The Limits of My Love
Luke 10:27-35 (Romans 7:14-25)
I would like to tell you something about me. It’s somewhat embarrassing, but I might as well be up front with you right from the beginning. It’s a sickness, really. And as much as I hate it, I can’t do anything to cure it. I begin to feel the pains of it about five minutes after I wake up – if it’s a good day. The malady affects me throughout the entire day. Occasionally it even bothers me in my sleep. Sometimes I barely notice it. At other times, I can ignore it. Most of the time, though, I just feel numb from it. It seems like the harder I try to fix it, the worse it becomes. Well . . . enough stalling. What you need to know about me is that I am a sinner.
I’m sharing this news because I have a wild hunch that I am not the only one suffering from this condition. In fact, I’m going to take a leap and guess that some of you here today might also be fellow sinners. It’s nothing we’re proud of – we’re not bragging about it. I just want you to be aware that there are some sinners sitting with you in your pews today. I don’t think they’ll hurt you or anything. In fact, most prefer just to keep their sins to themselves.
If you are a sinner like me, by the way, you are in good company. The Apostle Paul described our condition perfectly. He was one of us. He says that it all begins when we try to do good by following our interpretation of the Bible to the letter. We make a list of all the things we should and should not do so that God will be pleased with us. And then we begin our day checking the items off. “OK, God, today is a new day. I am not going to lie, and I’m not going to swear and drink – at least not too much. I’m going to eat well and exercise, and find some volunteer service to do. I’ll return my overdue library books, and I won’t yell at my kids when they drive me crazy. Today is the day I act like an angel.” Then what happens? I go to make breakfast and the kids start arguing, the dogs stand at the window and hysterically bark at something ridiculous like a blowing leaf; then my wife and I realize that we double-booked some events on the calendar and since we can’t be two places at once we nave to negotiate whose event is most important; and the overdue library books are lost. Welcome to the first 20 minutes of the day. This is the point where I do something I’ll regret later. So, I’ve decided to behave one way but then I do something completely different. I am resolved to do good and follow God, but I keep messing it up.
I think the lawyer in today’s Gospel reading might know what I’m talking about. If anyone knows what God expects, it is this man. In the days before printing presses, he’s one of the people who copies Scripture by hand. Unlike the general population at the time, he can read and write and he’s familiar with every detail of the Hebrew Scriptures. He’s a scholar and a teacher –an esteemed authority in the interpretation and application of the law.
One day this expert in religious law approaches Jesus – he’s actually trying to test Jesus. Scripture says he wants to justify himself. He wants Jesus to know that his knowledge about religious law is enough to make him acceptable to God.
So he says, “Jesus, what do you think I need to do to have eternal life?” Jesus says, “You are the expert in the law. You tell me.” The lawyer responds with a good answer. He quotes Scripture -- love God and love your neighbor. But, don’t be fooled into thinking that the Lawyer has a moment of insight here. Almost every Jew could summarize the law exactly as the lawyer has. You could have stopped anyone on the streets of Israel and asked the same exact question and you would have gotten the same answer. The Lawyer regurgitates information that he’s known since childhood, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength; and your neighbor as yourself.” It’s a good answer. He should have shut up right there. But he doesn’t. He looks for a loophole. He asks, “Who is my neighbor?” In other words, “OK, Jesus, I understand I’m supposed to care, but what are the limits of my caring?”
That sounds so much like me, sometimes! I want to know the minimal requirement. Tell me what the rules are, and I will make sure to meet all the requirements but nothing more. If I can’t meet the minimum standard, then I will try to redefine it in order to arrive at an even lower standard that is more achievable. For instance, God says to love the Lord with all of my heart, soul, mind, and strength. I know I can’t love God perfectly, so I reinterpret the command to mean that I’ll love God to the best of my ability. God invites me to love my neighbor, but I know there are some people who really annoy me. So I reinterpret the command to mean that I love everybody, but I don’t have to like them. I can see what the law-expert is up to. He’s trying to define the limits of love. He wants to make a list of his neighbors so he can respect those people and ignore everyone else. He’s really asking Jesus, “Who can I serve, and who can I bypass? What’s the least I can do to still be considered a good person?”
Jesus knows something that religious experts don’t. Jesus knows the difference between heart religion and works religion. It’s the difference between faith based on being and faith based on doing. Works religion wants to put a box around what God expects of us. Works religion says, “God requires this much of me – no more and no less. If I do these things I’ve satisfied my obligation to God.” It’s concerned not with the needs of others but with meeting my quota of good deeds.
Jesus says to the lawyer, “If you think you can get eternal life by fulfilling love’s minimum requirement, go for it. If you can keep the law perfectly then do it and you will live.” Then Jesus blows apart the lawyer’s narrow vision of love by telling a story of a traveler on the treacherous stretch of road between Jerusalem and Jericho. Stripped, clobbered, and left for dead, he is a random victim in a randomly violent world. Then, who comes along but a priest. If anyone could be expected to stop and help, it would be a priest. But wait. The priest is not only not coming over to help; he’s passing by on the other side of the road. No reason’s given. Some suggest that, as a priest, he feared being defiled by a corpse, but the truth is if a priest on a journey found a corpse, he had a duty to bury it. Perhaps it was fear. Those who beat the man in the ditch might be lying in wait to beat him as well. Perhaps it was simple revulsion. Have you ever come upon someone after a bloody accident? It’s ugly. Whatever the reason, he passed by on the other side. Some hero!
No matter. Here comes a Levite...an “assistant” priest. Maybe he will come through with some help. The text says he came to the place and saw the bloodied Israelite, and he too passed by on the other side.
Enter character number three - a Samaritan. The GOOD Samaritan! Nowhere else in the Bible do we find the words “Good” and “Samaritan” next to each other. For the people who first heard this story, the phrase “Good Samaritan” would have been an oxymoron - the only GOOD Samaritan would have been a DEAD Samaritan. No hero here. The hostility between Jews and Samaritans was hundreds of years old. Samaritans were seen as half-breeds who had perverted the Jewish race and profaned the true religion. The hatred toward Samaritans was so great that some Jews would go miles out of their way to avoid walking on Samaritan soil.
So, a Samaritan sees the Israelite, but instead of distancing himself, he comes closer. He’s moved with pity. The Samaritan bandages the man’s wounds. He brings the Israelite to an inn and makes sure that all of the expenses are paid in full. End of story. Jesus responds to the lawyer’s question about the limits of love with a fable and then he turns the question back to the lawyer: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The lawyer answers, “The one who showed him mercy.” The concept of a GOOD Samaritan is so distasteful that the lawyer can’t bring himself to even speak the name.
And what does Jesus say? “Go, and do likewise.” Jesus calls him towards heart religion. It is different than works religion. In heart religion, entrance into the kingdom isn’t granted because of what we do and don’t do. In heart religion, a relationship with God is not claimed. God gives it to us. God exposes my inability, cleans me up, and gives a new chance to live the values of the Kingdom – not because of what I’ve done, but because of God’s love for me. I still make bad decisions, but I’m no longer bound to the brutal tyranny of trying to always do good in order to make God smile.
What have you been doing to justify yourself before God? What is it that might be keeping you from accepting the fact that God’s love for you and everyone else is flooding over us at this very moment? What is going on in your life that tempts you to want to limit your experience of God’s grace?
· Some people will justify their behavior by bargaining with God. How many times have we said, “God, if you only do this one thing for me, I promise to be a good person” -- as if God could be manipulated by a promise of good behavior that we will never be able to keep?
· Others will justify their behavior by counting the cost. We are afraid that when Jesus ups the ante, the new requirement will be too hard and too costly. So we decide to stick to our plan. We like to figure out in advance how much we have to give up – how much our mercy is going to cost. But real love isn’t planned out like a trip itinerary or a balanced budget. Real love isn’t downsized when the costs creep too high.
There’s another option. It’s the model of the Good Samaritan. The Good Samaritan isn’t concerned with what is required or what is proper. The Good Samaritan isn’t thinking about meeting obligations. The Samaritan focuses on the injured person. And believe me, there are plenty of injured people around us – men and women with deep wounds and desperate needs; friends, acquaintances, and even enemies who suffer more than they let on. Jesus says that it would be better if there were more people who showed love without limits . . . if only there were more people who would think of the sufferer instead of the rules.
By the end of Jesus’ story, we learn something that is critically important to our faith journeys. The kingdom of God belongs to those who admit their weaknesses.
· It belongs to the sinners.
· To the small.
· To the broken and the imperfect.
· To the lost and the last.
· To those who have come to realize that all of our self-righteous behavior was really keeping us from loving God and loving our neighbor.
The kingdom is for those who, admitting their inability to make themselves right with God, have put their faith in Christ. It’s for those who wake up in the morning and know that we will mess it up, but who also appreciate new chances to practice unbridled, limitless love.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Sermon for Sunday May 15
The Patience of a Great God
1 Timothy 1:12-18
Every day brings us an array of things that try our patience. Mom’s, you know what I’m talking about. You buy something that needs to be assembled and the instructions don’t make sense. You toss 16 socks into a clothes dryer and you get only 15 back. Junior Highers. How about all those people who annoy us? Pokey drivers in front of you when you are in a hurry. People who let their dogs bark all night. Or the person ahead of us in the 15-item express line at the supermarket who puts 19 items on the belt, chats with an incredibly slow checkout clerk, fishes for a checkbook only after everything has been rung up, and then wants to review the bill. Strangers try our patience in lots of little ways, but they’re no match for members of our own family. The prime cases of annoyance are domestic. “When two humans have lived together for a while,” says C. S. Lewis, “it usually happens that each has facial expressions and tones of voice that are almost unendurable to the other.” I think we understand. It’s not that your family member does anything wrong, exactly. It’s just that once in a while she lifts her eyebrows in a certain way that drives you nuts. It’s just that he whines even when he’s not complaining.
How about those people who do the same annoying thing over and over again. They know it bothers you. They might even ask your forgiveness. But they just keep making the same mistakes.
But wait a minute. That describes all of us, doesn’t it – doing the same things over and over and over again . . . making the same mistakes all the time. Do you ever wonder if God gets tired of us–if God ever loses patience? Here is God, patiently trying to correct our behavior and help us grow up into the people we were created to be – and here we are, going our own ways, doing our own things, messing up, asking forgiveness, and then repeating the same old sins. In my own life, I rarely need to invent new sins. I just keep repeating the same old sins. At times I feel clumsy and foolish and useless. And at times I convince myself that there’s no way God could possibly forgive me again for the same things for which I’ve already asked forgiveness -- that just doesn’t make sense. I mean, eventually God has got to lose patience with me and just go ahead and give me a good whack upside the head. Right?
The Apostle Paul says no -- that’s not the case. God has unlimited patience. And no matter how many times we blow it, if we seek God’s forgiveness, God promises to forgive us again, and again, and again -- it’s unlimited.
Now let’s be clear. I’m not saying that God doesn’t take our sin seriously. Sin is deadly serious. And I am not saying that God doesn’t have standards. God clearly calls us to live lives that conform to the values of the Kingdom. There are real consequences in our lives when we disobey the standards that God has set in place. Our sin matters to God and brings pain and brokenness to our lives. But our sins, no matter how often repeated, can never come between us and the forgiveness offered in Jesus Christ -- because God has unlimited patience for you and for me.
Maybe you think your sin is too great for God to forgive. Paul certainly could have thought that. Listen to how he describes himself, a blasphemer, a persecutor -- a violent man. And then, just to make sure you understand just what a really lousy person he is, he calls himself the “worst of sinners.”
I bet you could come up with a list of sins in your own mind.
· You’ve let emotions like anger or selfishness or a judgmental spirit enter into your relationships.
· Or, you’re trapped in a cycle of addiction that you can’t seem to overcome and you feel like a failure.
· Or, you’re involved in a relationship that you know is destructive to you and your family.
· Or, you’ve taken some shortcuts at work or at home that you know aren’t ethical.
· Or, you’ve drifted away from God and you really don’t have a whole lot of desire to find your way back.
You’ve got your list, I have mine. Maybe you are thinking, “Worst of sinners? -- yeah, I know something about being the worst of sinners, and there is just no way God could possibly forgive the worst of sinners. There is no way God could ever forgive me for the things I’ve done.”
Notice Paul doesn’t say I “was” the worst of sinners. He says, “I AM” the worst of sinners, -- present tense. I am the worst of sinners, but here’s the good news -- that’s why Jesus Christ came into the world. Jesus Christ came to save sinners like Paul and sinners like you and sinners like me. And there is no sin that you or I could possibly commit that would be so great that it would exceed God’s unlimited patience and capacity to forgive.
There are some of us who have trouble with this idea of God’s unlimited patience because we think that God’s capacity to forgive is too small. And maybe we do that because we compare God’s capacity to offer forgiveness with our own ... and again, that’s just wrong thinking. God isn’t reluctant to forgive us -- God delights in forgiving us. God forgives all our sins, no matter how little and no matter how big.
Despite our mistakes, despite our pride and self-sufficiency, despite the times we turn away from God -- our sins aren’t too big for God to handle. God doesn’t put conditions on forgiveness. When we make the same mistakes over and over again, it doesn’t max out God’s patience.
And so Paul writes to Timothy:
I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display His unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on Him and receive eternal life. (1 Timothy 1: 16)
And here is where the story comes home to you and to me. It’s as if Paul is saying:
If you don’t believe anything else, believe this: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. I’m proof -- Public Sinner Number One. I never could have made it apart from the love and grace of Jesus. And now God shows me off -- as evidence of endless patience. I am an example for those who are right on the edge of trusting God forever.
And maybe that describes some of us here today. Maybe we are right on the edge of trusting Jesus Christ forever and all we need to do is receive the grace and forgiveness that He freely offers.
Some of us are sitting here today and we know that we really are the worst of sinners ... and maybe we believe our sins to be too big or God’s forgiveness too small -- and we’ve never received the unlimited gift of love He offers. God’s gift is ours. We only need to turn to God and accept it. I don’t know what you’ve brought here with you today -- what sins are on your list or on your mind and heart. But I do know this: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. And so let me invite you, as we close in prayer, to take a few moments of silence, and in those moments, I invite you to come to God -- to turn to Jesus Christ and lay all your failures and all your mistakes and all your sins before Him. God really does have unlimited patience. God delights in pouring out love and grace and forgiveness on the worst of sinners -- like you and like me.
1 Timothy 1:12-18
Every day brings us an array of things that try our patience. Mom’s, you know what I’m talking about. You buy something that needs to be assembled and the instructions don’t make sense. You toss 16 socks into a clothes dryer and you get only 15 back. Junior Highers. How about all those people who annoy us? Pokey drivers in front of you when you are in a hurry. People who let their dogs bark all night. Or the person ahead of us in the 15-item express line at the supermarket who puts 19 items on the belt, chats with an incredibly slow checkout clerk, fishes for a checkbook only after everything has been rung up, and then wants to review the bill. Strangers try our patience in lots of little ways, but they’re no match for members of our own family. The prime cases of annoyance are domestic. “When two humans have lived together for a while,” says C. S. Lewis, “it usually happens that each has facial expressions and tones of voice that are almost unendurable to the other.” I think we understand. It’s not that your family member does anything wrong, exactly. It’s just that once in a while she lifts her eyebrows in a certain way that drives you nuts. It’s just that he whines even when he’s not complaining.
How about those people who do the same annoying thing over and over again. They know it bothers you. They might even ask your forgiveness. But they just keep making the same mistakes.
But wait a minute. That describes all of us, doesn’t it – doing the same things over and over and over again . . . making the same mistakes all the time. Do you ever wonder if God gets tired of us–if God ever loses patience? Here is God, patiently trying to correct our behavior and help us grow up into the people we were created to be – and here we are, going our own ways, doing our own things, messing up, asking forgiveness, and then repeating the same old sins. In my own life, I rarely need to invent new sins. I just keep repeating the same old sins. At times I feel clumsy and foolish and useless. And at times I convince myself that there’s no way God could possibly forgive me again for the same things for which I’ve already asked forgiveness -- that just doesn’t make sense. I mean, eventually God has got to lose patience with me and just go ahead and give me a good whack upside the head. Right?
The Apostle Paul says no -- that’s not the case. God has unlimited patience. And no matter how many times we blow it, if we seek God’s forgiveness, God promises to forgive us again, and again, and again -- it’s unlimited.
Now let’s be clear. I’m not saying that God doesn’t take our sin seriously. Sin is deadly serious. And I am not saying that God doesn’t have standards. God clearly calls us to live lives that conform to the values of the Kingdom. There are real consequences in our lives when we disobey the standards that God has set in place. Our sin matters to God and brings pain and brokenness to our lives. But our sins, no matter how often repeated, can never come between us and the forgiveness offered in Jesus Christ -- because God has unlimited patience for you and for me.
Maybe you think your sin is too great for God to forgive. Paul certainly could have thought that. Listen to how he describes himself, a blasphemer, a persecutor -- a violent man. And then, just to make sure you understand just what a really lousy person he is, he calls himself the “worst of sinners.”
I bet you could come up with a list of sins in your own mind.
· You’ve let emotions like anger or selfishness or a judgmental spirit enter into your relationships.
· Or, you’re trapped in a cycle of addiction that you can’t seem to overcome and you feel like a failure.
· Or, you’re involved in a relationship that you know is destructive to you and your family.
· Or, you’ve taken some shortcuts at work or at home that you know aren’t ethical.
· Or, you’ve drifted away from God and you really don’t have a whole lot of desire to find your way back.
You’ve got your list, I have mine. Maybe you are thinking, “Worst of sinners? -- yeah, I know something about being the worst of sinners, and there is just no way God could possibly forgive the worst of sinners. There is no way God could ever forgive me for the things I’ve done.”
Notice Paul doesn’t say I “was” the worst of sinners. He says, “I AM” the worst of sinners, -- present tense. I am the worst of sinners, but here’s the good news -- that’s why Jesus Christ came into the world. Jesus Christ came to save sinners like Paul and sinners like you and sinners like me. And there is no sin that you or I could possibly commit that would be so great that it would exceed God’s unlimited patience and capacity to forgive.
There are some of us who have trouble with this idea of God’s unlimited patience because we think that God’s capacity to forgive is too small. And maybe we do that because we compare God’s capacity to offer forgiveness with our own ... and again, that’s just wrong thinking. God isn’t reluctant to forgive us -- God delights in forgiving us. God forgives all our sins, no matter how little and no matter how big.
Despite our mistakes, despite our pride and self-sufficiency, despite the times we turn away from God -- our sins aren’t too big for God to handle. God doesn’t put conditions on forgiveness. When we make the same mistakes over and over again, it doesn’t max out God’s patience.
And so Paul writes to Timothy:
I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display His unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on Him and receive eternal life. (1 Timothy 1: 16)
And here is where the story comes home to you and to me. It’s as if Paul is saying:
If you don’t believe anything else, believe this: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. I’m proof -- Public Sinner Number One. I never could have made it apart from the love and grace of Jesus. And now God shows me off -- as evidence of endless patience. I am an example for those who are right on the edge of trusting God forever.
And maybe that describes some of us here today. Maybe we are right on the edge of trusting Jesus Christ forever and all we need to do is receive the grace and forgiveness that He freely offers.
Some of us are sitting here today and we know that we really are the worst of sinners ... and maybe we believe our sins to be too big or God’s forgiveness too small -- and we’ve never received the unlimited gift of love He offers. God’s gift is ours. We only need to turn to God and accept it. I don’t know what you’ve brought here with you today -- what sins are on your list or on your mind and heart. But I do know this: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. And so let me invite you, as we close in prayer, to take a few moments of silence, and in those moments, I invite you to come to God -- to turn to Jesus Christ and lay all your failures and all your mistakes and all your sins before Him. God really does have unlimited patience. God delights in pouring out love and grace and forgiveness on the worst of sinners -- like you and like me.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Sermon for April 6, 2007
What is Perfection?
Matthew 5:48; 2 Corinthians 12:1-10
A few years ago, there was a full-page ad in USA Today sponsored by the sportswear company FILA. It featured NBA All-star, Grant Hill. There was a picture of Hill, and then it was surrounded by copy that stated: “This year Grant Hill led his team in scoring, rebounding, assists, and steals, led his team back into the playoffs, and led the league in triple doubles.” The ad continued by saying that Hill, “didn’t punch an official; didn’t demand a contract extension; didn’t dump his high school friends; listened to his mother; made his bed daily.” Moreover, he “promised to take shorter showers in an effort to conserve water; didn’t hurt a fly; chose paper over plastic; rewound tapes before returning them; put coins into other people’s parking meters.” In addition, Hill “kept his thermostat at 68; practiced what he preached; actually paid attention to the flight attendant’s instructions; donated a kidney; and vowed to do better next year.” According to this ad, Grant Hill was perfect
I suspect that, if we were totally honest, most of us would have to admit that we have a desire to look that good to others. We want people to think we’ve got our lives together—that we’re successful, that our kids are the best and our relationships ideal. We want others to think that we’re on top of our game, and that we would never make an error in judgment. If we were totally honest, many of us would have to admit that we have a driving desire to be perfect.
Perfection is defined in the dictionary as having no flaws or shortcomings; complete excellence. Kind of scary, isn’t it? Perfection is one of the most important characteristics of our culture. While we strive to make our lives look flawless, we also fall short of some sort of imaginary and unattainable standard. At one time, Martha Stewart might have been seen as the high priestess of perfection: one dare not let the mask slip, even in one’s home, where all is perfect, right down the last hand-stenciled napkin ring. Of course, now we know that even Martha Stewart can make mistakes. As hard as we might try to convince other people that we have the perfect life, something usually happens that trips us up.
Even so, many of us keep at it, and I think we do that because we’re searching for something. We want approval and love, and we get to the point of believing that the only way we can earn that love is by being perfect and never, ever, making a mistake or falling short. Rachel Remen, in her book Kitchen Table Wisdom, talks about this very thing. In fact, she goes so far as to admit that she is a recovering perfectionist. Remen is a physician who was trained by her father in the art of being perfect long before she entered medical school. She wrote, “As a child, when I brought home a 98 on an exam, he invariably responded, ‘What happened to the other two points?” ’
I read a story about the National Spelling Bee contest where the best school-aged spellers come to compete. The article said that the organizers of the event have had to set up a “comfort room” for contestants after they misspell a word. There they can go to cry in private and vent their frustration on a punching bag, and it helps them cope with the feelings of shame and the sense of failure that come with having gotten one word wrong after having spelled hundreds of words correctly.
The truth is that expecting ourselves or others to be flawless can lead to a miserable existence. Sometimes we create incredible stress in our lives when we try so hard to prove that we’re perfect people. We live in constant fear of messing up or being humiliated or embarrassed when we fail or make a mistake. Striving to present the perfect picture can lead to deadly results. I read a story about Countess Marie of Coventry who reportedly died of lead poisoning from all the make-up she wore in an attempt to portray the perfect look.
Actress Michelle Pfeiffer appeared on the cover of a magazine with the caption “What Michele Pfeiffer Needs Is -- Absolutely Nothing!” It was later discovered by a reporter, however, that Michelle Pfeiffer did need something after all. She needed more than $1,500 worth of touch-up work on that cover photo. From the touch-up artist’s bill, here is a partial list of things that were done to make Michelle Pfeiffer look beautiful: Clean up complexion, soften eye lines, soften smile line, add color to lips, trim chin, remove neck lines, soften line under earlobe, add highlights to earrings, add blush to cheek, clean up neckline, remove stray hair, remove hair strands on dress, adjust color and add hair on top of head, add dress on side to create better line, add forehead, add dress on shoulder, soften neck muscle a bit, clean up and smooth dress folds under arm, and create one seam on image on right side. Total price: $1,525.00
Perfection is costly–even disastrous sometimes.
The way in which we interpret God’s Word doesn’t help our situation, either. What do we do with a passage when Jesus tells us to be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect? When God gives the divine mandate for us to be perfect, isn’t that just adding to our neurotic quest to reach the unattainable grail of flawlessness? Are we called to be perfect, like God, but simultaneously damned to always fall short of the goal? Does God really expect us to never fall short of perfection? Or, is it possible that we have a skewed reading of this text?
In Matthew 5:48 the word translated “perfection” is the Greek word telios. It actually means “whole or complete.” That which is telios fully realizes the purpose for which it is designed. A person is perfect when he or she realizes the purpose for which we are created and sent into the world.
So, in fact, it is not as much a scary word as it is a scary translation. “Perfection” does not mean to set forth an impossible goal, or that which must be attained at any cost. We get our English word “perfection” from a Latin word meaning complete, entire, full-grown. To be perfect, in the sense that Jesus means it, is to make room for growth, to allow for the changes that bring us into maturity.
Perfection, as our culture defines it, is simply not a part of the human condition, and it’s not intended to be. Being human by its very nature means that we are imperfect flawed creatures. But that’s not a bad thing. I believe this is where The Apostle Paul can help us. Paul says that he does not boast about being perfect. He doesn’t brag about how great and wonderful and faultless he is. He brags about his weakness. In fact God says, “My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Paul embraces weakness so that the perfection of Jesus Christ might be known. Paul says, “When I am weak, then I am strong.” Paul found the secret of real perfection–doing that for which we are created. Perfection, in a Christian sense, means becoming mature enough to share our weakness with others. Christian perfection demands that we become fully ourselves as God would have us. We are far from Martha Stewart land. I think that Jesus and Paul are urging us to live as whole people—people of integrity.
Shel Silverstein, wrote a story entitled The Missing Piece. This is the story of a circle that was missing a piece—a large triangular wedge that was cut out of it. The circle wanted to be whole, with nothing missing, so it went around looking for its missing piece. Because it was incomplete, however, it could only roll very slowly as it moved through the world. As it rolled slowly along, it had a chance to admire the flowers and butterflies and sunshine and other miracles of nature. The circle found lots of pieces, but none of them fit. Then one day it found a piece that fit perfectly, and the circle was very happy. Now it was whole with nothing missing! It was a perfect circle, and it could roll very fast, too fast to talk to the butterflies or notice the flowers. When it realized how different the world was when it rolled through it so quickly, the circle stopped, left the missing piece by the side of the road, and rolled slowly away.
In some strange way, we are more whole when we are incomplete. We are strong when we are weak. We roll toward perfection only when we are imperfect. Wholeness comes about when we connect with our limitations -- realizing that we are not perfect, can’t be perfect, and don’t have to be perfect. I believe that’s what God is asking of us—to be whole, not perfect. Wholeness is a matter of accepting and integrating all of whom we are—our strengths as well as our limitations, our good side as well as our shadow side. It’s allowing ourselves to admit and acknowledge that is who we are. To be whole means coming before God with all our faults as well as our virtues, and knowing that we’re accepted and loved.
I really like a story about the master psychologist Carl Rogers put it this way: “I let myself know that I am enough. Not perfect. Perfect wouldn’t be enough. But that I am human, that is enough.” I think that’s the very same thing God would say to us. No masks, no pretenses needed. To be ourselves, to be human—that is enough. Wholeness begins when we can make our peace with the fact that we are imperfect people, and God loves us anyway.
Sources:
· William Barclay, Matthew vol. 1 (176-178).
· Linda McCoy, “Mask of Perfection,” http://www.the garden.org/Sermon%20Archives/08 26 01.htm
· Kathleen Norris, Amazing Grace: a Vocabulary of Faith (55-57).
Matthew 5:48; 2 Corinthians 12:1-10
A few years ago, there was a full-page ad in USA Today sponsored by the sportswear company FILA. It featured NBA All-star, Grant Hill. There was a picture of Hill, and then it was surrounded by copy that stated: “This year Grant Hill led his team in scoring, rebounding, assists, and steals, led his team back into the playoffs, and led the league in triple doubles.” The ad continued by saying that Hill, “didn’t punch an official; didn’t demand a contract extension; didn’t dump his high school friends; listened to his mother; made his bed daily.” Moreover, he “promised to take shorter showers in an effort to conserve water; didn’t hurt a fly; chose paper over plastic; rewound tapes before returning them; put coins into other people’s parking meters.” In addition, Hill “kept his thermostat at 68; practiced what he preached; actually paid attention to the flight attendant’s instructions; donated a kidney; and vowed to do better next year.” According to this ad, Grant Hill was perfect
I suspect that, if we were totally honest, most of us would have to admit that we have a desire to look that good to others. We want people to think we’ve got our lives together—that we’re successful, that our kids are the best and our relationships ideal. We want others to think that we’re on top of our game, and that we would never make an error in judgment. If we were totally honest, many of us would have to admit that we have a driving desire to be perfect.
Perfection is defined in the dictionary as having no flaws or shortcomings; complete excellence. Kind of scary, isn’t it? Perfection is one of the most important characteristics of our culture. While we strive to make our lives look flawless, we also fall short of some sort of imaginary and unattainable standard. At one time, Martha Stewart might have been seen as the high priestess of perfection: one dare not let the mask slip, even in one’s home, where all is perfect, right down the last hand-stenciled napkin ring. Of course, now we know that even Martha Stewart can make mistakes. As hard as we might try to convince other people that we have the perfect life, something usually happens that trips us up.
Even so, many of us keep at it, and I think we do that because we’re searching for something. We want approval and love, and we get to the point of believing that the only way we can earn that love is by being perfect and never, ever, making a mistake or falling short. Rachel Remen, in her book Kitchen Table Wisdom, talks about this very thing. In fact, she goes so far as to admit that she is a recovering perfectionist. Remen is a physician who was trained by her father in the art of being perfect long before she entered medical school. She wrote, “As a child, when I brought home a 98 on an exam, he invariably responded, ‘What happened to the other two points?” ’
I read a story about the National Spelling Bee contest where the best school-aged spellers come to compete. The article said that the organizers of the event have had to set up a “comfort room” for contestants after they misspell a word. There they can go to cry in private and vent their frustration on a punching bag, and it helps them cope with the feelings of shame and the sense of failure that come with having gotten one word wrong after having spelled hundreds of words correctly.
The truth is that expecting ourselves or others to be flawless can lead to a miserable existence. Sometimes we create incredible stress in our lives when we try so hard to prove that we’re perfect people. We live in constant fear of messing up or being humiliated or embarrassed when we fail or make a mistake. Striving to present the perfect picture can lead to deadly results. I read a story about Countess Marie of Coventry who reportedly died of lead poisoning from all the make-up she wore in an attempt to portray the perfect look.
Actress Michelle Pfeiffer appeared on the cover of a magazine with the caption “What Michele Pfeiffer Needs Is -- Absolutely Nothing!” It was later discovered by a reporter, however, that Michelle Pfeiffer did need something after all. She needed more than $1,500 worth of touch-up work on that cover photo. From the touch-up artist’s bill, here is a partial list of things that were done to make Michelle Pfeiffer look beautiful: Clean up complexion, soften eye lines, soften smile line, add color to lips, trim chin, remove neck lines, soften line under earlobe, add highlights to earrings, add blush to cheek, clean up neckline, remove stray hair, remove hair strands on dress, adjust color and add hair on top of head, add dress on side to create better line, add forehead, add dress on shoulder, soften neck muscle a bit, clean up and smooth dress folds under arm, and create one seam on image on right side. Total price: $1,525.00
Perfection is costly–even disastrous sometimes.
The way in which we interpret God’s Word doesn’t help our situation, either. What do we do with a passage when Jesus tells us to be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect? When God gives the divine mandate for us to be perfect, isn’t that just adding to our neurotic quest to reach the unattainable grail of flawlessness? Are we called to be perfect, like God, but simultaneously damned to always fall short of the goal? Does God really expect us to never fall short of perfection? Or, is it possible that we have a skewed reading of this text?
In Matthew 5:48 the word translated “perfection” is the Greek word telios. It actually means “whole or complete.” That which is telios fully realizes the purpose for which it is designed. A person is perfect when he or she realizes the purpose for which we are created and sent into the world.
So, in fact, it is not as much a scary word as it is a scary translation. “Perfection” does not mean to set forth an impossible goal, or that which must be attained at any cost. We get our English word “perfection” from a Latin word meaning complete, entire, full-grown. To be perfect, in the sense that Jesus means it, is to make room for growth, to allow for the changes that bring us into maturity.
Perfection, as our culture defines it, is simply not a part of the human condition, and it’s not intended to be. Being human by its very nature means that we are imperfect flawed creatures. But that’s not a bad thing. I believe this is where The Apostle Paul can help us. Paul says that he does not boast about being perfect. He doesn’t brag about how great and wonderful and faultless he is. He brags about his weakness. In fact God says, “My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Paul embraces weakness so that the perfection of Jesus Christ might be known. Paul says, “When I am weak, then I am strong.” Paul found the secret of real perfection–doing that for which we are created. Perfection, in a Christian sense, means becoming mature enough to share our weakness with others. Christian perfection demands that we become fully ourselves as God would have us. We are far from Martha Stewart land. I think that Jesus and Paul are urging us to live as whole people—people of integrity.
Shel Silverstein, wrote a story entitled The Missing Piece. This is the story of a circle that was missing a piece—a large triangular wedge that was cut out of it. The circle wanted to be whole, with nothing missing, so it went around looking for its missing piece. Because it was incomplete, however, it could only roll very slowly as it moved through the world. As it rolled slowly along, it had a chance to admire the flowers and butterflies and sunshine and other miracles of nature. The circle found lots of pieces, but none of them fit. Then one day it found a piece that fit perfectly, and the circle was very happy. Now it was whole with nothing missing! It was a perfect circle, and it could roll very fast, too fast to talk to the butterflies or notice the flowers. When it realized how different the world was when it rolled through it so quickly, the circle stopped, left the missing piece by the side of the road, and rolled slowly away.
In some strange way, we are more whole when we are incomplete. We are strong when we are weak. We roll toward perfection only when we are imperfect. Wholeness comes about when we connect with our limitations -- realizing that we are not perfect, can’t be perfect, and don’t have to be perfect. I believe that’s what God is asking of us—to be whole, not perfect. Wholeness is a matter of accepting and integrating all of whom we are—our strengths as well as our limitations, our good side as well as our shadow side. It’s allowing ourselves to admit and acknowledge that is who we are. To be whole means coming before God with all our faults as well as our virtues, and knowing that we’re accepted and loved.
I really like a story about the master psychologist Carl Rogers put it this way: “I let myself know that I am enough. Not perfect. Perfect wouldn’t be enough. But that I am human, that is enough.” I think that’s the very same thing God would say to us. No masks, no pretenses needed. To be ourselves, to be human—that is enough. Wholeness begins when we can make our peace with the fact that we are imperfect people, and God loves us anyway.
Sources:
· William Barclay, Matthew vol. 1 (176-178).
· Linda McCoy, “Mask of Perfection,” http://www.the garden.org/Sermon%20Archives/08 26 01.htm
· Kathleen Norris, Amazing Grace: a Vocabulary of Faith (55-57).
Friday, April 27, 2007
Sermon for April 29, 2007
Where is God When Evil Abounds?
Matthew 5:1-11 / Mark 15:33-37
I hear the same question all the time. “Where was God?” Sometimes people ask the question because they felt abandoned by God when they needed God the most. People come to me and want to know WHY God didn’t protect them from the abusive father, the molesting uncle, the bullying mother, the merciless teacher. They want to know WHY God would allow such things to go on -- The woman who was beaten as a child for something as senseless as spilling her milk; the little boy who was scared to death of his alcohol-crazed father, the family who lost a loved one to suicide, or cancer, or a fatal accident.
“How could any God let this happen?” The more we think about it, the more we question God’s influence in the world. I look into eyes that are overflowing with pain and confusion and grief and rage - and they demand an answer. Why a holocaust, God? Why do few get to eat while many more go hungry? Why do you allow people to suffer, God? Why September 11? Why were thousands of innocent men, women, and children were destroyed in senseless acts of violence? God, how could you allow dozens of people to randomly hunted and gunned won by a homicidal maniac this week?
The new face of terrorism gradually emerged for us on Monday as we heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech. Tuesday and Wednesday we heard about human cost of the killings in stark detail. We began to put faces with the numbers, and we wept at the senseless and brutal loss of life. We have now all seen the pictures and learned some of the stories of the beautiful, talented, motivated and hopeful people whose lives are now over.
We heard about Ryan Clark, the fun-loving, 4.0 triple-major, whose greatest joy in life was leading music at a conference for mentally handicapped children and adults. Prof. Kevin Granata had established himself as a leader in the field of reflex response especially as it related to the problems faced by those with cerebral palsy.
We mourn those who had established careers and were leaders in their fields, but our mourning is intensified when we realize that almost all the others who died in the bud of their promise. They were supposed to be living the college life that we, who are older, glorify as we look back -- they are the ones who would learn to paint broadly on the canvas of their lives as they loved, lost, laughed and listened to life. But Austin Clark will not be able to do that; nor will Caitlin Hammaren, or Emily Jane Hilscher, or Peruvian exchange student Daniel Cueva or Brian Bluhm.
The voices of pain and anguish echo across the centuries back to the days of Jesus and before...back to the dawn of time. And they always ask the same question...WHY? It’s probably the hardest question that has ever been asked. Jesus tells us that we’re in for rough times...that in the end there will be wars and earthquakes and famines and plagues and dreadful omens and great signs from heaven. Sometimes it seems as though those times are here. Just pick up the evening newspaper and its all there -- terrorism, wars, starvation, population-killing diseases, and on it goes. So why won’t a loving God do something about all of this mess? Didn’t God become incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth to make things better ...to redeem us from our sin and restore us to the loving arms of the God?
Try to imagine the scene that Mark depicts in today’s gospel lesson. We read about the Lord’s final frightening moments on the cross. The land is covered with darkness–a symbol of the darkness that is invading the world. Deserted and betrayed by his disciples, rejected and condemned by the nation’s leaders, taunted by the crowds, Jesus now experiences utter despair. At this moment, Jesus is fully one with us. At this moment, Jesus faces evil, pain, and death, and shares our human despair to the fullest. It’s as if Jesus is crying out with us, “God, WHY? Where are you when I need you?” And with a final cry of anguish, Jesus dies. Then something amazing happens. A Roman centurion–one of the executioners looks at the dead man and says, “Surely this man was the Son of God.” In Mark’s Gospel, no human being utters these words until this point. Now, a Roman soldier who was used as an instrument of evil, sees the truth, and acknowledges Jesus as God’s Son.
Here’s the point. Jesus knows all about suffering from evil and pain. He tells us that we will face violence. But he also tells us that we won’t be alone when evil abounds. Jesus knows what it’s like to feel abandoned by God. Jesus won’t be standing idly by when our hearts are breaking. Where is God when evil abounds? God is with us, reminding us that he sent his Son to fill our suffering with his presence.
In the days ahead, you will hear the news pundits shift their talk from empathy to action. Politicians will start calling for tough gun control laws. Security will tighten once more. Presidential candidates will try to exploit our fear for votes. In times of darkness, we are tempted to pull back from others and move into self-chosen exile. When we pull away from one another, evil festers. Any time we are torn apart from each other, evil has an opportunity to abound. But there is another way. Facing evil can lead us to become peacemakers. Peacemakers are people who heal by pulling close instead of tearing apart. Peacemakers are people who an get in touch with their own pain and disappointment with God and reach out to others who suffer. Peacemakers are those who have suffered with Christ, just like Christ as suffered with us. Because of their connection with the suffering of Christ, they have compassion, humility, and the desire to root out the weeds of evil.
Let me tell you about some peacemakers. Think back to the last school shooting in October, 2006. A deep sadness stretched across the rural landscape of Pennsylvania as the news spread that five Amish school girls were attacked by a neighbor in their one-room school. A 32-year-old milk truck driver shattered the innocence of Lancaster County’s Amish country when he attacked that schoolhouse. The sadness snaked along the backcountry roads with the parade of black buggies, as Amish families followed plain wooden caskets to church cemeteries. In the aftermath came a renewed call for better school security and gun control laws. But the greater story surrounding the Amish tragedy was the quiet grace of a deeply faithful and forgiving community. The Amish community really wanted the world to know that they forgive the shooter. They grieved for him and his family along with their own fallen daughters. In a day and age when civility seems lost and grace is in short supply, the Amish showed us what is meant to be peacemakers. One newspaper reporter write, “If only the grace that followed -- the faith that overrides pain, the generosity of spirit that inspires forgiveness, the goodwill that binds a community -- would also spill over, the world would be a much better place.”
Peacemakers are spiritual activists. They turn the world upside down by radically living out the Good News that God has not abandoned us. They do crazy things like forgive others. They allow themselves to mourn. They stand up for justice, and compassion and equality. They do it with humility, and sacrifice, and grace.
Listen to the story of another peacemaker. Liviu Librescu, was born in Romania only to be interned in a labor camp when Romania joined forces with Nazi Germany in the Second World War. He was then sent to a ghetto, and somehow avoided the fate of hundreds of thousands of other Romanian Jews killed by the collaborationist regime. He later found work at a Romanian aerospace company but his career was stymied in the 1970s because he refused to swear allegiance to Romania’s Communist dictator. On April 16, 2007, Liviu Librescu found himself pressed against the door of the classroom at Virginia Tech while shots were fired in the corridor and surrounding rooms. He stood firm, attempting to barricade the door, while his students clambered out of the windows. The professor e-mailed his wife to say that he had prevented the gunman getting into the classroom. However, the next e-mails received by the family were from students in the class informing them that Dr. Librescu had not survived the shootings.
Hard to imagine isn’t it – you live through a Nazi concentration camp only to be gunned down at random in a place that is supposed to be safe. But Dr. Librescu new pain. He knew suffering and sacrifice. He knew what it was like to be the victim of violence. So he stood between his students and a gunman and took a heroic stand – the stand of a peacemaker.
There are many peacemakers around us today. Can you be one of them?
Peacemakers learn to love those with whom we are in conflict. This is a challenge for most of us. First, we need to love, forgive and accept ourselves before we feel good enough to love our neighbors and our enemies. I really believe that a mind full of love cannot hold fear and anger at the same time. Perform a small, loving act toward an adversary. Act with compassion even if you feel rejected or offended.
Peacemakers see the image of God in everyone.
Peacemakers pray. We pray for ourselves for strength, patience and intelligence. We pray for guidance and wisdom to say and do the right thing as we walk on this path. We pray for each other, our leaders, our nation, all life, and the planet. We pray for our adversaries. Holding negative thoughts about others is counterproductive. It leads to polarization and alienation. Pray for their well-being, guidance and a positive resolution of any differences between us.
Peacemakers are alert for fearful or angry images that others want us to focus on. We can transform our consciousness by lifting our thoughts out of fear, anger and negativity by affirming the highest God-given qualities and virtues for ourselves and others.
Peacemakers let go of the obsession to dominate and always be right. They focus on the issues rather than attacking the opposition.
Peacemakers are not isolated from the pain and suffering of the world. As we let the pain in, we become transformed, compassionate and motivated to action.
Peacemakers commit to non-violent direct action as an appropriate way to demonstrate our protest to harmful and unjust practices. When evil abounds, we stand and say that God has not abandoned us and that God can be found among those who establish for the values of God’s Kingdom – love, peace, kindness, gentleness, and forgiveness.
Where is God when evil abounds? God is with us because God has faced the darkness has shown us the way to the light. And God is with the peacemakers, for they are the children of God. Our hearts go out to those who have lost much, and we pray the comfort that friends and a suffering Christ can provide.
Matthew 5:1-11 / Mark 15:33-37
I hear the same question all the time. “Where was God?” Sometimes people ask the question because they felt abandoned by God when they needed God the most. People come to me and want to know WHY God didn’t protect them from the abusive father, the molesting uncle, the bullying mother, the merciless teacher. They want to know WHY God would allow such things to go on -- The woman who was beaten as a child for something as senseless as spilling her milk; the little boy who was scared to death of his alcohol-crazed father, the family who lost a loved one to suicide, or cancer, or a fatal accident.
“How could any God let this happen?” The more we think about it, the more we question God’s influence in the world. I look into eyes that are overflowing with pain and confusion and grief and rage - and they demand an answer. Why a holocaust, God? Why do few get to eat while many more go hungry? Why do you allow people to suffer, God? Why September 11? Why were thousands of innocent men, women, and children were destroyed in senseless acts of violence? God, how could you allow dozens of people to randomly hunted and gunned won by a homicidal maniac this week?
The new face of terrorism gradually emerged for us on Monday as we heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech. Tuesday and Wednesday we heard about human cost of the killings in stark detail. We began to put faces with the numbers, and we wept at the senseless and brutal loss of life. We have now all seen the pictures and learned some of the stories of the beautiful, talented, motivated and hopeful people whose lives are now over.
We heard about Ryan Clark, the fun-loving, 4.0 triple-major, whose greatest joy in life was leading music at a conference for mentally handicapped children and adults. Prof. Kevin Granata had established himself as a leader in the field of reflex response especially as it related to the problems faced by those with cerebral palsy.
We mourn those who had established careers and were leaders in their fields, but our mourning is intensified when we realize that almost all the others who died in the bud of their promise. They were supposed to be living the college life that we, who are older, glorify as we look back -- they are the ones who would learn to paint broadly on the canvas of their lives as they loved, lost, laughed and listened to life. But Austin Clark will not be able to do that; nor will Caitlin Hammaren, or Emily Jane Hilscher, or Peruvian exchange student Daniel Cueva or Brian Bluhm.
The voices of pain and anguish echo across the centuries back to the days of Jesus and before...back to the dawn of time. And they always ask the same question...WHY? It’s probably the hardest question that has ever been asked. Jesus tells us that we’re in for rough times...that in the end there will be wars and earthquakes and famines and plagues and dreadful omens and great signs from heaven. Sometimes it seems as though those times are here. Just pick up the evening newspaper and its all there -- terrorism, wars, starvation, population-killing diseases, and on it goes. So why won’t a loving God do something about all of this mess? Didn’t God become incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth to make things better ...to redeem us from our sin and restore us to the loving arms of the God?
Try to imagine the scene that Mark depicts in today’s gospel lesson. We read about the Lord’s final frightening moments on the cross. The land is covered with darkness–a symbol of the darkness that is invading the world. Deserted and betrayed by his disciples, rejected and condemned by the nation’s leaders, taunted by the crowds, Jesus now experiences utter despair. At this moment, Jesus is fully one with us. At this moment, Jesus faces evil, pain, and death, and shares our human despair to the fullest. It’s as if Jesus is crying out with us, “God, WHY? Where are you when I need you?” And with a final cry of anguish, Jesus dies. Then something amazing happens. A Roman centurion–one of the executioners looks at the dead man and says, “Surely this man was the Son of God.” In Mark’s Gospel, no human being utters these words until this point. Now, a Roman soldier who was used as an instrument of evil, sees the truth, and acknowledges Jesus as God’s Son.
Here’s the point. Jesus knows all about suffering from evil and pain. He tells us that we will face violence. But he also tells us that we won’t be alone when evil abounds. Jesus knows what it’s like to feel abandoned by God. Jesus won’t be standing idly by when our hearts are breaking. Where is God when evil abounds? God is with us, reminding us that he sent his Son to fill our suffering with his presence.
In the days ahead, you will hear the news pundits shift their talk from empathy to action. Politicians will start calling for tough gun control laws. Security will tighten once more. Presidential candidates will try to exploit our fear for votes. In times of darkness, we are tempted to pull back from others and move into self-chosen exile. When we pull away from one another, evil festers. Any time we are torn apart from each other, evil has an opportunity to abound. But there is another way. Facing evil can lead us to become peacemakers. Peacemakers are people who heal by pulling close instead of tearing apart. Peacemakers are people who an get in touch with their own pain and disappointment with God and reach out to others who suffer. Peacemakers are those who have suffered with Christ, just like Christ as suffered with us. Because of their connection with the suffering of Christ, they have compassion, humility, and the desire to root out the weeds of evil.
Let me tell you about some peacemakers. Think back to the last school shooting in October, 2006. A deep sadness stretched across the rural landscape of Pennsylvania as the news spread that five Amish school girls were attacked by a neighbor in their one-room school. A 32-year-old milk truck driver shattered the innocence of Lancaster County’s Amish country when he attacked that schoolhouse. The sadness snaked along the backcountry roads with the parade of black buggies, as Amish families followed plain wooden caskets to church cemeteries. In the aftermath came a renewed call for better school security and gun control laws. But the greater story surrounding the Amish tragedy was the quiet grace of a deeply faithful and forgiving community. The Amish community really wanted the world to know that they forgive the shooter. They grieved for him and his family along with their own fallen daughters. In a day and age when civility seems lost and grace is in short supply, the Amish showed us what is meant to be peacemakers. One newspaper reporter write, “If only the grace that followed -- the faith that overrides pain, the generosity of spirit that inspires forgiveness, the goodwill that binds a community -- would also spill over, the world would be a much better place.”
Peacemakers are spiritual activists. They turn the world upside down by radically living out the Good News that God has not abandoned us. They do crazy things like forgive others. They allow themselves to mourn. They stand up for justice, and compassion and equality. They do it with humility, and sacrifice, and grace.
Listen to the story of another peacemaker. Liviu Librescu, was born in Romania only to be interned in a labor camp when Romania joined forces with Nazi Germany in the Second World War. He was then sent to a ghetto, and somehow avoided the fate of hundreds of thousands of other Romanian Jews killed by the collaborationist regime. He later found work at a Romanian aerospace company but his career was stymied in the 1970s because he refused to swear allegiance to Romania’s Communist dictator. On April 16, 2007, Liviu Librescu found himself pressed against the door of the classroom at Virginia Tech while shots were fired in the corridor and surrounding rooms. He stood firm, attempting to barricade the door, while his students clambered out of the windows. The professor e-mailed his wife to say that he had prevented the gunman getting into the classroom. However, the next e-mails received by the family were from students in the class informing them that Dr. Librescu had not survived the shootings.
Hard to imagine isn’t it – you live through a Nazi concentration camp only to be gunned down at random in a place that is supposed to be safe. But Dr. Librescu new pain. He knew suffering and sacrifice. He knew what it was like to be the victim of violence. So he stood between his students and a gunman and took a heroic stand – the stand of a peacemaker.
There are many peacemakers around us today. Can you be one of them?
Peacemakers learn to love those with whom we are in conflict. This is a challenge for most of us. First, we need to love, forgive and accept ourselves before we feel good enough to love our neighbors and our enemies. I really believe that a mind full of love cannot hold fear and anger at the same time. Perform a small, loving act toward an adversary. Act with compassion even if you feel rejected or offended.
Peacemakers see the image of God in everyone.
Peacemakers pray. We pray for ourselves for strength, patience and intelligence. We pray for guidance and wisdom to say and do the right thing as we walk on this path. We pray for each other, our leaders, our nation, all life, and the planet. We pray for our adversaries. Holding negative thoughts about others is counterproductive. It leads to polarization and alienation. Pray for their well-being, guidance and a positive resolution of any differences between us.
Peacemakers are alert for fearful or angry images that others want us to focus on. We can transform our consciousness by lifting our thoughts out of fear, anger and negativity by affirming the highest God-given qualities and virtues for ourselves and others.
Peacemakers let go of the obsession to dominate and always be right. They focus on the issues rather than attacking the opposition.
Peacemakers are not isolated from the pain and suffering of the world. As we let the pain in, we become transformed, compassionate and motivated to action.
Peacemakers commit to non-violent direct action as an appropriate way to demonstrate our protest to harmful and unjust practices. When evil abounds, we stand and say that God has not abandoned us and that God can be found among those who establish for the values of God’s Kingdom – love, peace, kindness, gentleness, and forgiveness.
Where is God when evil abounds? God is with us because God has faced the darkness has shown us the way to the light. And God is with the peacemakers, for they are the children of God. Our hearts go out to those who have lost much, and we pray the comfort that friends and a suffering Christ can provide.
Sermon for Jazz Sunday
I don’t know how many of you men have succumbed to Gillette’s latest shaving innovation, the outlandish six-bladed Fusion razor. Where will it all end? How many blades are enough? 8? 15? 20? To counter the Fusion frenzy, Cory Greenberg, new technology editor on the Today Show, ironically did a segment on what’s called wet-shaving. Wet-shaving uses an old school single blade safety razor, a badger hair brush and high-end English cream and lots of hot water. He says that wetshaving delivers not only the greatest shave you can possibly imagine, but it brings back the pleasant, gentlemanly Cary Grant ritual that you can only get at old-time barber shops. Millions of people all over the world watched the Today Show segment, and as ridiculous as it sounds, the ensuing rush on razors, brushes, and creams created a worldwide shortage of shaving goods—vendors who’d been beseeching the masses to throw down their Fusions, their Quattros, their Mach-3s, and pressurized cans of goo reported doing a year’s worth of business in a few days. Overnight, funky vintage razors that used to go for a few bucks on eBay suddenly began climbing to well over $100.
Fusions and Mach-3s and Quattros are safe, but ultimately they make life very boring. But isn’t that how we do it today? We don’t really want adventure. We don’t want risk. Oh, we dream about it. But our tidy lives show that we are more interested in safety and propriety.
Do you ever wonder what it might sound like if Marvin Hamlisch or John Williams or Philip Glass composed a soundtrack for your life? What would your love theme sound like? How about your victory anthem? What music plays in the background when you roll out of bead, or play with the kids, or drive to work in traffic, or cook supper? What if you were at Karaoke night, and had to pick the song that best fits your life? What would you sing?
For a lot of us, our life would be lived on the downbeat. The downbeat is the impulse that occurs on the first beat of a measure of music. So, if your song has four beats, the downbeat emphasizes beats one and three. " Lórd, DismÃss us wÃth Thy Bléssing ," or "O sáy ,can you sée by the dáwn's early lÃght ." One, two, three, four; left, right; left, right; this systolic-diastolic beat is as familiar to us as life itself
Downbeats are nice. They’re steady and predictable. Downbeats help us march through life with some regularity. No surprises. Just a steady beat.
Sometimes we live faith on the downbeats. We are such planners. We decide how God must come into human affairs. We treat it all with a public relations twist. We pick the time and place. We insure that the right people are there to meet God. We get the news release so everyone knows what to expect. We have some scripted ways that we want to hear from God. God becomes steady and predictable. We like it that way.
But what if God’s not safe? What if God is less like a Neil Diamond song and more like Duke Ellington. What if God doesn’t always work on the downbeats of life? What if God sings on the backbeat? The backbeat emphasis the second and fourth beat. The offbeat. It makes music exciting. Jazz musicians play on the backbeat, and wild things begin to happen.
My favorite Jazz singer -- St. Francis. Read his biographies, you can just hear his soundtrack. “Who can describe the fervent charity which burned within Francis? Like a glowing coal, he seemed totally absorbed in the flame of divine love. Whenever he heard of the love of God, he was at once excited, moved and inflamed as if an inner chord of his heart had been plucked by the plectrum of the eternal voice.” So writes one of Francis’s biographers in the year 1260.
So often I have a tendency to view the saints as people who were super heroes; men and woman of respectability and decorum. In other words -- totally unlike me. My problem seems to be not so much that I can’t do the right thing, but that more often than not, I'm not certain what the right thing is! Saint Francis wasn’t like that. He lived on the offbeat. Throughout the course of his life he steadfastly refused to join the ranks of the wise an. learned--of those, who were certain of the right thing. He remained a fool for God, and as such, was always open to rethinking the Holy Spirit’s inspiration
In Italy there is a little town where they still tell the story of the time long ago when the village was being continually terrorized by a ferocious wolf. So terrible had been the toll on the local chicken coops, and so huge, so clever, and so vicious had this wolf become in local legend that the villagers had decided to track down and kill the fearsome beast lest it slaughter them all some night in their sleep. A jittery militia armed with clubs and pitchforks had been assembled, and was just ready to depart on its mission of destruction when who should appear in the village square but St. Francis. Francis was able to persuade the villagers to temporarily set their weapons aside. Then he went out into the forest and had a long talk with the wolf. The wolf, was willing to leave his chicken dinners behind him in order to save his life, and all lived in peace. Francis had seen killing. He knew what it was like to suffer in prison, and to see people massacred around him. But, he also knew the peace of Christ, and showed us how to be instrument of peace to all creation.
Over the past several months I have been listening to the intensifying drumbeat of violence from around the world.. The wolf his howling around us–scaring us and looking to devour. Terrorists haunt air terminals, and blow themselves up on crowded street corners. Hostages are taken, assassins lurk in the shadows, and angry nations commit themselves to years of ruinous war. Wars rage in other places as well. Churches fight with one another. Families come to ruins out of anger. Lifelong friends now hate each other. It is always easier to get people to take up the sword than it is to get them to put the sword down, easier to inflame passions than to cool them off.
Who sings on the offbeat? Whose voices do you hear singing a song of peace and love and justice? I gotta tell you, I don’t usually hear the church. But shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t Christians be the first one’s to stand up and confront the evils and pains of the world with an alternative – with a song of hope that expresses God’s passionate and unpredictable love?
It might help a lot if we would allow ourselves to envision the world as Francis did. It’s the same way Jesus saw the world, by the way. They did not march through the world in conventional steps. They lived on the two and four.
Every day is ripe with potential for generosity, courage, mercy, transformation and freedom. There is something in us that responds profoundly to gentleness, to sacrifice, to tears and laughter – something that longs to reach out to others in generosity, openness, and trust. If anyone ever expressed that need, it was St. Francis in his offbeat prayer:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.
Divine Master, grant that I may seek not so much to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.
For in giving we receive, in pardoning we are pardoned, and in dying, we are born to eternal life.
Go out there and take a risk. Be a fool. Hear the call to be an offbeat Christian. Live on the two and four.
Living on the two and four means that we don’t just focus on the 16th century event that brought this church into existence
and rather follow the call to bring freedom and salvation to people through the insight God gave us through that event.
Living on the two and four means that we will identify the forces today that enslave people to this world's guilt and indulgence peddling
and bring them the gospel of grace in their context, religious or not.
The world doesn't need us singing the same old songs to ourselves
in the same old places.
It is time to sing the world a new song.
It is time to sing the world a love song:
To sing a lament where there is pain;
To sing a protest song where there is injustice;
To sing a lullaby to the lonely.
These are the offbeat songs that the Spirit sings.
May we have ears to hear and eyes to see. And voices to sing.
Fusions and Mach-3s and Quattros are safe, but ultimately they make life very boring. But isn’t that how we do it today? We don’t really want adventure. We don’t want risk. Oh, we dream about it. But our tidy lives show that we are more interested in safety and propriety.
Do you ever wonder what it might sound like if Marvin Hamlisch or John Williams or Philip Glass composed a soundtrack for your life? What would your love theme sound like? How about your victory anthem? What music plays in the background when you roll out of bead, or play with the kids, or drive to work in traffic, or cook supper? What if you were at Karaoke night, and had to pick the song that best fits your life? What would you sing?
For a lot of us, our life would be lived on the downbeat. The downbeat is the impulse that occurs on the first beat of a measure of music. So, if your song has four beats, the downbeat emphasizes beats one and three. " Lórd, DismÃss us wÃth Thy Bléssing ," or "O sáy ,can you sée by the dáwn's early lÃght ." One, two, three, four; left, right; left, right; this systolic-diastolic beat is as familiar to us as life itself
Downbeats are nice. They’re steady and predictable. Downbeats help us march through life with some regularity. No surprises. Just a steady beat.
Sometimes we live faith on the downbeats. We are such planners. We decide how God must come into human affairs. We treat it all with a public relations twist. We pick the time and place. We insure that the right people are there to meet God. We get the news release so everyone knows what to expect. We have some scripted ways that we want to hear from God. God becomes steady and predictable. We like it that way.
But what if God’s not safe? What if God is less like a Neil Diamond song and more like Duke Ellington. What if God doesn’t always work on the downbeats of life? What if God sings on the backbeat? The backbeat emphasis the second and fourth beat. The offbeat. It makes music exciting. Jazz musicians play on the backbeat, and wild things begin to happen.
My favorite Jazz singer -- St. Francis. Read his biographies, you can just hear his soundtrack. “Who can describe the fervent charity which burned within Francis? Like a glowing coal, he seemed totally absorbed in the flame of divine love. Whenever he heard of the love of God, he was at once excited, moved and inflamed as if an inner chord of his heart had been plucked by the plectrum of the eternal voice.” So writes one of Francis’s biographers in the year 1260.
So often I have a tendency to view the saints as people who were super heroes; men and woman of respectability and decorum. In other words -- totally unlike me. My problem seems to be not so much that I can’t do the right thing, but that more often than not, I'm not certain what the right thing is! Saint Francis wasn’t like that. He lived on the offbeat. Throughout the course of his life he steadfastly refused to join the ranks of the wise an. learned--of those, who were certain of the right thing. He remained a fool for God, and as such, was always open to rethinking the Holy Spirit’s inspiration
In Italy there is a little town where they still tell the story of the time long ago when the village was being continually terrorized by a ferocious wolf. So terrible had been the toll on the local chicken coops, and so huge, so clever, and so vicious had this wolf become in local legend that the villagers had decided to track down and kill the fearsome beast lest it slaughter them all some night in their sleep. A jittery militia armed with clubs and pitchforks had been assembled, and was just ready to depart on its mission of destruction when who should appear in the village square but St. Francis. Francis was able to persuade the villagers to temporarily set their weapons aside. Then he went out into the forest and had a long talk with the wolf. The wolf, was willing to leave his chicken dinners behind him in order to save his life, and all lived in peace. Francis had seen killing. He knew what it was like to suffer in prison, and to see people massacred around him. But, he also knew the peace of Christ, and showed us how to be instrument of peace to all creation.
Over the past several months I have been listening to the intensifying drumbeat of violence from around the world.. The wolf his howling around us–scaring us and looking to devour. Terrorists haunt air terminals, and blow themselves up on crowded street corners. Hostages are taken, assassins lurk in the shadows, and angry nations commit themselves to years of ruinous war. Wars rage in other places as well. Churches fight with one another. Families come to ruins out of anger. Lifelong friends now hate each other. It is always easier to get people to take up the sword than it is to get them to put the sword down, easier to inflame passions than to cool them off.
Who sings on the offbeat? Whose voices do you hear singing a song of peace and love and justice? I gotta tell you, I don’t usually hear the church. But shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t Christians be the first one’s to stand up and confront the evils and pains of the world with an alternative – with a song of hope that expresses God’s passionate and unpredictable love?
It might help a lot if we would allow ourselves to envision the world as Francis did. It’s the same way Jesus saw the world, by the way. They did not march through the world in conventional steps. They lived on the two and four.
Every day is ripe with potential for generosity, courage, mercy, transformation and freedom. There is something in us that responds profoundly to gentleness, to sacrifice, to tears and laughter – something that longs to reach out to others in generosity, openness, and trust. If anyone ever expressed that need, it was St. Francis in his offbeat prayer:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.
Divine Master, grant that I may seek not so much to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.
For in giving we receive, in pardoning we are pardoned, and in dying, we are born to eternal life.
Go out there and take a risk. Be a fool. Hear the call to be an offbeat Christian. Live on the two and four.
Living on the two and four means that we don’t just focus on the 16th century event that brought this church into existence
and rather follow the call to bring freedom and salvation to people through the insight God gave us through that event.
Living on the two and four means that we will identify the forces today that enslave people to this world's guilt and indulgence peddling
and bring them the gospel of grace in their context, religious or not.
The world doesn't need us singing the same old songs to ourselves
in the same old places.
It is time to sing the world a new song.
It is time to sing the world a love song:
To sing a lament where there is pain;
To sing a protest song where there is injustice;
To sing a lullaby to the lonely.
These are the offbeat songs that the Spirit sings.
May we have ears to hear and eyes to see. And voices to sing.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Sermon for April 8, 2007 -- Easter Sunday
A good part of this sermon was taken from Rev. C. Wayne Hilliker from Kingston Ontario: http://www.chalmersunitedchurch.com/sermons/apr04s99.htm
What Brought You Here?
Luke 24:1-12
So, what has brought you here? Crowds sure are larger on Easter than any other Sunday of the year. The truth is, many people don’t bother with Sunday morning worship. Willow Creek Community Church, a mega-church near Chicago did a door-to-door survey asking: If you don’t go to church, why? The five biggest reasons: 1) Church is boring, 2) Church is irrelevant, 3) They’re asking for money all the time, 4) I’m too busy already, 5) I feel awkward at church. Let me add another reason: It’s just easier to stay home on Sunday. You only get two days off. Sometimes it’s hard to get the kids fed and dressed and your spouse to cooperate. Isn’t it better, on your day off, to sleep in and read the paper, or get up and hit the tennis courts or the golf course and enjoy a leisurely day?
Middle-class Protestant denominations have lost millions of members over the last 30 years. Nobody knows why, although Sociologists, theologians, congregational consultants, pollsters all have different ideas. I found a website that chronicled some of people’s excuses for not going to worship on Sundays. Do any of these sound familiar?
« I'm still allergic to my religion
« I thought they kicked me out after I said "Jesus Christ" when they passed the collection plate
« I don't like going to church because the priest is too loud, the choir can't sing, and the man behind me keeps coughing!
« I don't want to go to church because my kids don't want to go and I can't find a babysitter for them. I might as well not go.
« I'll go to church when I start smoking. If I don't start smoking then I'll go when I stop.
« The last time I went to Church, the pastor told us about someone who was burned at the stake for believing in God! I don't want that to happen to me now do I?
« Veni, Vidi, NoN-Velcro. (I came, I Saw, I didn't stick around.)
« This parish is too politically correct.
« That much church can kill a person.
« I can't go to church, my name is Judas.
« I have to wash the car. I need to mow the yard.
« I don't go to church cause I have a feeling that God doesn't like agnostics.
« My cat is a prophet, I get all my godly advice straight from the cat's mouth. If the cat doesn't tell me to got to church, I consider it great wisdom of the prophet.
« Three words: Church On Line
« God made Football . . . doesn't that cover it?
« I don't go to church on Sunday because getting the kids dressed in their Sunday Best first thing in the morning makes me cuss and curse the Lord . . . very loudly.
« Nobody notices when I'm not there.
« They don't sing the songs I like.
« The organ is too loud.
« I should be able to send in money if I want without having to put money in a plate.
« There aren't any good-looking guys there.
« It's too stuffy, why don't they open some windows.
« There are too many sinners in church.
« There are too many hypocrites in church.
« The sermon is too long.
« The service is too long.
« I don't do anything bad, so I'm going to heaven anyway.
« I have nothing to wear.
« I work six days a week. The seventh day belongs to me.
« I'm not good enough.
« I'll go when I'm too old to have any more fun.
With all that said, for some reason, each one of us chose to be ‘in here’ rather than ‘out there’ this morning. I just want to say, I’m glad you’re here. Some of us have come here because we are always here, even when it’s not Easter. Some of us are not usually here on a Sunday, but we’re here because it’s Easter, after all! Others of us have come because someone invited us, or someone forced us, or bribed us, or somehow made us feel guilty about not coming to church. No matter what, I am so glad you’re here. I want you to know that no matter who you are, no matter where you came from, no matter how you feel about church, no matter what your faith background, no matter your hurts, pains, or emotional baggage, you are welcome here. And I want to offer the hospitality of our congregation to you. If you are visiting with us, or if you are checking us out, would you please fill out a pew card or sign your name in the guest book in the narthex – or at least make sure to introduce yourself to me? In a few weeks, our church will be hosting a Sunday morning breakfast before church, and I want you to some as my guests. I want to get a chance to know you some more, and learn about who you are, and listen to your feelings about churches, so please do me the honor of somehow introducing yourself.
I say all that because, on Easter Sunday, something brought you all here. So,what’s going on in here, that’s better than what’s going on out there today? I want you to think about a time when you felt God was close and you were in the presence of the Holy. Some of you might be thinking that you felt God
…when you recited a creed,
…or when you sang a favorite hymn,
…or when a sermon spoke to you with power,
…or when you read scripture
…or when you prayed.
A lot of people will say things like,
« “It was when my first child was horn, and I held this flesh of my flesh close to me”,
« or, “When I hear the sound of’ a gentle summer rain on a tin roof at night”,
« or, “When I am walking in an open field by myself on a winter day and millions of absolutely perfect snowflakes are falling all around me”,
« or, “When I lay on my back on a perfectly clear night and see millions of stars shining their light from millennia past’.
People connect with God outside of the church all the time. So, what’s going on in here?
If you travel to the seminary at Princeton University, you will see a beautiful little Greek revival chapel where students and faculty worship. 80 years ago that little chapel was not located on the main campus. The building was actually moved there. Workers jacked the church up, put wheels under it and pulled it to its present location with a tractor. It evidently attracted a lot of attention in Princeton. People stopped along the sidewalk to see this little church bouncing along behind a tractor to its new home. One of the people who stopped to see it move was none other than Albert Einstein. As he watched the little chapel bounce along the lawn to its new spot, he began to smile. And then he said something -- ‘That little box is too small to hold God’.
Those words ought to be inscribed over the portals of every Church in the world ...whether it’s a small congregational church or St. Peter’s Basilica,
…’This little box is too small to hold God’.
…’This little creed is too small to hold God.’
…’This little bible is too small to hold God.’
I don’t think we come here to find God. God does not live here. It’s not as if when you leave the church you are isolated from God’s presence. We can find God everywhere. I think we are here for something else. We are here to listen to the account of the God whose costly death-defying love embraces the whole world. We come here to be reminded that we have not been abandoned, no matter who we are or what we’ve done, or what our circumstances may be. Easter declares a merciful God knows us by name, and loves us, and forgives us, and embraces us, and never lets us go. That is what we tell in here, …and sing in here...and believe in here. We come into the sanctuary to hear the Story of the great generosity of God. And then hearing that Story—
« we see what we could not have seen otherwise,
« we imagine what we could not have imagined otherwise,
« we hear what we could not have heard otherwise,
« we do what we could not have done otherwise.
And it then becomes our duty and delight to say, “Thank you, God. Thank you.”
A graduate of Columbia Theological Seminary in Atlanta, told a story about his days as a student there. The President of the Seminary was an austere Puritan by the name of Dr. James McDowell Richards. The students respected Dr. Richards but kept their distance from him. People admired Dr. James McDowell Richards, but no one was intimate with him. This student graduated from Seminary and eventually became the chaplain in a church-sponsored retirement home. Imagine how he felt when he learned that the newest resident of the home was the now retired Dr. James McDowell Richards.
He was in awe of the man still and now he was going to have to be his chaplain. He did the best he could. One evening he went into the dining room and saw Dr. Richards seated in his wheelchair at his table having supper. A nurse was standing guard over him. The former student, now chaplain, went up to Dr. Richards. They had some conversation together and then the chaplain started to leave. On a last-second impulse, he turned to Dr. Richards and said,
‘Dr. Richards. I’ve always wanted to ask you something’
‘What is it?’
‘You and your wife were the parents of sons, weren’t you?’
‘Three of them. Yes.’
‘Did you ever tell your sons that you loved them?’
‘No. I didn’t need to . . . Well, once I did. I was in intensive care and I told one of them but it wasn’t a regular thing mind you.’
‘I just wondered. You know my father never told me that either. I wondered if fathers ever said that kind of thing.’
The meal was over. The nurse pulled the wheelchair away from the table and the chaplain watched Dr. Richards go. When Dr. Richards got to the door, he said something to the nurse. She turned the wheelchair around and brought him back. Then he got close and reached up and touched his former student’s cheek …and said ‘Bill, I love you.’
“I had known it all along,” the chaplain commented later, “but to hear it, sealed it in my heart.”
There is something we get today in here that you can’t get out there. What brought us into this worship space is to hear something from God and to have it sealed on our hearts. Have you heard it yet? It’s the unbelievable word that declares we are loved by name with a costly, unconditional and empowering love, rooted in the very being of God, and that never lets us go, not even when we die. On this Easter Sunday, we gather in this place to have sealed in our hearts a truth -- a living truth that does indeed move us to say and to sing alleluia.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Sermon for April 1, 2007 -- Palm Sunday
Is This a Joke?
Luke 19:28-44
Since Easter is right around the corner, many of you will be entertaining guests for dinner. I've found there are two ways to prepare dinner: The Martha Stewart Way, and My Way.
Martha’s way: Stuff a miniature marshmallow in the bottom of a sugar cone to prevent ice cream drips.
My way: Just suck the ice cream out of the bottom of the cone, for Pete’s sake, you are probably lying on the couch with your feet up eating it anyway.
Martha’s way: To prevent egg shells from cracking, add a pinch of salt to the water before hard boiling.
My way: Who cares if they crack, aren’t you going to take the shells off anyway?
Martha’s way: To get the most juice out of fresh lemons, bring them to room temperature and roll them under your palm against the kitchen counter before squeezing.
My way: Sleep with the lemons in between the mattress and box springs.
Martha’s way: To easily remove burnt-on food from your skillet, simply add a drop or two of dish soap and enough water to cover bottom of pan, and bring to a boil on the stovetop.
My way: Have your Easter Dinner at Chili’s and let them do the dishes.
Martha’s way: If you accidentally over salt a dish while it’s still cooking, drop in a peeled potato and it will absorb the excess salt for an instant ‘fix me up’.
My way: If you over-salt a dish while you are cooking, that’s too bad. My motto: I made it, and you will eat it, and I don’t care how bad it tastes.
Martha’s way: Wrap celery in aluminum foil when putting in the refrigerator and it will keep for weeks.
My way: Celery? Never heard of the stuff.
Martha’s way: Don’t throw out all that leftover wine. Freeze into ice cubes for future use in casseroles and sauces.
My way: Leftover wine?
Martha’s way: Potatoes will take food stains off your fingers. Just slice and rub raw potato on the stains and rinse with water.
My way: Mashed potatoes will now be replacing the anti-bacterial soap in the handy dispenser next to my sink.
Speaking of Easter, I know in my house my wife and daughter have already been shopping for Easter outfits. A poor widow with three young daughters lived near the UCC church. The pastor went to visit and invited them to Easter services. “We would love to come,” said the woman, “but we don’t have any Sunday clothes.” The pastor went back to the church and talked to some of the deacons in the church who bought and delivered a nice Sunday outfit for the woman and each of her three daughters. On Easter Sunday, the whole congregation watched for the family, but they never showed up. Disappointed, the pastor went to their house after the service and asked why they did not attend church. “Well,” the woman said, “we got all dressed up in our new clothes, and we looked so nice that we went to the Episcopal Church instead!”
One day the Pope got a phone call from God. God told him that he had some good news, and some bad news. “The good news,” said God, “Is that I have decided to convert the whole world to one religion.” “The bad news, is that I am calling long distance from Salt Lake City!”
How many Congregationalists does it take to change a light bulb?
Change! My grandmother donated that light bulb!
How many Congregationalists does it take to change a light bulb?
1 to change it and 3 to stand around talking about how much they’ll miss the old one.
Top 10 signs that you are in the wrong church:
10. The church bus has gun racks.
9. The church staff consists of senior pastor, associate pastor and sociopastor.
8. The Bible they use is the Dr. Seuss version.
7. There is an ATM in the lobby.
6. The choir wears leather robes.
5. The only song the church organist knows is Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida.
4. The Women’s Quartet are all married to the pastor.
3. The pastor regularly attends meetings in Las Vegas and Atlantic City.
2. The ushers ask, “Smoking or non-smoking?”
1. There’s no cover charge but communion is a two-drink minimum.
Struggling to make ends meet on a first-call salary, the pastor was livid when he confronted his wife with the receipt for a $250 dress she had bought. “How could you do this?!”
“I was outside the store looking at the dress in the window, and then I found myself trying it on,” she explained. “It was like Satan was whispering in my ear, ‘You look fabulous in that dress. Buy it!’”
“Well,” the pastor replied, “You know how I deal with that kind of temptation. I say, ‘Get behind me, Satan!’”
“I did,” replied his wife, “but then he said, ‘It looks fabulous from back here, too!’”
How often does it happen that Palm Sunday and April Fool’s Day both fall on a Sunday? It won’t happen again until 2012. By the way, Easter will fall on April Fool’s day in 2029. Today we stop to remember two things. One, there are hard things in life like death, divorce, disease, warfare, feminine, poverty). Two: when life is hard, it’s OK to laugh. I want to reassure visitors that we rarely laugh this much in church on Sundays. We usually try to keep it down. Today is different. Today is our chance to prepare for the divine folly of the Easter surprise. Easter is the morning when the Lord laughs out loud, laughs at all the things that snuff out our joy, all the things that pretend do be all powerful like cruelty and madness and despair and evil, and most especially that great pretender, death. Jesus sweeps them all away with his wonderful resurrection laughter.
On Palm Sunday, we get a little glimpse of the laughter to come. In front of us is a week of reflection on death, torture and suffering. We will spend a few days in morbid thought, trying to come to grips with the awesome love of a Lord who would willingly lay down his life so that we might be saved. But today, Palm Sunday, is the day I remember to let the air out a little -- to take a deep breath, and laugh at myself. Palm Sunday has always been a kind of spiritual check up day. How are you doing? Are you happy? Do you believe you can live your life with joy, even when the future seems dead serious? It is so easy to get caught up in causes, to be scheduled to a frenzy, to have such important things to say, we can forget that what really upset the Pharisees the most about Jesus was that he seemed to enjoy people and life and celebration, and all those things you can’t do when you are serious.
When I think of Palm Sunday, I think of people like Annette. Annette was a stick of a woman. Her skin was shriveled and nearly black from so many hours in the summer sun. Annette single handedly kept an entire town in potted flowers, flowerbeds, and whiskey barrels exploding with annuals. When the paper decided to do a feature story about her, she stunned the photographer who came to take her picture. He told her to look at the camera and she said, “Don’t take a picture of my face, no one will know who you are talking about. Take a picture of my rear end. Then they will know its me.” And so he did.
Annette never stopped. If she wasn’t planting, she was crafting, if she wasn’t crafting she was cleaning. People loved to have Annette decorate the sanctuary of their church for weddings. She was a veritable storehouse of ivy, and ribbons, and birdcages painted to match with twinkle lights. Annette was also fighting cancer. The remission, recovery, and the chemotherapy were always intermingling. In spite of her health, she kept going, kept doing for others, and mostly she kept smiling. You would always leave a better person after visiting with her, even when she was at her lowest. She just had a way of laughing and crying and smiling all at the same time that made people want to go home and hug their families and slow down and be sure to be a good person.
During her cancer, Annette was asked to decorate for a wedding. She agreed, even though her chemotherapy brought her as low as it can take a person. She said, “I’ll just go slow and start early in the week. Do it as I can and hope for the best.” And that’s what she did. Each day something would be different in the sanctuary, some ribbons would appear, the next day the ivy would be trailing off the chancel. However, two days before the wedding, everything was gone. The janitor had come in that morning and assumed the wedding had already taken place since the decoration had been there the last time, so she took them all down and threw them in the garbage. When Annette found out she said, without missing a beat, “Well, what can you do?” And then she smiled, laughed, rolled her eyes and went to the dumpster, took all the decorations home, ironed the ribbons, straightened out the ivy and put them all back the next day. No shouting, no blaming, no need to say serious things to people. No one knew it had happened, no one heard of it. The gift was the beauty not the toil.
There are moments in life that demand we take them serious. Yet, if the truth were told, we try to make too many moments serious so that we can feel in control or in charge. I have met many people who believe it is their responsibility to be serious, when in fact what they are truly being called to be is careful or caring.
Let me put it this way: in the dozens of funerals I have led or attended, I have never heard a eulogist say, “You know what I admired most about this person? His serious side. I’ve never heard someone say, “If my mother was anything she was serious.”
Palm Sunday is for me the day I set aside to check my spiritual wellbeing. Have I convinced myself that I need to worry about something? Can I look at everyone I meet and see them as beloved, or have I let hate find a place? Do I still trust the steadfast love of God working mercy or am I looking for real change right now and somebody better be looking busy? Is life exhilarating or exhausting?
Today, I want to be able to smile and laugh and cry all at the same time. If I grieve, I want it to be deep in the truth that I loved much. If I suffer, I want it to be faced with dignity and assurance. Today I want to remember that, yes . . . Easter laughter is coming. But joy can be found on both sides of the cross.
Luke 19:28-44
Since Easter is right around the corner, many of you will be entertaining guests for dinner. I've found there are two ways to prepare dinner: The Martha Stewart Way, and My Way.
Martha’s way: Stuff a miniature marshmallow in the bottom of a sugar cone to prevent ice cream drips.
My way: Just suck the ice cream out of the bottom of the cone, for Pete’s sake, you are probably lying on the couch with your feet up eating it anyway.
Martha’s way: To prevent egg shells from cracking, add a pinch of salt to the water before hard boiling.
My way: Who cares if they crack, aren’t you going to take the shells off anyway?
Martha’s way: To get the most juice out of fresh lemons, bring them to room temperature and roll them under your palm against the kitchen counter before squeezing.
My way: Sleep with the lemons in between the mattress and box springs.
Martha’s way: To easily remove burnt-on food from your skillet, simply add a drop or two of dish soap and enough water to cover bottom of pan, and bring to a boil on the stovetop.
My way: Have your Easter Dinner at Chili’s and let them do the dishes.
Martha’s way: If you accidentally over salt a dish while it’s still cooking, drop in a peeled potato and it will absorb the excess salt for an instant ‘fix me up’.
My way: If you over-salt a dish while you are cooking, that’s too bad. My motto: I made it, and you will eat it, and I don’t care how bad it tastes.
Martha’s way: Wrap celery in aluminum foil when putting in the refrigerator and it will keep for weeks.
My way: Celery? Never heard of the stuff.
Martha’s way: Don’t throw out all that leftover wine. Freeze into ice cubes for future use in casseroles and sauces.
My way: Leftover wine?
Martha’s way: Potatoes will take food stains off your fingers. Just slice and rub raw potato on the stains and rinse with water.
My way: Mashed potatoes will now be replacing the anti-bacterial soap in the handy dispenser next to my sink.
Speaking of Easter, I know in my house my wife and daughter have already been shopping for Easter outfits. A poor widow with three young daughters lived near the UCC church. The pastor went to visit and invited them to Easter services. “We would love to come,” said the woman, “but we don’t have any Sunday clothes.” The pastor went back to the church and talked to some of the deacons in the church who bought and delivered a nice Sunday outfit for the woman and each of her three daughters. On Easter Sunday, the whole congregation watched for the family, but they never showed up. Disappointed, the pastor went to their house after the service and asked why they did not attend church. “Well,” the woman said, “we got all dressed up in our new clothes, and we looked so nice that we went to the Episcopal Church instead!”
One day the Pope got a phone call from God. God told him that he had some good news, and some bad news. “The good news,” said God, “Is that I have decided to convert the whole world to one religion.” “The bad news, is that I am calling long distance from Salt Lake City!”
How many Congregationalists does it take to change a light bulb?
Change! My grandmother donated that light bulb!
How many Congregationalists does it take to change a light bulb?
1 to change it and 3 to stand around talking about how much they’ll miss the old one.
Top 10 signs that you are in the wrong church:
10. The church bus has gun racks.
9. The church staff consists of senior pastor, associate pastor and sociopastor.
8. The Bible they use is the Dr. Seuss version.
7. There is an ATM in the lobby.
6. The choir wears leather robes.
5. The only song the church organist knows is Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida.
4. The Women’s Quartet are all married to the pastor.
3. The pastor regularly attends meetings in Las Vegas and Atlantic City.
2. The ushers ask, “Smoking or non-smoking?”
1. There’s no cover charge but communion is a two-drink minimum.
Struggling to make ends meet on a first-call salary, the pastor was livid when he confronted his wife with the receipt for a $250 dress she had bought. “How could you do this?!”
“I was outside the store looking at the dress in the window, and then I found myself trying it on,” she explained. “It was like Satan was whispering in my ear, ‘You look fabulous in that dress. Buy it!’”
“Well,” the pastor replied, “You know how I deal with that kind of temptation. I say, ‘Get behind me, Satan!’”
“I did,” replied his wife, “but then he said, ‘It looks fabulous from back here, too!’”
How often does it happen that Palm Sunday and April Fool’s Day both fall on a Sunday? It won’t happen again until 2012. By the way, Easter will fall on April Fool’s day in 2029. Today we stop to remember two things. One, there are hard things in life like death, divorce, disease, warfare, feminine, poverty). Two: when life is hard, it’s OK to laugh. I want to reassure visitors that we rarely laugh this much in church on Sundays. We usually try to keep it down. Today is different. Today is our chance to prepare for the divine folly of the Easter surprise. Easter is the morning when the Lord laughs out loud, laughs at all the things that snuff out our joy, all the things that pretend do be all powerful like cruelty and madness and despair and evil, and most especially that great pretender, death. Jesus sweeps them all away with his wonderful resurrection laughter.
On Palm Sunday, we get a little glimpse of the laughter to come. In front of us is a week of reflection on death, torture and suffering. We will spend a few days in morbid thought, trying to come to grips with the awesome love of a Lord who would willingly lay down his life so that we might be saved. But today, Palm Sunday, is the day I remember to let the air out a little -- to take a deep breath, and laugh at myself. Palm Sunday has always been a kind of spiritual check up day. How are you doing? Are you happy? Do you believe you can live your life with joy, even when the future seems dead serious? It is so easy to get caught up in causes, to be scheduled to a frenzy, to have such important things to say, we can forget that what really upset the Pharisees the most about Jesus was that he seemed to enjoy people and life and celebration, and all those things you can’t do when you are serious.
When I think of Palm Sunday, I think of people like Annette. Annette was a stick of a woman. Her skin was shriveled and nearly black from so many hours in the summer sun. Annette single handedly kept an entire town in potted flowers, flowerbeds, and whiskey barrels exploding with annuals. When the paper decided to do a feature story about her, she stunned the photographer who came to take her picture. He told her to look at the camera and she said, “Don’t take a picture of my face, no one will know who you are talking about. Take a picture of my rear end. Then they will know its me.” And so he did.
Annette never stopped. If she wasn’t planting, she was crafting, if she wasn’t crafting she was cleaning. People loved to have Annette decorate the sanctuary of their church for weddings. She was a veritable storehouse of ivy, and ribbons, and birdcages painted to match with twinkle lights. Annette was also fighting cancer. The remission, recovery, and the chemotherapy were always intermingling. In spite of her health, she kept going, kept doing for others, and mostly she kept smiling. You would always leave a better person after visiting with her, even when she was at her lowest. She just had a way of laughing and crying and smiling all at the same time that made people want to go home and hug their families and slow down and be sure to be a good person.
During her cancer, Annette was asked to decorate for a wedding. She agreed, even though her chemotherapy brought her as low as it can take a person. She said, “I’ll just go slow and start early in the week. Do it as I can and hope for the best.” And that’s what she did. Each day something would be different in the sanctuary, some ribbons would appear, the next day the ivy would be trailing off the chancel. However, two days before the wedding, everything was gone. The janitor had come in that morning and assumed the wedding had already taken place since the decoration had been there the last time, so she took them all down and threw them in the garbage. When Annette found out she said, without missing a beat, “Well, what can you do?” And then she smiled, laughed, rolled her eyes and went to the dumpster, took all the decorations home, ironed the ribbons, straightened out the ivy and put them all back the next day. No shouting, no blaming, no need to say serious things to people. No one knew it had happened, no one heard of it. The gift was the beauty not the toil.
There are moments in life that demand we take them serious. Yet, if the truth were told, we try to make too many moments serious so that we can feel in control or in charge. I have met many people who believe it is their responsibility to be serious, when in fact what they are truly being called to be is careful or caring.
Let me put it this way: in the dozens of funerals I have led or attended, I have never heard a eulogist say, “You know what I admired most about this person? His serious side. I’ve never heard someone say, “If my mother was anything she was serious.”
Palm Sunday is for me the day I set aside to check my spiritual wellbeing. Have I convinced myself that I need to worry about something? Can I look at everyone I meet and see them as beloved, or have I let hate find a place? Do I still trust the steadfast love of God working mercy or am I looking for real change right now and somebody better be looking busy? Is life exhilarating or exhausting?
Today, I want to be able to smile and laugh and cry all at the same time. If I grieve, I want it to be deep in the truth that I loved much. If I suffer, I want it to be faced with dignity and assurance. Today I want to remember that, yes . . . Easter laughter is coming. But joy can be found on both sides of the cross.
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