

I’m not so sure he does. He reminds God, as if it is God who needs the reminder, that he has been very zealous on God’s behalf. He reminds God that the Israelites have been very naughty. And then he reminds God that he alone is left and people want to kill him.

But God seems to see the answer that is in Elijah’s reply—I’m isolated and alone and can’t remember the things that are important.

So then the Earth, Wind and Fire appear. Elijah is told to stand on the mountain as God passes by. But God wasn’t in the noise, destruction, chaos, tumult or flames. God was in the sheer silence that followed.

Elijah, despite his crisis of confidence, is able to recognize God when God appears. And, it seems likely to me, that the silence was not the place Elijah would have first been seeking God. Because in the Biblical account, when God appears, God is in a burning bush, or a pillar of fire by night or dust by day. The word for God’s Spirit is the same word for wind. And perhaps we expect God to be flashy. To put on a show. To wow us with displays of grandeur. To be Earth, Wind, and Fire.

But here, for Elijah at his weakest moment, God is in the sheer silence.

Even in the midst of God’s sheer silence, however, Elijah can’t see his way out of the cave of isolation and fear. He gives God the same answer to God’s question of “why are you here?” But God offers Elijah grace, and gives him the answers he needs. Elijah is told to appoint Jehu king, and Jehu will clean up the political mess. And he is told to appoint Elisha as his successor. Elijah is not alone—on either the political or the spiritual front. Through sheer silence, God calls him back to his purpose, answers the question God was asking him, and sends him back to work—fed, nourished, and equipped for the journey.

Thinking about this text has called to mind for me a quote by Corrie Ten Boom (Bome), a Dutch Christian and Holocaust survivor, who said, “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God”. I think that was what God was trying to get Elijah to see during the midst of his crisis of confidence.

As it was for Elijah, the future we can’t imagine can also be a scary place. We don’t know what the future holds. There are voices all around us telling us to be afraid of just about everything, but the Queen Jezebels of this world are just speculating. The sounds of chaos, tumult, and fear are nothing compared to the sound of God’s sheer silence. Because we are walking into that unknown future with a known God. The God who has provided for us in the past, who is reminding us to eat and be fed right now, and who is laying out the plans that will guide us through the future. May we learn to be comfortable listening for God—whether it is in the chaos and tumult or in the sheer silence. Friends, never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.  Amen.

May 30, 2010

Proverbs 8

Does not wisdom call, and does not understanding raise her voice?
On the heights, beside the way, at the crossroads she takes her stand;  beside the gates in front of the town, at the entrance of the portals she cries out:
“To you, O people, I call, and my cry is to all that live.
The LORD created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago.
Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth.
When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no springs abounding with water.
Before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought  forth—
when he had not yet made earth and fields, or the world’s first bits of soil.
When he established the heavens, I was there, when he drew a circle on the  face of the deep, when he made    firm the skies above, when he established the fountains of the deep, when he assigned to the sea its limit, so that the  waters might not transgress his command, when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him, like a master worker;  and I was daily his delight, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in his inhabited world and delighting in the human race.”

John 16:12-15“I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.  When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.
He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you.
All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.

Today is Trinity Sunday, the day in the church calendar where we acknowledge the threefold nature of God, commonly proclaimed as Father Son and Holy Spirit. It is mysterious math, indeed. One God, three persons, equals blessed Trinity.
Last year, on Trinity Sunday, I preached about all of the different heresies that the church has named over the years that are related to the Doctrine of the Trinity. I won’t subject you to that again, but as we start looking at Trinity Sunday this year, it is worth noting that heresies don’t develop mainly because people are trying to get themselves kicked out of church or because they seek to be wrong. Heresies develop because people are trying to make sense of things, and don’t quite get it right. And, over the years, most of the reasons people were labeled heretics by the church were because of Trinitarian issues.

Every year, the church spends exactly one day acknowledging that we have this doctrine that is so confusing that it leads well meaning people into heresy.
This week we also finish up our Year of the Bible readings. To those of you who have kept up your readings all year—congratulations on a big job well done! In our discussions about the readings, one topic has come up again and again—and that is that people feel like they have fewer answers about faith AFTER reading the whole Bible. We’ve talked about how you can’t look to the Bible for answers. Rather, we look to the Bible to guide us on a journey. Last week, we decided that we don’t always trust people who tell us that Faith is simple and that the answers are easy.
And this week, I’ve been pondering this quote from Augustine:
“If you comprehend something, it is not God”.

In other words, the mysteries of our faith should, to some degree, remain mysteries. Yes, we keep seeking to understand, but we also recognize that it is in the seeking that we see God.

So, on this one day of the year allotted to this most complicated doctrine, we can’t definitively answer the questions about how the Father is related to the Son or from whence does the Spirit emanate.
But we consider the Trinity because it is the language we use to try to understand who God is.

The doctrine of the Trinity—one God in three persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—is not spelled out clearly in Scripture. But there are many passages that make reference to the relationships of God. Our Scripture passages this morning are just two of many passages that suggested the Doctrine of Trinity to our early church mothers and fathers.
In our passage from Proverbs, Wisdom is personified as a woman who stands on the street corners and in the market place, sharing her knowledge with anyone and everyone who will listen. Wisdom, which is closely connected to God is not limited to the temple or to the religious realm. God’s Wisdom calls to us from places that are accessible to all of God’s children. So, while we do believe that God is in this place here today, we shouldn’t believe that God is only in this place. God is also standing out there at the corner of Cole and Overland, calling out as Wisdom.
And we’re told that her cry is to all who live.
Clearly not everyone chooses to listen to Wisdom as she cries out, but it is not for us to determine whom God may be calling.
Perhaps my favorite verse from this passage is at the end, “and I was daily his delight, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in his inhabited world and delighting in the human race.”
Wisdom delights in humanity.

Wisdom rejoices in God’s world.

Wisdom and God really enjoy each other’s presence.

Wisdom is, daily, God’s delight.

Whenever you think that church, or faith, or God, is all about rules or judgment or seriousness, remember this passage. In God’s own relationship there is delight and joy and enjoyment. If that is how God exists, then shouldn’t we consider that it is how God wants us to exist as well?
How often do we take the time to delight in each other’s presence? I confess, not enough. This week, especially, I feel like I was crabby and frustrated too much of the time. This coming week, I will do my best to remember God’s delight. I apologize that it is something about which I need to be reminded.

Some people think Wisdom in this text is a stand in for the Holy Spirit. Or perhaps that Old Testament Wisdom stands for Jesus. I am okay with letting Wisdom just describe herself, without her having to be a code for something else. She was the first act of God’s creation. She is literally older than the hills and is not to be confused with any of God’s later works of creation because she was there first and saw some things that you and I can only imagine.

“When he established the heavens, I was there, when he drew a circle on the face of the deep, when he made firm the skies     above, when he established the fountains of the deep, when he assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not     transgress his command, when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him, like a master worker.”

So, this passage on Wisdom may not help clarify the doctrine of the Trinity—we don’t, after all, say “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, oh yeah, and Wisdom needs to fit in there too”. But this passage does call us to remember the importance, joy, and love of God’s creating acts. As we look at the world around us, we should remember that God created this world in love and with care. As we continue to watch oil spewing into the Gulf of Mexico, perhaps Trinity Sunday should remind us to be more mindful of God’s creation entrusted to our care because we aren’t just connected to each other, we are connected to this world in which we live, and which God created with joy.
The personification of Wisdom in Proverbs also makes me think of the diversity of God. God is Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Wisdom, Creator, Sustainer, Redeemer, the Word. Last week, when talked about Babel, we considered the idea that diversity is God’s intention for humanity. When we think about following a triune God, we need to consider that there is diversity within God’s very being.  Think of the diversity of God’s expression to us—

as a peasant from Nazareth named Jesus,
as a voice from a burning bush,
as a pillar of fire for the Hebrew people to follow as they wandered in the desert,
as Wisdom calling out in the market place,
as the voice that spoke our world into being,
as the Spirit that blew through the gathering of disciples at Pentecost,
or
as God the Father of Jesus.
None of these expressions of God are complete alone, but each of them contributes to what we know of God and how we experience God.  God’s very nature is diverse.
And God’s very nature is a relationship.
We see another piece of that relationship in the passage from John’s gospel. These few short verses are taken from a rather long section toward the end of John’s gospel where Jesus gives final instruction to his disciples.

“I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.  When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.”

John’s gospel, while it is my favorite, might fairly be called odd or strange by some people. Because John is very comfortable with this idea that God is a relationship of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. He sees no apparent problem to recording a conversation where Jesus is talking about two characters that none of us have ever seen. It isn’t the same as me telling you about what Randy and Julie said to me this week—because you know them. You can go up to them later and verify my story.

But we can’t do that as easily with God and the Holy Spirit. And John seems to be okay with that. Because for John, everything you want to know about God, you can learn from Jesus. And here we see that Jesus does not see himself as a solo act.

The implications of following a triune God, one who sees God’s own self as a team effort and a relationship, is that we need to model our lives in Trinitarian terms. If God—who could certainly have flown solo had God chosen to do so—chooses to be in relationship, then we should reconsider how we relate to each other.
The other day, one of my friends told me about a Zulu proverb—
‘A person is a person through other persons.’

This idea is called Ubuntu.
I don’t think this means you need to be in crowds all the time. But I do think this means that we only know what it means to be human through our relationships with others.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu speaks about this African idea like this:

“A person with Ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed.”

I think this is a good reminder for us, on Trinity Sunday, of what it means to live in relationship with others. Yes, we as individuals seek to be good people and to succeed in our lives. But if our individual pursuits are in opposition to the common good, I don’t think we’re living triune lives.
There are voices in our culture telling us that our Christian faith should be only about what we do as individuals, and Trinity Sunday reminds us to question those voices. Yes, our faith is personal—what we each do matters. But that doesn’t mean our faith is private—or only our individual concern. In other words, we shouldn’t be seeking a relationship with God just to benefit our individual selves. Our relationship with God should lead us to live lives that benefit those around us.
God calls us into community because God’s very nature is community. And God’s Wisdom is out there standing on the corners, calling us to

live lives of connection with each other and the rest of God’s creation,

to live in community,
to live with delight in our brothers and sisters,
and to live with joy that we follow a God so mysterious that our lives are filled with the journey of discovery.

Amen