February 19, 2012

Lonesome Valleys

By marciglass

A sermon preached at Southminster Presbyterian Church, Boise, Idaho

Feb 19, 2012

 

Today is Transfiguration Sunday. Each year, before we enter the Season of Lent, we spend some time looking at the texts of Jesus’ transfiguration—when he takes a few of his disciples and goes up on the mountainside. Matthew, Mark, and Luke each tell the story a little differently, but this year, the Lectionary gives us Mark’s account.

And for Mark, this story is about identity. Just previous to this section, Jesus asks his disciples who people are saying he is.

“Some say Moses, some say Elijah”, they tell him.
“But who do you say I am?”
Peter says, “You are the Messiah”.

Awareness of Jesus’ identity is growing for the disciples, but they don’t fully understand this Messiah they are following yet.

Then we have the religious authorities, who have no idea who Jesus really is, but they’ve seen enough to decide they want to kill him, to silence his calls for justice and inclusion.

Jesus was transfigured before the disciples. He was changed. And it wasn’t just that his clothes looked different. The disciples didn’t look at him and say, “did you do something different with your hair, Jesus?” He was changed.  The Greek word for transfigured is “metamorphosis”, which is “a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one,”

So, this is more than a costume change from Clark Kent to Superman.

(Hope I didn’t just ruin anything for any of you. Clark Kent and Superman are the SAME PERSON.)

This is a caterpillar becoming a butterfly.

And what was this transformation, exactly?

The short answer is that I have no idea. This is a story that has to live in some mystery. The gospel accounts describe the event, but not in a way that answers our 21st century questions. He was metamorphosed before them. His clothes were shining white in a way that no human bleach could manage. And then Moses and Elijah appear on either side of him, and the disciples see the three of them carrying on a conversation.

So, whatever the physics of this transfiguration, it is clear that Jesus is not like us. That the disciples encounter him in a form so different from what they thought they knew that it leaves them terrified.

This wasn’t a fear that you bravely overcome the way Indiana Jones conquered his fear of snakes. This was heart stopping terror.

And in every picture of the transfiguration that I was able to find, the disciples all looked just like this. One of them is turned away in horror. The other two are upside down, falling off the mountain almost.

And while I don’t doubt that seeing Jesus talking to two long dead prophets would terrify us all, I wonder if this moment of terror was connected to what had happened to the disciples before. Less than a week before this,
Jesus had told “them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.”

He had said to them:
If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?

And they hadn’t liked it when he said those things. “What, Jesus? Surely not. Don’t say such things.”

But Jesus doesn’t have time for this.

He’s walking to Jerusalem. And he knows what will happen there. He will undergo great suffering. He will be rejected. He will be killed. He will rise again after 3 days.

This is his reality. It isn’t the storybook life we’re supposed to lead, whatever that looks like, but it is the path he is going to walk. And Jesus doesn’t have time for people who are in denial about this.

I see this often with families who are dealing with a terminal illness. They know the path they are on and as well-meaning as it is to say to them, “I’m sure everything will be fine. Don’t say such things”, it isn’t helpful.

Because when you are walking that road, you don’t want to be alone. You want to be with people with whom you can be honest.

This isn’t about giving up hope. This isn’t about throwing in the towel. This is about being honest about the path you are on. You want partners on the journey who will just sit and be with you in your grief and sadness without trying to pretend that the world hasn’t been completely changed and transformed.

Because life is completely transformed in those situations. For better and worse, a life looks different once you have dealt with tragedy. I think I have shared this before, but I have a friend who got a tattoo after his son was killed in a car accident. He told me that since his life would never be the same again, he thought it fitting that his body would also be marked so it would be clear that there had been a transformation.

And I wonder if that is why Jesus has a metamorphosis on the mountain top—to help the disciples see that he wasn’t kidding about what was to come, to help them break through their denial so they could be his companions as he walked his lonesome valley.

The old spiritual goes, “Jesus walked this lonesome valley. He had to walk it by himself. O, nobody else could walk it for him. He had to walk it by himself.” And with all respect to the author of that hymn, I think it is only true to a point.

Yes, Jesus had to walk his own path. He couldn’t outsource that particular journey. And yes, we have to walk our own path too. Nobody else can walk it for us.

But we don’t have to be alone.

Surely, we have to walk our own journeys, and when we get to the lonesome valleys, certainly the casual friends will fall away, but we don’t have to be alone.

I was speaking with Carolyn yesterday. As many of you know, her father has been in failing health, and it became clear yesterday that the end of his journey is near. And we talked about this text and we talked about how the scary and transformative news of impending death, while it may never be the news you want to hear, ended up being a gift for her family. They have had the opportunity to drop the walls and be authentic with each other. They have had the opportunity to seek forgiveness, to offer forgiveness, and to speak of their love.
But at this point of the lonesome valley, the path is narrow. They are sending family members in to his room one by one.

Jesus did not take a crowd with him to witness the transfiguration. He didn’t even take all of the disciples. But he did take a few. Peter and James and John are there to see the metamorphosis.

And then they are told to keep it quiet until after the resurrection. The cynical part of me (who me? never) wants to say, “don’t worry, Jesus. Who are they going to tell they saw you super bleached and talking with Elijah anyway?”

I mean, really. Who would believe such a thing?

But I think it also speaks to the fact that there are times when large crowds are helpful and there are times when the path narrows and you can only journey with a handful of people.

This lonesome valley that Jesus will walk is a narrow one. After the transfiguration, the crowds will still follow him. But from here on out, he will save most of his instruction for the disciples. The time is past for a sermon on the mount.

So, as we approach Lent, which will begin with worship this Wednesday night at 7 pm for Ash Wednesday, I invite you to consider this lonesome valley that we’re being invited to walk with Jesus as he journeys to the cross.  Consider how the terrifying moments of change, transformation, or realization that we all encounter have led you down more authentic paths in your own life. Consider how we can be there for each other as we each have to walk our own lonesome valleys. Just because nobody else can walk it for you doesn’t mean you have to be alone. Thanks be to God.

Leave a comment | posted in 2 Kings 2:1-15, Mark 9:2-9, Transfiguration

February 12, 2012

Privileged?

By marciglass

A Sermon preached Feb 12, 2012 at Southminster Presbyterian Church

Boise, Idaho

Mark 1:40-45

2 Kings 5:1-15

Privilege is a nice thing when you have it, right? Naaman’s life with leprosy was much easier than the man who talks with Jesus, right?
They were both lepers, but Naaman was a leper with privilege.

And while the biblical limitations on people with leprosy seem harsh to our ears, they were the public health directives of their day—keeping communicable diseases from spreading. You can read most of them in Leviticus 13 and 14 if you want to know more about them.

But people with leprosy were to report themselves to the priest, who would examine them and then put them in isolation for a period of time to see if it went away. If it went away, you could resume your regularly scheduled life, but if it remained, listen to these instructions:

 “The person who has the leprous disease shall wear torn clothes and let the hair of his head be dishevelled; and he shall cover his upper lip and cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean.’ He shall remain unclean as long as he has the disease; he is unclean. He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.” (Lev 13:45-46)

But Naaman isn’t living that life.

He’s the commander of the Syrian army and shows up at the King of Israel’s house with a letter from the King of Syria asking to heal Naaman.

And the king of Israel freaks out a bit. “How am I supposed to heal leprosy??!”

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, you might recall from the story of 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 now 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 General, the biggest military commander, of their biggest military opponent.

So there’s no pressure. None at all. Easy schmeazy.
Just a simple letter asking for healing and offering ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and tensets of designer clothes.
Perhaps the King of Aram could have given Jehoram a little more information, but perhaps the King of Aram was presuming that if there was a prophet in Israel who could heal people of leprosy, then the King of Israel would certainly know about him and would automatically send Naaman to him.

Elisha finds out about Naaman and instructs the King of Israel to send him to Elisha’s home.
So Naaman pulls up in Elisha’s 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— Watching Downton Abbey on PBS? —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.

Because Naaman gets angry. He takes his chariots and horses and pouts off, “I thought that for me he surely would come out and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot and cure my leprosy.”

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? Does our particular privilege, whatever it is, get in our way of receiving healing?

But then Naaman’s slaves 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?

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.

But what I can’t get over is the fact that Naaman should never have been the commander of the Syrian army in the first place.  Naaman’s experience should have been like our unnamed Leper in Mark’s gospel. He should have been isolated and excluded from society, tearing his clothes and walking through the streets calling “unclean”!

His privilege should certainly not have allowed him into the presence of the King of Syria or the King of Israel.

But every so often there are people like Naaman, whose particular gifts and abilities allow them to do what others don’t get to do. I think about Franklin Roosevelt who served 4 terms as President but was, by the end of his presidency, almost totally confined to a wheel chair because of polio.

You may remember the controversy a few years ago about the FDR memorial in Washington DC, where he is depicted in a wheelchair.  Critics complained because FDR did not like to be seen in his wheelchair and they thought it seemed unfair to portray him that way cast in bronze.

But for people who are confined to wheelchairs, the image of a President of the United States wheelchair bound certainly carries different importance.
Photographer Barbara Green gave me permission to use this photo she took at the FDR Memorial. When she asked the person if she could take her picture, the woman answered with a heartfelt “Yes!”, then told her that FDR had been a lifelong inspiration to her.

Naaman was that sort of figure. He was a “great man”, in “high favor” with the King. He was a “mighty warrior” through whom the Lord had given victory to Aram.
And while I am thankful he acknowledged his healing came from God, I wonder if it went any further than that. I wonder if Naaman used the privilege he had to advocate for other people who were excluded by society, to extend his privilege to others. I wonder if he went to civic clubs and classrooms and encouraged people to be more welcoming. I wonder if he went to leper colonies and brought comfort.
How do people with privilege use it for more than personal gain? Especially when it allows them to break through barriers.

This made me think of Jackie Robinson, who in 1947 broke the color barrier that had excluded African Americans from playing Major League Baseball. He didn’t need healing from a disease, of course, but he lived in a world that suffered from the disease of racism. And I bet he knew what the lepers felt like when they couldn’t walk through the front door of the drug store, sit at the front of the bus, or drink at the same water fountain.
While Jackie was an extraordinary athlete—he was the first athlete to letter in 4 varsity sports at UCLA. Baseball, Basketball, Football, and Track. The year he entered the major leagues, he was rookie of the year.

But when life gave him the privilege that other African Americans did not have, he used that privilege to make other people’s lives privileged as well. He once said, “A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.”

He helped found Freedom National Bank, a black-owned and operated bank in Harlem. He also established a construction company to build housing for low income families.

He took the blessings he had to change people’s lives.

This week in the news, many of you heard about the JC Penney spokeswoman crisis. JC Penney hired Ellen DeGeneres to be their spokeswoman. Ellen has a daily TV show, but she may be most famous for being one of the first openly gay women in Hollywood.
As soon as her appointment was announced, a group called  “One Million Moms” called on people to boycott JC Penney and asked JC Penney to fire Ellen. JC Penney said, “no. We’re sticking with Ellen.”  This group wanted Ellen fired because she didn’t represent their values. So here is what Ellen said this week on her show about her values.  “I stand for honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people the way you want to be treated, and helping those in need. To me, those are traditional values. That’s what I stand for.”

Our Gospel story this morning is also a leprosy healing story. But our leper here is nameless and does not have the social or political power that Naaman had. He comes to Jesus and begs him, saying, “If you choose, you can make me clean.”

Jesus reaches out his hand and touches him, saying, “I do choose. Be made clean.” Immediately, he was healed.  Healing is for both military generals and nameless lepers.

I’m not sure that we today can understand the gift the leper received because I’m not sure we can appreciate the stigma that came with leprosy in those days.

Ancient societies, including 1st century Palestine, operated from the assumption that uncleanness was contagious. In other words, if you touched a person who was unclean, you would also be unclean. And while there may have been a medical component to this uncleanness, the people of the day considered it to be a religious problem. Leprosy was considered a punishment for sin.

So, when Jesus reached out and touched the leper, he should have been contaminated by the man’s uncleanness. He should have been made unclean.

But that’s not what happened. When the Son of God touches someone, he makes them clean. The cleanness of Jesus is stronger than any of our uncleanness.

When Jesus reached out, touched, and healed an unclean man, the leper may or may not have consciously grasped the huge change in how the world was ordered. On some level he realized that a privilege, a gift, had been extended to him, and hopefully he was able to share that with others.

We may not be Generals in the Syrian Army, (which is probably just as well these days). And we may not be the President of the United States or Jackie Robinson or Ellen DeGeneres, but we have all been gifted with privilege too. There are many different ways we have been privileged. To live in a free and stable country, where we can live out our lives and practice our faith in freedom. To have gifts that make us unique—whether gifts of athletic prowess, or chili cook off cooking, or artistic ability, or music, or brains, or the gift of evangelism—whatever those gifts may be, they bring you the privilege to do with them what only you can do. And last, but certainly not least, we have been privileged with the gift of grace. Because it is only by grace that we are saved, that we are healed.

When the leper says to Jesus, “if you choose, you can make me clean”, Jesus’ very reply is grace. “I do choose.”
Our very privilege of being children of God, a part of the family,  is a gift.

One other observation about the privileged people I have mentioned today—Naaman, FDR, Jackie Robinson, Ellen—is that I would guess none of them would have used “privileged” as the first word to describe themselves. Naaman had leprosy. FDR had polio. Jackie Robinson faced racism that is unimaginable to me. Ellen faces discrimination that is also hard for me to fathom.

So, this week, I invite you to spend some time thinking about your privilege. And consider that perhaps the difficulty in your own life that you wish weren’t there may just be your greatest strength and gift.

And how can we, as healed and privileged people share and extend the gifts we’ve been given in our own healing, so that we can bring justice to our brothers and sisters who face greater challenges than we do?  Friends, let us go out and proclaim freely that there is healing to be found.

Thanks be to God.
Amen

Leave a comment | posted in 2 Kings 5:1-15, Ellen Degeneres, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Jackie Robinson, Leprosy, Mark1:40-45

February 6, 2012

What are we waiting for?

By marciglass

It is good to be back with you this morning. It was also good to be away last week. I spent the week with 42 other clergy women from many different denominations and from all over the US, Canada, and Scotland.  We supported each other in our ministries. We worked through the gospel texts that will appear on the worship calendar from June until November. So you will benefit from my time away when we reach those texts.

I also had time this past week to just sit and be. To look out over the ocean and watch an endless horizon, which called me to consider the vastness of the God who created such a horizon.
As Isaiah said, “it is God who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to live in.”
While I can appreciate those who see God in the majesty of mountains, when I think of God, I see the ocean. In addition to the vast horizon, the ocean presents you with a roiling surface of water, but you know there is life teeming underneath that surface. Floating on a boat on the ocean, even a large ship, reminds you of how small humans are on the face of creation.

Isaiah addresses this dichotomy. God is powerful, vast, and able to be concerned about the smallest detail.

We, on the other hand, are like grasshoppers. God goes on forever. We come to an end.

In this beautiful poem, Isaiah reminds us that even the mightiest kings and princes of humanity are but grass to God.

“It is God who brings princes to naught, and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing. Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown, scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth, when he blows upon them, and they wither, and the tempest carries them off like stubble.”

On the one hand, that doesn’t bring me comfort. Being faced with my own rather flimsy mortality does not make me want to cheer. But being reminded that kings and princes are mortal, that we are mortal, does call us to remember where our trust should reside. Our trust should not reside in the winner of a political race, no matter how great their concern for the common welfare.

We should not be waiting for salvation from ourselves, from each other, or from the leaders of our governments.  Because, no matter how much money, or power, or wisdom any other human being has, they are still human.

And so we wait on the Lord.

Isaiah was, as you’ll recall, writing to people who probably didn’t need the reminder that they were mortal, that they were small pieces of creation. They were in exile. They had already been blown about by the winds of political upheaval and knew what it meant to be carried off as stubble by the tempests of Babylon. They knew how kings and princes could affect their lives in horrible ways.

And, depending on where you are in your life’s journey, you might also relate easily to Isaiah’s words. You may not be under Babylonian exile, but you may feel the tempests of disease, or face anxiety about many things over which you feel you have not control.

But whether you find yourself in exile or not, these words are for you.

Because we all need the reminder of who this God is whom we serve, whom we follow, and from whom we have life.

    “Have you not known? Have you not heard?
   Has it not been told you from the beginning?
   Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
   the Creator of the ends of the earth.
   He does not faint or grow weary;
   his understanding is unsearchable.”

So, here’s the reminder we need when our own mortality is limiting us. When our waiting doesn’t seem to be paying off.  The strength and power we need will come from God.

He gives power to the faint,
and strengthens the powerless.
Even youths will faint and be weary,
and the young will fall exhausted;
but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint.

I wonder if Peter’s Mother in Law understood Isaiah’s words a little differently after she met Jesus. Mark doesn’t tell us her name, so let’s give her one. Let’s call her Ruby.

And Ruby knew what it was to wait for the Lord.  Her daughter had married well. Simon Peter was a good man—a bit of a hot head, but a good man. And, as a woman in first century Palestine—as an older woman in first century Palestine—she knew about waiting. She was dependent on others for many things. She was not always in the driver’s seat of her life.  Even before she fell ill, her arthritis would get in the way. She couldn’t see as well as she used to, so the family took away her driver’s license and sold her camel.

So she rubs the knuckles of her arthritic hands and waits for Jesus.

And Jesus comes to her. And he heals her.

And she gets up from her bed, with her strength renewed, with shiny new eagle wings, and she runs without getting weary and she walks without getting faint.

Okay, it actually just says that he lifted her up and the fever left her and she began to serve them.

I don’t know about you, but the first time I read through this text I thought, “Ruby! Don’t get up and serve them! You’ve been sick. They can make their own coffee! And Peter, if you brought Jesus to your house to heal your mother in law just so she can make you dinner, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”

But I don’t think this is about Peter needing someone to iron his laundry. I think that once Jesus holds out his hand to Ruby, offering her a return to wholeness, a healing, and a chance to return to her life, then serving them becomes her spontaneous response of gratitude.

Whether it is God restoring the strength to Israel, or Jesus restoring health to Ruby, the response from the healed and restored people is the same. They walk, they run, they get up and move because they have work to do.

God doesn’t restore people and heal people so they can sit around and talk about how awesome it is to be healed. God heals us, God restores us, so that we can join in the work of the kingdom.

If you noticed, after Jesus healed Ruby, he healed many other people. The entire town of Capernaum was standing outside their door. There is much healing to be done.

But after a long day’s work, Jesus doesn’t just get a good night’s sleep and get ready to do it again tomorrow. He gets up and goes to a deserted place to pray.

But the crowd and the disciples, when they hear that news, “hunt for him”. They had other options. They could have waited for the Lord, as Isaiah describes. They could have, like Ruby, taken their own newfound health and wholeness and got to work serving people.

But they didn’t. They hunted for Jesus. “Everyone is searching for you!”, they tell him.

They want Jesus to keep doing all of the work himself.

Jesus had some options too, once he was found. He could have said, “Oh gee, if everyone is searching for me, then I better go back and do what they want me to do.”

Instead, he says, “ ‘Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.’ And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.”

While on study leave, we talked about this text as well as the ones that come up later in the year. And one of my new friends pointed out that Jesus is like Mary Poppins in this text. Mary Poppins, if you’ll recall, goes to a place where she is needed, but once the people learn what they need to learn from her, she opens her magic umbrella and leaves, going on to the family who needs her next.

Jesus doesn’t use his magic umbrella in this scene, but he does say that moving on was what he came to do.
So, we wait for the Lord. Patiently or impatiently. Either grouchy or with grace, we wait for the Lord.

But the story doesn’t end after the healing happens. That’s when we get to join in the work of the Kingdom.
In a little while, we will come to the Table. Where we will be fed. We will be renewed and given new strength.

And then we will move on, will go out into the world, and back to work, and to school, and all through the community, and we will do the work for which God has equipped us.  Thanks be to God. Amen.

4 comments | posted in Isaiah 40:21-31, Mark 1:29-39, Revgalsblogpals

January 22, 2012

Here Fishy, Fishy, Fishy!

By marciglass

A sermon preached at Southminster Presbyterian Church in Boise, ID

Jan 22, 2012

Jonah 3:1-10

Mark 1:14-20

Our lectionary readings for this year will take us through Mark’s gospel. As you may be noticing, Mark is a man of few words.  Where you and I, or Luke and Matthew, would offer more details, Mark is content to let the story be spare.
Last week, we left Jesus in the wilderness after his baptism, being cared for by the angels.
And, immediately, after that, Jesus picks up the work of John the Baptizer, calling people to repent and believe in the Good News.

And I think that is not quite enough of a message to get me to repent. I think I would want to hear a little more. Repent of what? What is the Good News? ‘Repent and believe’ seems too vague.

But, when contrasted with Jonah’s message to Ninevah, it is a veritable treatise on Theology!
Remember what Jonah preached to Ninevah? “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”

Talk about a positive message that is designed to appeal to people!

As I was pondering the fact that both of these seemingly horrible tools of evangelism actually worked, it occurred to me to just say “40 days more and Boise shall be overthrown” and then just sit down.

Would have saved me a lot of time this week.
But I realized that while God was calling Jonah to deliver that message, it wasn’t what I was called to share this week. Bummer for you.

Let’s look more closely at the short passage from Jonah. It begins with a reminder that the Word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time. And, if you recall, the first time God told Jonah to go to Ninevah, Jonah chose not to. He got on the first boat he could find that was heading in the exact opposite direction. Big storm, Jonah abandons ship, and ends up in the belly of a fish, where he has a come to Jesus meeting before being spat out of the beast onto the beach.

And so the Word of the Lord comes to Jonah a second time. “Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you”.

And Jonah does.

He doesn’t like the Ninevites. He doesn’t want them to be saved. He doesn’t even want to be in the same room with them. You can almost hear the glee in his voice when he announces their destruction and doom.

“Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown! Ha! That’ll teach you horrible people! We’ll see how you feel when God’s judgment puts you in your place!”

Jonah delivers the message, gets out a lawn chair and maybe some popcorn, and sits down to wait for a ringside seat of the destruction.

But the people repent. The King repents. The cows repent, for pete’s sake.

This isn’t an isolated repentance of a few people. This is a repentance of all individuals, the government, and even creation.

And so God changed God’s mind. God showed mercy on Ninevah and didn’t destroy them.

I invite you to read the rest of Jonah’s story this week.  Let me just say that his front row seat to the destruction of his enemies doesn’t turn out quite the way he had hoped.  Despite his greatest hopes for their destruction, they are converted. His very success as an evangelist annoys the heck out of him.

There are many reminders for us in this text, of course.

God will choose to be merciful to whom God will choose to be merciful. We don’t get the final say in the people who are beyond the reach of God’s love.

I’ve shared this quote from Anne Lamott before, but it bears repeating:

“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.”

Our job, as it turns out, is not to judge. I know. Bummer, right?

Only God gets to do that, and even then, we can’t presume God will hate all the same people we do.

The other thing that struck me this time through the two stories we have this week is that it is better to respond to God the FIRST time the Word of the Lord comes to you.

Jonah didn’t do that. And he spent a fair amount of time in the digestive system of a whale.

But, according to Mark’s gospel, the Disciples fared better than Jonah.

They are minding their own business, literally, Simon and Andrew casting their nets in the sea, and James and John mending their nets, and Jesus calls them to follow him. The Word of the Lord comes to them a first time, walks past them and speaks to them. “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.”

And they do. The drop their nets. They leave their boats.

They don’t just accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior and go back to what they were doing. They abandon their ability to make a living. They leave their families. They walk away from everything they know and are called to much more than a moment of personal salvation. They are called to a life of discipleship, a life of itinerant preaching with some guy who walked down the beach and called to them.

So, where are you in these stories?

Are you like Jonah, sitting in the belly of a whale because you are resisting answering God’s call on your life?

Are you like Jonah, the second time the Word came from you, but still hoping for the destruction of the people you’ve determined are beyond God’s mercy?
Or are you sitting on the beach, working on your nets and wondering how to respond to the Word of the Lord as he calls you to join him?

The scenarios are all different. But the one thing they have in common is that the Word of the Lord comes to us all.

We can resist it.

We can choose our own interpretation of it.

We can follow it.

And just as the Word of the Lord came to Jonah and came to the first disciples, God’s Word is coming to you as well. That’s why we are here. Because we could be doing other things today, couldn’t we? We could be drinking coffee and working on the crossword puzzle. We could be skiing.

And maybe that’s on the agenda later today. But this morning, we’re here. Together. Because God is calling us to be this particular church family in this corner of God’s kingdom.

Somehow, the Word of the Lord called out to you and you responded enough to be here.

How is that call from God going to play out in your life as you leave here today?

The disciples  “immediately they left their nets and followed him”.

What does it mean to follow him?

I follow people on Twitter, but as this cartoon proves, Jesus isn’t talking about Twitter. We are to literally follow where he leads.

When the Word of the Lord walks past us and asks us to follow, we can’t just look up at him and say, “sure. Sounds great. Have a good day. See you on Sunday.”

If we choose to answer the call, our lives should grow to be different than they were before. This doesn’t mean we become perfect. We will still make mistakes. We will still hurt the people we love. We will still be human, in other words. But we should have a greater goal than our private concerns.

Following Jesus means we are going to journey down paths that might not be the ones we would choose. They will likely put you in to uncomfortable situations and challenging moments.

But, did you also notice in the stories we heard today that the call of the disciples, or the call of Jonah and the Ninevites, for that matter, weren’t so much about the people who were called as it was about the one doing the calling. The Ninevites were no candidates for God’s best followers. They were a wicked city of foreigners, for goodness sake.

And the disciples. What did Jesus know of their qualifications for ministry when he picked them? They were not-very-well-educated fishermen from galilee. Jesus hadn’t seen their Theology test scores. He didn’t know anything about their public speaking skills or ask if any of them could fix a computer.

He just called them.

It appears their best qualification for ministry happened to be that they answered when God walked by.

So, if you aren’t feeling particularly talented today, it’s okay. If you are certain that you don’t have what it takes to answer this call from Jesus, it’s okay.

Because God will give you what you need, but not before you need it. The disciples left behind their nets, their boats, the tools with which they surrounded themselves, and followed after Jesus. And God provided. As we listen to the stories in the coming weeks, pay attention to how this random band of people become the Disciples of the Lord.

And God is calling you, yes you, because there are still lots of fish in the sea who need to know about the God of mercy who loves us far beyond reason.

Here fishy, fishy, fishy.

Amen.

 

Leave a comment | posted in Jonah 3:1-5, Mark 1:14-20

January 16, 2012

Assurance of Pardon

By marciglass

A few people requested I post the Assurance of Pardon I used yesterday at the Font. This is from Call to Worship, which is a great resource.

Since we were buried with Christ in these waters, we are raised to new life with him.
The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting!
I declare to you, in the name of Jesus Christ, we are forgiven.

This is the good news of the gospel, and it is for you and for all.
Whatever you have done, whatever you have failed to do,
whoever you are, whoever you wish you were but are not:
You are accepted, you are welcomed.
You are washed clean, you are raised up.
You are forgiven, you are set free.
In the love of Jesus Christ, you are loved forever.
In the waters of baptism we are set free to let go what is old and broken, to live a new life in the resurrection, and to follow together a joyful way, after Jesus Christ, our loving Savior.

Thanks be to God! The peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.

3 comments | posted in Uncategorized

January 15, 2012

Can you hear me now?

By marciglass

A sermon preached at Southminster Presbyterian Church

Jan 15, 2012 for Baptism of the Lord

Gen 1:1-4

Mark 1:4-13

The Christian New Year didn’t begin on January 1. We began our liturgical New Year on the first Sunday of Advent, right after Thanksgiving. Our year begins in preparation for Jesus’ birth and Christ’s return. After Christmas, we moved to Epiphany and today, before we head into the Common Time of our calendar, we celebrate the Baptism of Jesus by John in the River Jordan.

We talked last week about how the gospels didn’t agree on the details of Jesus birth and early life, but they all agree that Jesus was baptized by John and they agree that his baptism inaugurated the beginning of his public ministry.

So, this morning, we’ll consider Jesus’ baptism and we’ll consider our own.

John the baptizer was preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sin. And Mark tells us that everyone came. Which seems sort of odd to me. I imagine you could draw everyone to the opening of a nightclub if George Clooney were going to be there. But I have a hard time imagining everyone coming to repent of their sins.

But, there they were. And John had told the crowd, “I’m only baptizing you with water. Someone more powerful is coming after me and he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

But then that someone more powerful shows up, not to baptize, but to be baptized. And there is nothing in the text to suggest that he went to the First Class check in line either. It appears that Jesus showed up in the midst of everyone else from Judea. And after standing in the long line, he was baptized by John. The text doesn’t even suggest that John recognized Jesus when he saw him, as the person to whom he’d been referring.

Until the baptism.

Because after his baptism, the heavens were shredded apart and the Holy Spirit descended on him like a dive bombing pigeon.

And the voice. A voice from heaven says, “You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Yet another one of those moments I wish I had been there to see for myself. What did everyone else hear when the voice spoke? And did it scare the dickens out of them?

Some how, some way, the separation between earth and heaven collapses at the baptism of Jesus. Almost a reversal of the creation account in Genesis 1 when the earth and heavens were separated.

In the beginning, God.

The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while the spirit of God swept over the face of the waters. Then God spoke. “Let there be light.” God speaks light, and with that light, we gain the ability to see the chaos that has been swirling across the face of the deep. God speaks and there was light. Light and Darkness are separated. God speaks and order appears, chaos abates.

God speaks creation in Genesis as the Spirit of God moves across the waters. And then, as Jesus comes out of the waters of baptism, God’s spirit again moves across the waters, and God speaks words of blessing. “You are my beloved. In you I am well pleased.”

One very radical notion we hold as Christians is that in baptism we are joined with Christ in his baptism. But how many of you (no need to raise your hands) hear those words, “You are my beloved. In you I am well pleased” and believe them?

Because you should.

But it is my experience, in the way we treat each other and in the way we treat ourselves, that we don’t. We have a hard time internalizing this message from God.

I wonder if part of the reason this is so hard for us is because we have a skewed notion of what our lives would look like if we were God’s beloved children in whom God was well pleased.

To be God’s beloved child ought to come with some impressive perks, right?
Free lattes at Starbucks
Discounts at the mall
First Class upgrades on flights

Okay, I’m kidding. Sort of.

But I think we look around at the average-ness of our lives as evidence that we aren’t God’s beloved children.

“If God really loved me, I wouldn’t be having these family problems.”

“If God really loved me, I’d be thinner”.

“If God really loved me, my mom wouldn’t have cancer.”

But did you notice what happened in the story we heard this morning?

Listen again:

And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.
He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan.

God’s beloved Son, with whom God was well pleased, IMMEDIATELY drove him out into the wilderness, to be tempted by Satan.

Don’t you think, just maybe, that this passage ought to, once and for all, let go of the notion that being loved by God means that life should be easy?

I know there are pastors out there who will tell you that if you are faithful to God, God will bless you with riches, health, and apparently anything you want.

Don’t believe me? Listen to these words from Joel Osteen:

“If you develop an image of victory, success, health, abundance, joy, peace, and happiness, nothing on earth will be able to hold those things from you” (p. 5 Joel Osteen, Your Best Life Now)

“You will often receive preferential treatment simply because your Father is the King of kings, and His glory and honor spill over onto you” (ibid, p. 40)

And since 40,000 people worship at his church each week, it seems that the message must be fairly attractive.

But it isn’t biblical.

And a voice came from heaven,

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.
He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan.

Yes, we are blessed by God. Yes, we are beloved children of God. Yes, it is right to cry out to God for healing, and for intercession.

But being blessed doesn’t mean you are going to get a new flat screen TV or that the problems of the world are going to pass you by.

Being blessed means that when you are in the wilderness being harassed by Satan, you should remember this—God has been there before.

Jesus of Nazareth knows exactly what it is like to be in those moments of pain, struggle, and heartache. Because he has lived it. He knows the high of seeing the heavens torn apart and hearing God’s voice call him beloved. He also knows the lows of wilderness struggle.

But if we stop trying to prove that we are blessed, that we are God’s beloved children, based on how much money we have or how healthy we are, then what does it mean to say we are God’s beloved children?

When God’s voice comes down from Heaven, proclaiming divine pleasure, what does that mean?

For me, it helps me to go back to the passage from Genesis. At creation, when God speaks and the world is created, God also pronounces that God’s creation is good.

We are a part of that good creation. And when God’s voice speaks again at Jesus’ baptism, God expresses divine pleasure in who Jesus was and how he lived his life.

So, to join with Jesus in his baptism, we also hear God speaking for us. Not to the exclusion of someone else. But God is speaking for us, individually and corporately, to live into our role as beloved children of God.

What would be the possibilities if we treated ourselves and treated everyone else as if our baptismal promises were true?

How would this congregation be different?

How would the world be different?
Baptisms often seem to be cute and innocent events. Sweet babies in their grandmother’s gown, adoring family all around. And that can be a part of baptism. But we should remember that baptisms are not tame events. At baptisms, God breaks into our world, shredding the barrier between heaven and earth. We come up out of the water as new people, reborn and claimed as Christ’s own for the world.

When God speaks, we should pay attention.

Listen to the words of the Psalm assigned for today:

        The voice of the LORD is over the waters;
the God of glory thunders,
the LORD, over mighty waters.
The voice of the LORD is powerful;
the voice of the LORD is full of majesty.

The LORD sits enthroned over the flood;
the LORD sits enthroned as king forever.
May the LORD give strength to his people!
May the LORD bless his people with peace!

For the past few years, on this day, we’ve done a renewal of Baptism. We don’t re-baptize people, because God’s work doesn’t need a re-do. But we do remember what happened at baptism. We listen, again, for God’s voice.

Today, I invite you again, or for the first time, to come forward as you are able and to take a drop of water from the font, so that you may remember your baptism. So you may remember the voice of God calling to you to live as a beloved child. If you are unable to come forward, ask your neighbors to bring one back for you.

This week, I invite you to take home your baptismal stone and remember your baptism. To consider that you are God’s beloved child in whom God is pleased. To look for the Spirit of God moving across the chaos of our lives. And to listen for where God is speaking today, creating all things new. Amen.

1 comment | posted in Baptism, Genesis 1:1-5, Mark 1:4-11

January 8, 2012

A Star to Follow

By marciglass

Matt 2:1-12

Isaiah 60:1-6

A sermon preached at Southminster Presbyterian Church, Boise, Idaho

Jan 8, 2012

Today we are celebrating Epiphany. This is an ancient Christian celebration, dating at least as far back as the 300’s.  And it is the day we celebrate the arrival of the magi, or the Eastern Wise men who came to visit Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. January 6 is the actual feast day of Epiphany, which is also, if you count it up, the 12th Day of Christmas.

This word comes to us almost directly from the Greek.

“Epi”, meaning ‘on’ or ‘upon’, and “phaneros”, which means ‘visible’, ‘apparent’ or ‘manifest’.

So, an epiphany is more than just a “lightbulb” moment, or an “aha!” moment. An epiphany is something that is revealed to you. Something where light shines and makes something clear and manifest. The magi received the epiphany for all of us. They saw God made flesh and saw salvation for all people.

So, we have this text from Matthew about visitors from the East. Yet we don’t know much about them.

We don’t know their names.

We don’t know how many of them there were. We just know they brought 3 gifts.

The Greek text calls them “magi”, which referred to a caste of astrologers in Zoroastrianism, a religion in Persia. The word “magi” is where we get the word “magic”.

Their story is not related in any of the other gospels. Mark and John don’t talk at all about Jesus’ birth or childhood. Luke, in the texts we have heard the past few weeks, tells us about Bethlehem, the star, and the shepherds, but he makes no reference to the visitors from the East.

Only Matthew gives us this story.

And while Matthew and Luke as Gospels share some similarities, they are very different in their birth narratives. Matthew begins his with the genealogy of Jesus. He barely makes reference to the actual birth—no stable, no Roman census, no shepherds. In Matthew there is no reference to Nazareth as the home of Mary and Joseph. If you read further ahead in Matthew, the family will re-settle there, but only after fleeing to Egypt. The magi come to visit them at their home in Bethlehem, when Jesus is 2 years old or less.

Many of you know I like irreverent cards, and I’ve shared this before, but it is worth seeing again. My favorite magi image, from a Christmas card I received a few years ago. It shows 4 men on camels. Three of them are following the star in the sky. The fourth one is following Elvis and his caption reads, “I’m going to follow this star.”
Neither Matthew nor Luke, of course, make any reference to Elvis, but I think this is a question worth pondering.

Which star are we following?

For all we do not know about the magi, we do know they followed a star that led them to Jesus. Unlike the mage who followed Elvis, they didn’t just see this star and decide, “hey! That one looks interesting—let’s go this way!”

They prepared for the moment. They knew the sky. They studied the star charts. They listened for the Divine call in their lives. Because, let’s face it. There are plenty of pretty stars in the sky, but we don’t just follow them. There must have been more that called them on this journey.

What is it that caused them to lift their eyes and look up?

They pulled themselves away from their charts, their computer screens, or their Sudoku puzzles or whatever, and looked up, which is what Isaiah calls the people to do as well.

“Lift up your eyes and look around”, Isaiah tells the people. Isaiah gives a promise to people who have been defeated, exiled and forced to pay homage to other kings—he gives them a vision of kings coming to pay homage to them.
“Nations shall come to your light,
and kings to the brightness of your dawn”.

But you have to have eyes to see it. Lift up your eyes and look around!

For people in Israel who grew up hearing Isaiah’s promises, people who were living under occupation themselves, the image of men from the east, offering gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh to the child Jesus must have given them great hope.
Arise! shine! for your light has come,
the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.

Perhaps that was the greatest gift the magi offered—hope. Their very presence reminded the people of long held promises and invited them to see the world in new ways.

Because surely the world looks different to you after you’ve stepped out on faith to follow a star and have discovered God at the end of the journey. Especially when the King of the Jews that Herod was so afraid of turns out to be a toddler.

The epiphany was only the beginning of the changes for the magi, for all of us. And not all of the changes are easy. The epiphany of a child born as king in Bethlehem turned the world upside down and shook the palace in Jerusalem. The world responds when God breaks into the world—and it isn’t always peaceful. I invite you to read ahead in Matthew this week and see how the powers of the world responded to the epiphany. Epiphany is about God coming to us in ways we would never have predicted on our own.

However the Magi knew that this star was different, that this child was a king, they followed the call and began the journey.

And journeys take time.

What if the magi had said, “the star looks interesting, but it isn’t a good time for me to leave. I’ve got deadlines coming up and the kids have soccer practice. And my camel’s in the shop. Plus fuel is so expensive right now.”

There are so many excuses we make when we don’t lift our heads and look up at the star.
A friend of mine shared this poem with me this week. The author is unknown.

When Will We Have Time?

If, as Herod
we fill our lives with things
-
and again with things -

If we consider ourselves so unimportant
that we must fill every moment
of our lives
with action -

When will we have time to make
the long slow journey across
the desert
as did the magi?
Or sit and watch the stars
as did the shepherds?
Or brood over the coming of the child
as did Mary?
For each one of us there is
a desert to travel
a star to discover
and a being within ourselves
to bring to life.
(Source: Michael Podesta)
So the choice is ours. Will we make time for the journey? Will we lift our heads and look up so we can discover our stars?

My trusty volunteers are going to pass some baskets down the rows now. I invite you to take one of the stars that are in the basket. Don’t over think this. Just grab a star. We’ll put the extras up front after, so if you need to spend more time on this project, you can trade your star out later.
Each star has a word on it. I invite you to consider how that word might speak to your life in this new year. Perhaps you could use it to lead your prayers this year. Perhaps you could tape your star to your refrigerator or bathroom mirror and when you see it, remember that you need to look up, look to God and follow the star that is guiding you.

(Since you are reading this sermon online, post a comment if you would like me to give you a word and I’ll pick one out of the star basket for you.)

I pray that this year you will discover the star that is there for you to discover, and will follow it and see where God is leading you. I’ll close with these verses from
John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress:

“And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year,
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”He replied, “Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than a light and safer than the known way.”

Blessings to us all on our journey. Lift up your eyes and look around. There is a star for you to follow.

Amen

5 comments | posted in Epiphany, Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12

December 24, 2011

Some Lady Holding a Baby

By marciglass

Christmas Eve Sermon 2011

Southminster Presbyterian Church, Boise, Idaho

Luke 2:1-20

Isaiah 9:2-7

Strange things happen at the holidays. I suppose strange things happen all year, but perhaps we notice them more at this time of year. With the grace of God, we get through them, hopefully with a sense of humor and maybe even new understanding. I’d like to share with you an encounter that one of my friends had this past week at a grocery store in Chicago:
Customer: “Do you have Christmas stamps?”

Clerk: “No. We just have Liberty Bell and some lady holding a baby.”

Customer: “Can I see them? That’s Mary holding Jesus. I’ll take those.”

At which point the Clerk says, “How did they get a picture of them?”

Customer looks back at my friend to keep from laughing, and so my friend chimes in with, “I bet it’s someone’s interpretation of what they may have looked like.”

Clerk: “Maybe. ‘Cause I don’t think anyone took pictures back then.”

(Thanks to Ashley-Anne Masters for sharing that true story!)

Yes, the story is jarring. Especially for me, who spends my days talking about Jesus professionally. I don’t presume that everyone shares my religious views, but it is always startling to me when people don’t even recognize Jesus, even if he is only on a postage stamp.

This is an image of the 2011 Christmas stamp in question, from a painting by Raphael called “Madonna of the Candelabra”.
And if you don’t recognize the halos around Mary and Jesus, you can imagine how someone might not know that was Jesus.

It is just some lady holding a baby.

If we look at the story of his birth as told by Luke, perhaps we ought to be surprised that anyone recognized him as the Messiah in this story.

Because he was just a baby.

And when you’re looking for a savior, I suspect you look for an adult.

Don’t you?

Because what’s a baby going to do for you?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love babies. They are cute. I love to hold them while they sleep. The world is ever more peaceful while a baby sleeps.

But babies don’t lead armies. Babies don’t topple oppressive Roman governments. Babies can’t even pray for you, which is what they were expecting from their Messiah.

What’s a baby going to do for you?

Imagine Mary.
My youngest son’s birthday is just a few weeks after Christmas, so I remember being “heavy with child” and hearing the Christmas story. I remember thinking, “no way. Not going to Bethlehem. You go get registered, Joseph. I’m nesting.”

I remember thinking, “she had to give birth where ever she could find space? Are you kidding me? They couldn’t find a room anywhere??”

My pregnant reaction to the Christmas Story might be reason 832 why God didn’t choose me to be the mother of our Lord and Savior.

In any case, Mary gives birth under circumstances that make me twitch. And, no matter how well the labor went, we know it was painful, and exhausting, and messy, and human.

And, so she’s found a quiet place, if not a hospital room, and she’s laid her baby in an animal’s feeding trough, and she’s resting. Pondering how human the Son of God is, perhaps.

And then the shepherds show up.
Just who every mother wants to have visit after her baby has been born, right? Strangers who live on the hillside?

And they find some lady holding a baby and they tell a strange story, an unbelievable story really, about a visitation by the heavenly host. But Mary, who has had her own visit from an angel, knows enough to believe them. But they keep talking about the arrival of the Messiah, the Savior, the Lord.

Regardless of what she’d been told by the angel, I wonder if Mary thought, “Who are they talking about? Can’t they see he’s just a baby? He can’t go out and save the world right now! He’s just a baby. He can’t feed himself. He can’t even lift his head. He may be the Messiah someday, but he’s just a baby tonight.”

And, of course, it is hard for us to hear this story of a baby laid in a manger without  knowing who he will grow up to be.

We know he will perform miracles.

We know he will heal people.

We know he will speak truth to power and seek justice for the oppressed.

We know he will defeat even death itself by dying on a cross.

But all of this is just a promise on Christmas Eve.
The angels announce the birth of a child.
The shepherds come to worship a baby.
And this 8 pound baby Jesus in his golden fleece diaper is worth our remembering. What does it mean that God would choose this vulnerability?

Listen to these verses from WB Yeats’ poem, “A Prayer for my Son”:

Though you can fashion everything
From nothing every day, and teach
The morning stars to sing,
You have lacked articulate speech
To tell Your simplest want, and known,
Wailing upon a woman’s knee,
All of that worst ignominy,
Of Flesh and bone.

What does it mean for us that God would choose to become human in this way?
God could have done it differently. Jesus could have just descended from the sky and announced the year of our Lord’s favor. The creator of the universe could have written the script any way they chose. And God chose to be born to a modest family with a royal pedigree in the midst of Roman occupation.

In his book, Christ: A Crisis in the Life of God, Jack Miles writes: “That God should have begun his human life as an infant is compelling…because although all men (People) are different, babies are all alike. Full participation in the human condition requires a beginning in the leveling anonymity of infancy.”(p 86)

This is an important reminder to us at this time of year. Because while we all start off this earthly journey as babies—all alike in our cute helplessness—we, as adults, are all very different. And our differences often lead to disagreements, fights, and discord. So, as you consider the baby Jesus in the manger, remember that the differences between us as adults are secondary.

Whether our mothers laid us in a manger or in a state-of-the-art crib, we all started our journey in a similar manner—helpless, defenseless, not in control of our economic or family situation, and in need of protection and care.
How can we seek that understanding of each other? How can we remember that commonality we all share?  How can we remember, in a new way, that we are all children of God, that we were all infants like God?
I invite you, as you celebrate the birth of a baby this night, to recognize God’s love for us in all of the babies you see. Whether it is some lady holding a baby on the postage stamp, or a painting by Picasso or Mary Cassatt or a Crow Indian woman with her child in a backboard or a woman in Mumbai

or a painting from Vietnam

any of these babies–all of these babies– remind us that God so loves the world that God chooses to be one of us. Let us seek to build a world where all of God’s children are recognized as signs of hope and signs of God’s love. As Isaiah reminds us:

    For a child has been born for us,
a son given to us;

This is the gift this night.
Thanks be to God.  Amen

Here is the link to the Puppet group’s presentation of Bethlehemian Rhapsody from worship on Christmas Eve.

Leave a comment | posted in Isaiah 9:2-7, Luke 2:1-20

December 12, 2011

Weeping with Joy

By marciglass

A sermon preached at Southminster Presbyterian Church, Boise, Idaho.

Dec 11, 2011

Luke 1:26-55

Psalm 126

I have struggled with these texts this week, even though I love them both. Mary’s Magnificat is one of my favorite passages in scripture. But I think both texts sound discordant when viewed through America’s preparation for Christmas.

I was talking with my hairstylist this past week and she told me that her family was opting out of Christmas this year. Last year, her son opened a present and said, “another shirt? Aren’t there any good presents here?” and that led her to stop and wonder why she was spending all of this money on things her kids didn’t want or need, why she was getting so stressed out making sure her presents were beautifully wrapped and matched her tree. Is this what Christmas was supposed to be about?

She decided “no”. So, this year, the family is going to take a trip and enjoy each other’s presence, rather than stress each other out by buying a lot of presents.

And even if she is right that being with family is more important than spending money on gifts, you and I might decide that even that isn’t the meaning of Christmas. Wasn’t there a baby born in a barn a few thousand years ago?

Where should this infant God be honored during this season?

There is a general worry that we have taken the “Christ out of Christmas” whenever we say “Happy Holidays” or when children’s school choirs sing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” instead of “O Holy Night”.

But I don’t think these are God’s concerns. I think they are only ours.

As we look around at the holiday craziness, it is right to acknowledge that while Christmas has a very important meaning to us as Christians, Christmas has a different meaning to many non-religious people. And it is what it is. It’s okay. The removal of Christ’s birth from the consumer driven spectacle that is American Christmas may not be a bad thing, really.

So let us, as Christians, come together, as a worshipping family, to listen to the prophecies of Isaiah, to ponder the angels’ greetings in our hearts, and to prepare for the birth of a baby, but let’s not get distracted by the idea that Jesus is in any way diminished if people see things differently than we do. Our God is too awesome a God to be derailed by someone saying “happy holidays”.

But I wonder if our society at large is suffering from that sense of entitlement that my hairstylist’s son expressed when he didn’t like his gifts.

Rachel Evans, a Christian writer, said this about Christmas:
“I’m not sure when or why it happened, but in some circles, entitlement has been declared December’s Christian virtue. Suddenly it’s not enough that Americans spend millions of dollars each year marking the birth of Jesus. Now we’ve got to have a “Merry Christmas” banner in front of every parade and an inflatable manger scene outside of every courthouse… or else we’ll make a big stink about it in the name of Jesus.  Having opened the gift of the incarnation—of God with us—we’ve peered inside and shrieked, “This is not enough!  Where are the accessories? We want more!”

How did we get here?

This story didn’t begin at a Mall at Midnight after Thanksgiving where people fought each other for flat screened TV’s.

This story didn’t begin in the halls of power.

This story began when an angel of the Lord went to an unwed teenaged girl in the backwater town of Nazareth and announced good news of great joy for all people. “Mary, you have found favor with God!”

And, after she’d pondered this news in her heart, Mary said “let it be with me, according to your will.”

She didn’t ask the angel what was in it for her. She didn’t ask if she would get the TV rights to her story. She didn’t sell the pictures of the birth to People Magazine for $10 million dollars.

Instead, she went with haste to the Hill Country to stay with her cousin Elizabeth. Because the best place for a pregnant teenager to make sense of her situation is with a formerly barren cousin, who was pregnant late in life, with John the Baptist. And it seems that even in the womb, John was preparing the way for Jesus. Because when pregnant Mary walks in to the living room, he leaps in Elizabeth’s womb and she proclaims a blessing that mirrors what Mary had already heard from the angel.

“And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

I suspect Elizabeth’s message must have been very reassuring to Mary. Even if you say “sure” to the angel, I’m sure there’s still a piece of you that’s wondering if you’ve lost your mind. Elizabeth’s proclamation must have been comforting, because it matters to know that you are not alone—that someone else is standing there behind you. That while faith is a personal experience—remember that nobody else saw that angel—it is not a private experience. We find support for our personal faith journeys in community with others—even when they may have heard from a different angel.

And then Mary breaks out in song.
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

This song is often referred to as the “magnificat”, which is the first word Mary says if you are reading the bible in Latin. And when I hear it, I realize the power of these words from a teenaged girl.

Her song is not a half hearted praise of “my soul thanks the Lord and I trust that he’ll get me through this mess and things will turn out okay.”

Her song is much bigger. It shows that she, correctly, connects the details of her life to God’s bigger plan for the world.

If God can use Mary in God’s plan for salvation for the world, then perhaps we need to reconsider everything we think we know. Mary’s magnificat takes on powerful significance.

If God can use a teenaged girl from a backwater town, then surely God will fill the hungry with good things and send the rich away hungry. Surely God will bring down the mighty and lift up the lowly.  Mary’s song becomes not a prophecy nor prediction, but a description of reality. She doesn’t even bother to use future tense. It doesn’t say “God will…” It says “God has…”

And perhaps you recognized Mary’s Magnificat in the Psalm we read this morning.
When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion,
we were like those who dream.
Then our mouth was filled with laughter,
and our tongue with shouts of joy;
then it was said among the nations,
“The LORD has done great things for them.”
The LORD has done great things for us,
and we rejoiced.

Mary connects her experience to the larger work of God in the world by hearkening back to the Psalms. And as these texts messed with my head this week, I was thankful for this Psalm. The drumbeat of Joy that works through this psalm called me to look for joy in the world.

Mary’s song, like the psalm, is also full of joy. But not fa la la la la, easy joy that denies the messy reality of her situation. Yes, she’s found favor with God. But she’s still a pregnant teenager.

I’m thankful that Mary went to see her cousin, Elizabeth. Not only did Elizabeth validate her experience with the angel, but I suspect she also helped her see the joy. Elizabeth had been barren for many years. In a culture where childbirth was the only way women had to succeed in the first century world, Elizabeth had been a failure. She had known heartache, loss, and that “yearning for” that everyone who faces infertility or other loss knows.

The text only tells us that Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah were “getting on in years”, which means she’d lived with this loss for a long time. Here was Elizabeth’s comment about her pregnancy. “This is what the Lord has done for me when he looked favorably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people.”

Yes, Elizabeth knew joy, but it through the experience of her suffering that she recognized it.

And so I’m glad Mary went to Elizabeth. For a little perspective. To see that joy doesn’t spring up from the easy, unexamined life. Joy springs up through our brokenness and pain. I suspect Mary recognized Elizabeth in the psalm:
May those who sow in tears
reap with shouts of joy.

Mary’s joy seems to be a spontaneous outburst, one beyond her control.

Patrick Henry Reardon writes in his book Christ in the Psalms about this psalm and here is what he says: “The experience of salvation has a kind of dreamlike quality. Those who are saved must pinch themselves, as it were, to make sure it is really happening. God’s redemption of us from bondage and oppression is so marvelously incomprehensible; it is too good to be true ~ and the sheer joy of the thing encourages unbelief.” (p. 251)

Mary’s joy is like that. Something marvelously incomprehensible is going on. And her joy mirrors the psalmist’s and calls me to accept the joy that is too good to be true, to receive the situations of my life as gift and blessing, to seek salvation in the unlikely places.

So, on this 3rd Sunday in Advent, when the advertisers try to convince you that joy is people with shopping bags doing choreographed dance numbers in a department store, remember that joy looks different than that. Joy springs up from our tears.
Restore our fortunes, O LORD,
like the watercourses in the Negeb.
May those who sow in tears
reap with shouts of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy,
carrying their sheaves.

Let us go into the world, seeking that kind of joy.

Leave a comment | posted in Advent, Joy, Luke 1:26-55, Psalm 126, Rachel Held Evans

December 5, 2011

Comfort

By marciglass

A sermon preached at Southminster Presbyterian Church

Dec 4, 2011

Mark 1:1-8

Isaiah 40:1-11

Prophets both attract and repel me in equal measure. I am confident that I would not want to invite John the Baptist over for dinner, for example. His decision to dress like the prophet Elijah, in a camel pelt that is hundreds of years out of style, while eating locusts and honey, are just the first reasons he wouldn’t be polite dinner company. He calls us to not be comfortable with where we are. He calls us to repent, to turn back, to the path God intends for us.  At least here he doesn’t call us a “brood of vipers” as he does in Matthew’s gospel.

But even if I am unlikely to put a John the Baptist display in my front yard as I prepare for Christmas, I can’t quite walk away from him either.

And neither could the crowds. People from the WHOLE Judean countryside and ALL of Jerusalem were going out to hear him speak and to receive that baptism of repentance. Because they needed, because we need, the message he preached.

Mark tells us that this is the beginning of the Good News. We don’t know if he doesn’t know of the birth narratives, or if he doesn’t care about them, but he begins the Good News with John the Baptizer.  At first glance, an oddly dressed prophet man in the wilderness telling us to repent and change our behavior doesn’t sound like Good News.

It sounds like work.

It sounds like discomfort.

It sounds hard.

And yet ALL of Jerusalem and the WHOLE Judean countryside left their comfortable lives in the city, or their work on the farm, and went out to the wilderness to listen to John.

And, here we are, 2,000 years later, doing the same thing.

Maybe we recognize that our lives of comfort are not bringing us any good news as we had hoped they would.

For some of us, perhaps the anxiety in our world has kept us from identifying with the word “comfort” for a while now. Job stress, family instability, disease, money worries, or other factors can make you forget what “comfort” is like.

For John’s audience, who were living under the occupation of Rome, comfort was also probably in short supply.

And so, as John calls people to repentance, he does so by quoting the Prophet Isaiah:
Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her
that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the LORD’S hand
double for all her sins.

Isaiah wasn’t speaking about the Roman occupation, of course. He was speaking to a people in exile. In the 6th Century, BCE, Babylon invaded Judah, demolished Jerusalem, and carted many of her citizens off to exile in Babylon. Isaiah offered comfort to a people who were facing real political troubles, reminding us that it is appropriate to see the political troubles of our world and respond to them with our Faith.

John, like Isaiah, recognized the pain his people were living with under occupation, and gave them back Isaiah’s words, re-purposed for the problems of his day.
“Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight”.

That is one of the gifts of Scripture, to be able to reach across the years. A passage written by Isaiah as a response to a specific situation becomes the living word of God, hundreds of years later to 1st century Palestinians, and then combines with John’s preaching to again become the living word of God to us here in Boise in 2011, speaking specifically to our lives, our political realities, today.

Even though Mark doesn’t give us the entire Isaiah citation, the people would have heard the refrain of “comfort, oh comfort my people, says the Lord”.  Much like when Susan starts playing the doxology, you know to stand up. Or, when you hear the first line of a song and it then evokes for you the rest of the lyrics.

They heard John say, “Prepare the way of the Lord” and then their minds filled in with the rest of the song:
Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.”

What is the comfort you need in this season of Advent? What is the comfort you need in this mad dash to Christmas?

When you look around at the world, where are the places where you see the need for the mountains to be brought down and the valleys to be lifted up?

What John recognized in Isaiah’s words is that the person of Jesus of Nazareth embodied Isaiah’s words and God’s promises in ways that nobody else ever could.
“Here is your God!”
See, the Lord GOD comes with might,
and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
and his recompense before him.
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.

Even though Isaiah didn’t know who Jesus would be, Isaiah knew that God would send a shepherd for the flock, a leader for the people, and a savior to restore us.

And as John read Isaiah’s words, he, like the prophets before him, took his place in story, proclaiming that he was preparing the way for the one who was to come.

And so, today, we take our place in the story in this time of Advent waiting. What do we need to do to prepare the way for the coming of our Lord?

The text is clear. God calls for people to join in the work of preparing the way for Christ. The Good News takes work.  There are valleys to be lifted up and there are mountains to be brought low. We are both the people who need comfort and we are also the people who are called to provide comfort.

The human/divine relationship is mutual but not equal. God calls us to prepare the way, but it is, as John says, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals”.

We may not be worthy, but we still prepare the way. We are not called to be the heroes in the story.
And thank God for that.

Because, I don’t know about you, but I am not up to the task of being the savior. On a good day, I might be able to bring low a mountain of laundry, but not a mountain of injustice. I might be able to straighten out a few things, but I certainly am not up to the task of making a highway straight in the desert.

But our unworthiness to fasten the Lord’s tevas doesn’t keep us from doing our part. We wait. We prepare. We comfort.

Preparing the way. We’re all called to do it. But we don’t get to set this schedule or coordinate the details for this preparation. This isn’t our show to run. We don’t know what the outcome will be. And we don’t even know who all will walk down the road we are preparing.
We are called to prepare for God. On God’s timetable. For God’s glory to be revealed.

A part of the comfort we seek is in the preparation. This work we’re being called to is done so that the “glory of the Lord shall be revealed and ALL people shall see it TOGETHER”.
Isaiah is calling the people to work together for all people. But when the voice says, “cry out!”, the people have no better sense about what they are to do to prepare than we do. “What shall I cry?”, they ask.
Isaiah tells them to get up to a high mountain and lift up their voices with strength to proclaim.

“HERE IS YOUR GOD!”

That is what we are to point out to people. We are to boldly and with confidence stand on the mountaintops and show people where we have seen God. Isn’t that what John the Baptizer does?—pointing to where he sees God. John is the beginning of the Good News. He points to Jesus and reminds us to take comfort in Isaiah’s prophecies.

I’m thankful to hear that voice in Isaiah telling us to lift up our voices. And as we struggle together to figure out what it means to prepare the way for God, I hope that we’ll be able to go about it with love and great joy. I hope, like Isaiah, we can say to the cities of Judah (and Boise)—“Here is your God!”.

Because if comforting the people means pointing out to people when and where we see the Divine at work in our world—then we, too, are a part of the beginning of the Good News! Comfort, oh comfort, my people. Prepare the way!

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Leave a comment | posted in Advent, Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8

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