The Unforgivable Sin
Matthew 12:22-37
Three ministers and their wives got into a car crash and died one day. They found themselves standing at the pearly gates together before St. Peter. St. Peter opened his big book, pointed to the first minister, and said, “You’re going to Hell.”
“What? Why?” cried the minister.
“Because you lusted after money. You never actually stole any money, but in your heart, you were constantly thinking about money. You had money on your mind so much that you even married a woman named Penny. So you’re going to Hell.” And in a puff of smoke, the first minister disappeared. St. Peter flipped a few pages in his book and pointed to the second minister. “You are also going to Hell,” he said sternly.
“Why?” said the anguished minister.
“Because of your love of alcohol. You never actually drank any alcohol, but you constantly yearned for it in your heart. You thought about it so much that you even married a woman named Brandy. So you’re going to Hell. “And in a puff of smoke, the second minister disappeared.
The third minister turned to his wife and said, “Well, Fanny, it’s been nice knowing you.”
Here’s something for us to think about today. Is God really like that? Does the God you worship enjoy the thought of damning you because of your faults? Does God ever get tired of our mistakes? Will God ever stop loving us? Can we ever move ourselves beyond the boundaries of God’s forgiveness?
Imagine this scenario. You come to worship and have a transforming experience. You make a decision to change some aspect of your life – to turn something around or do something better. You day to yourself, “This week, I’m going to be good.” It’s easy to be good in church, right? Walk out the doors into the so-called “real world” and what happens? If you are like me, then you blow it. Some dimwit upsets you and you lose your patience. Someone betrays you and you plot revenge. Someone hurts you and you want to hurt that person back. It’s not that we didn’t take our life-transforming commitments seriously. We meant them with all our heart. We want a new and changed life. But something gets in the way and trips us up. And so we go back to church, recommit ourselves to godly living, and then we go home and mess it up again.
How do you think God feels about this scenario? Does God lose patience? Will God punish us for not fulfilling our commitments? I grew up with a faith that said, “Yes, of course God will punish us!” My faith told me that all of us are guilty before God. All of us deserve to be punished. God does not allow certain kinds of behavior even if everyone does it. If everyone breaks the law of God, God holds everyone accountable. God would not be God if He (God was always “He”) allowed the punishment to be suspended. This means that sin must be punished. I was a very worried teenager and young adult. I just knew that God was terribly angry about the sin I was born with as well as the sins I committed. As a just judge, God would punish me, and all sinners, now and in eternity. We ourselves cannot hide the filth of sin; but we could be washed clean by grace. The Savior, Jesus Christ, stood between me and the awesome judgment of God. God sent Jesus to take my place. Jesus received the awful punishment for sin that you and I deserve. It is in Jesus that we see God’s justice and God’s mercy being displayed at the same time and in the same person. This is what I was taught. This is what I believed.
I was also taught that there was sin and there was unforgivable sin. If I ever did anything to blaspheme the Holy Spirit, I would earn a non-refundable one-way ticket to Hell. But what was blasphemy? I was taught to equate blasphemy with doubt. I was told that the original sin was doubt. The only way to reverse it was to have faith in Jesus. There was no doubting that Jesus died the death I deserved. It was sinful to doubt that Jesus performed miracles. I questioned how Jesus could be the one and only way to get to heaven, but I kept those thoughts to myself. I was taught that if the temptation of doubt troubled me it was because Satan was messing with me. But I always felt tortured. The more I tried not to think bad thoughts about Jesus, the more they flooded my mind. I had doubts. I was sure that I had committed the unforgivable sin.
I realize that not everyone has this problem. For instance, The Blasphemy Challenge continues to play on YouTube. People are encouraged to submit online videos saying their names and the words “I deny the existence of the Holy Spirit.” Some of the videos get right to the point. Some are quite vulgar. I saw a video of a man named Jim who filmed himself standing in the doorways of various local churches. At each church he proudly said, “My name is Jim. I deny the existence of the Holy Spirit and I’m not afraid.” He figures if there really were a God, he would be instantly punished for saying such callous words in a church. Since Jim is still alive, there must be no God.
What do you think? On the surface, Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel reading sound clear: whoever blasphemes the Spirit will not be forgiven. Will Jim’s public blasphemy send him to eternal punishment? Can we ever do something that puts us beyond the reach of God’s love? Let’s take a moment to revisit our Gospel story.
A man is brought to Jesus. The man is blind and he cannot speak. People assume that demons have taken up residence in him. Jesus has compassion and heals the man. Jesus enters that which others see as unclean or defiled, and he brings new life. As soon as he’s done, the criticisms begin. Those who are in power—those religious leaders who feel that Jesus threatens their positions -- accuse him of healing in the name of the devil. It’s an insult. They think that they are the only one’s allowed to represent God. They insist that they alone have the full and complete accounts of reality. They leave little room for debate or difference of opinion. They expect unflinching loyalty from their followers. They try to discredit Jesus by saying he’s in league with the powers of evil.
But Jesus has come to clean house. Jesus leads the revolt against the powers that keep people trapped. Jesus turns things around on the religious leaders. Jesus says, “Ignorance can be forgivable. Failure can be turned around. However, using religion to turn human liberation into something odious is not pardonable. The real sin against the Holy Spirit is refusing to see when God does something real before your very eyes.”
Jesus engages in a battle of one-upmanship. His opponents are the ones who are against God. They are captives to their need for power. They smother God’s effort to make broken people whole. And when you intentionally do that, you bypass the grace of God.
Think again about the faith commitments you have made – and perhaps failed at. Maybe we fall short in our quests for transformation because we are looking for Jesus to take something bad in us and make it good. Jesus did not come to make a bad people good. Jesus came to bring dead people to life. We can be good but not alive. There are a lot of people who are morally pure, but they have no life, no joy, no celebration. If our faith is not marked by raw, passionate love, then we are no better than the close-minded religionists that Jesus corrected.
Author Shane Claiborne tells a story about living in intentional poverty with some friends in Chicago. He headed out one night to get a loaf of bread in an area notorious for its prostitution and drug trafficking, where the air is thick with tears and struggle. He walked past an alley, and tucked inside was a tattered and cold woman on crutches, selling herself to make some money. On the way home, he saw the woman again, crying and shivering. He knew he could not pass her by. Shane stopped and told her that he cared for her, that she was precious, worth more than a few bucks for tricks in an alley. He brought her to the house he lived with his friends. As soon as they entered the house, the woman wept hysterically. When she gained composure, she looked at everyone in the house and said, “You are all Christians, aren’t you?” Up to this point, no one had said anything about God or Jesus. There were no crosses in the house – not even a Christian fish on the wall. She said, “I know you are Christians because you shine. I used to be in love with Jesus like that, and when I was, I shined like diamonds in the sky. But it’s a cold dark world, and I lot my shine a little while back. I lost my shine on those streets. She asked these people to pray with her. They did. They prayed that this dark world would not take away their shine.
Weeks went by, and they did not see the woman. One day, there was a knock on the door. On the steps was a lovely lady with a contagious ear-to-ear smile. Shane stared at the woman, not recognizing her. She finally spoke. “Of course you don’t recognize me, because I’m shining again. I’m shining.” He finally realized that she was the same woman he pulled off the streets. She talked about how she had fallen in love with God again and she wanted to give him something to thank him for his hospitality. She said, “When I was on the streets, I lost everything, except this.” She pulled out a box, confessing that she smoked a lot and always collected Marlboro Miles points from the cigarette packs. “This is all I have, but I want you to have it.” She handed Shane the box filled with hundreds of Marlboro Miles. Shane says, “It’s one of the most precious gifts I’ve ever been given.” He uses them as bookmarks in his Bible. Every time he sees them, he is reminded of all the broken lives that have lost their shine.
When people tell me that they have rejected God, I say, “Tell me about the God you have rejected.” They usually describe a God of condemnation, of laws and lightening bolts, a frowning, gray-haired God who enjoys boring committee meetings. You know what? I have rejected that God, too.
The bottom line is that piling guilt upon ourselves does nothing to correct the source of our real problem. Know this and believe this. God wants you to shine again. You are guilty of nothing. God loves you. God loves you more than any of us can even begin to fathom. You are a bright and clean spirit in God’s eyes and the only one who sees this differently is you. God already accepts you for who you are, and God is not going to punish you while you struggle to live the life of faith. Jesus Christ shows us that God makes broken people whole, and that there is nothing you will ever do that can put you outside the boundaries of God’s love.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Sermon for September 16, 2007
Reviver of the Dead
Matthew 12:9-14
This morning, I invite us to hear, with fresh ears, a story about Jesus from the Gospel of Matthew. Matthew says, “Then Jesus went over to the synagogue, where he noticed a man with a withered hand.”
I went to High School with a girl who suffered from crippling rheumatoid arthritis. She rode a scooter from class to class because she could barely walk. Her body was frail and tortured. I always remember her hands. They were usually bandaged. However, on the rare occasion her gauze wrappings were off, we saw her swollen, blistered, and twisted hands. I’m embarrassed to say, we were not kind to this girl. She was ridiculed and mocked without mercy. She was different. She was an easy target. School must not have been a safe place for her. She was one of our schools outcasts, excluded by those of us who felt that she did not belong among us healthy and robust teenagers.
I imagine life was hard for the man with the withered hand in today’s gospel reading. In Jesus’ day, a person’s deformities were seen as a symbol of that person’s sin, or the sin of the family. He was treated like an outcast. His physical deformity made him unclean, polluted, out of place.
I’ve learned something since High School. We all have withered hands. We all face those moments in life when we are down and out. We all face times when we feel out of place and out of reach. We all face moments when we wonder if others really know us. Sometimes we wonder if we are loved with our faults and not despite them. Devastating event traumatized us. Our hearts shatter because of a loved one's infidelity or a role model's hypocrisy or a friend's dishonesty. We swell with fear when we hear about cancer or other illnesses. For some, this is the beginning of cynicism. Cynics stand back in contemptuous criticism, no longer surrendering their trust to others. But no one is born a cynic—we become cynics, shaped into being by our wounds. Inside the most jaded cynic is a tender idealist who cannot bear this world’s brutality.
Yes, at some point, we all have withered hands, withered hopes, withered relationships, and withered lives. You would think that we might be able to turn to religion to help us out. But sometimes, all religion gives us is withered faith. Listen to what happens when Jesus begins to heal the man with the withered hand.
The Pharisees ask Jesus, “Does the law permit a person to work by healing on the Sabbath?” (They were hoping he would say yes, so they could bring charges against him.)
Every religion has them. They are the people whose dominant concern is to keep the faith pure. When I was ordained to ministry 10 year ago, I made a promise to promote the peace, unity, and purity of the church. What an impossible task! When I promote peace and unity, I open my arms wide in unquestioning acceptance of another. When I promote purity, I need to filter out any who might defile or contaminate our traditions. We can’t have it both ways. One side of the boundary is embrace -- the will to give ourselves to others, to welcome them, to readjust our identities, and to make space for the other. On the other side of the boundary is the struggle against deception, injustice and violence.
People like the Pharisees tried to enforce purity in others. However, enforced purity is really a form of exclusion. It stems from a belief that the source of evil lies outside of a person without taking into account that evil also lives inside a person in an impure heart.
Exclusion is alive and well in religious life. Historically, religions excluded others through elimination. Christians had crusades and inquisitions. Muslims had Jihad. I wish this was still history, but we still see the shameless brutality of religious elimination in places like Darfur and Iraq. The more benign side of exclusion by elimination is exclusion by assimilation. This happens in churches all the time. We say, “You can survive, even thrive among us if you become like us. You can keep your life if you give up your identity.
Religious purists also exclude through domination. They will think of others as inferior and then exploit them. Another form of exclusion is called abandonment or indifference. In the name of purity, we keep a safe distance from those who are beneath us so that they won’t contaminate us.
Exclusion and purity rules expose our withered faith. We exclude because we are uncomfortable with anything that blurs the boundaries or disturbs our identities. We want to remove the dirt and restore a sense of propriety in the world. Is this what we really want -- scrupulously and tenuously clutching a shriveled faith system that gains strength only by making distinctions between us and them, insider and outsider, righteous and sinner?
How would Jesus deal with this – the Pharisees in and among us who want to focus on rules rather than relationships? Well, here is how Matthew continues the story . . .
Jesus answered, “If you had a sheep that fell into a well on the Sabbath, wouldn’t you work to pull it out? Of course you would. And how much more valuable is a person than a sheep! Yes, the law permits a person to do good on the Sabbath.”
Jesus knew the answer before he asked it. He knew that unless one’s life was in danger, it was absolutely forbidden to heal on the Sabbath because it was regarded as an act of work. But Jesus was wise. He said there is no time so sacred that it cannot be used for helping someone in pain. In the eyes of Jesus, there are no insiders and outsiders. We are one—one nature, one flesh, one grief, and one hope.
Harold Kushner writes, “Life is not a trap set for us by God, so that He can condemn us for failing. Life is not a spelling bee, where no matter how many words you have gotten right, if you make one mistake you are disqualified. Life is more like baseball season, where even the best team loses one third of its games and even the worst team has its days of brilliance. Our goal is not to go all year without every losing a game. Our goal is to win more than we lose, and if we can do that consistently enough, then when the end comes, we will have won it all . . . But at the end, if we are brave enough to love, if we are strong enough to forgive, if we are generous enough to rejoice in another’s happiness, and if we are wise enough to know that there is enough love to go around for us all, then we can achieve a fulfillment that no other living creature will ever know.”
Jesus was brave enough to love, strong enough to forgive, and wise enough to show God’s love. Listen to what he does next.
Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” So the man held out his hand, and it was restored, just like the other one!
If you were here last week, I said that Matthew wrote his gospel as a liturgical text. Jewish Christians wanted to hear stories about Jesus during their worship services, so Matthew took stories about Jesus and lined them up with events in the Jewish calendar. The next event on the Jewish calendar is Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement. It starts Friday at sundown. In Matthew’s church, this reading from Matthew 12 would have been read at Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is day that reminds worshippers of their alienation and their need to be right with God and other people. Yom Kippur is the day when God is reconciled with creation. It’s a day for God to be merciful, to pardon, to cleanse and to forgive. It’s the day when God revives the dead.
Early Christians understood Jesus through the lens of Yom Kippur. Jesus enters that which the world deems as impure and restores the victims to wholeness. Jesus walks into the realm of sickness. He cleanses and redeems withered people who need a touch from God.
I just need to ask you – are there any withered-hand people out there today? Outcasts who feel out of place? Any who feel rejected or misunderstood. Any who have been made to feel like dirt? Is there anyone here who is hurting? Are you sick? Are you unsure of the future? Are you tired of being asked to give up who you are in order to become what someone else wants you to be? Are you living a life of withered hands? Withered hopes? Withered relationships. Withered faith?
If so, then I invite you to come. This morning, I offer anointing with oil as a symbol of God’s love, forgiveness, and blessing. As we sing the hymn, you are invited to come forward and receive the laying on of hands and anointing with oil. We use oil as a symbol of the Holy Spirit who us here in this place, bringing us to wholeness and unity. You can receive anointing and a word of blessing, or just one. If you choose to remain in your seats, I ask that you do so prayerfully.
We all need a touch from Jesus – the Reviver of The Dead. Jesus revives dead hands and dead religion. Jesus gives us life. If you would like to receive anointing and prayer as a statement of your desire for healing, wholeness – if you would like to have tangible symbol of God’s love, please come.
Matthew 12:9-14
This morning, I invite us to hear, with fresh ears, a story about Jesus from the Gospel of Matthew. Matthew says, “Then Jesus went over to the synagogue, where he noticed a man with a withered hand.”
I went to High School with a girl who suffered from crippling rheumatoid arthritis. She rode a scooter from class to class because she could barely walk. Her body was frail and tortured. I always remember her hands. They were usually bandaged. However, on the rare occasion her gauze wrappings were off, we saw her swollen, blistered, and twisted hands. I’m embarrassed to say, we were not kind to this girl. She was ridiculed and mocked without mercy. She was different. She was an easy target. School must not have been a safe place for her. She was one of our schools outcasts, excluded by those of us who felt that she did not belong among us healthy and robust teenagers.
I imagine life was hard for the man with the withered hand in today’s gospel reading. In Jesus’ day, a person’s deformities were seen as a symbol of that person’s sin, or the sin of the family. He was treated like an outcast. His physical deformity made him unclean, polluted, out of place.
I’ve learned something since High School. We all have withered hands. We all face those moments in life when we are down and out. We all face times when we feel out of place and out of reach. We all face moments when we wonder if others really know us. Sometimes we wonder if we are loved with our faults and not despite them. Devastating event traumatized us. Our hearts shatter because of a loved one's infidelity or a role model's hypocrisy or a friend's dishonesty. We swell with fear when we hear about cancer or other illnesses. For some, this is the beginning of cynicism. Cynics stand back in contemptuous criticism, no longer surrendering their trust to others. But no one is born a cynic—we become cynics, shaped into being by our wounds. Inside the most jaded cynic is a tender idealist who cannot bear this world’s brutality.
Yes, at some point, we all have withered hands, withered hopes, withered relationships, and withered lives. You would think that we might be able to turn to religion to help us out. But sometimes, all religion gives us is withered faith. Listen to what happens when Jesus begins to heal the man with the withered hand.
The Pharisees ask Jesus, “Does the law permit a person to work by healing on the Sabbath?” (They were hoping he would say yes, so they could bring charges against him.)
Every religion has them. They are the people whose dominant concern is to keep the faith pure. When I was ordained to ministry 10 year ago, I made a promise to promote the peace, unity, and purity of the church. What an impossible task! When I promote peace and unity, I open my arms wide in unquestioning acceptance of another. When I promote purity, I need to filter out any who might defile or contaminate our traditions. We can’t have it both ways. One side of the boundary is embrace -- the will to give ourselves to others, to welcome them, to readjust our identities, and to make space for the other. On the other side of the boundary is the struggle against deception, injustice and violence.
People like the Pharisees tried to enforce purity in others. However, enforced purity is really a form of exclusion. It stems from a belief that the source of evil lies outside of a person without taking into account that evil also lives inside a person in an impure heart.
Exclusion is alive and well in religious life. Historically, religions excluded others through elimination. Christians had crusades and inquisitions. Muslims had Jihad. I wish this was still history, but we still see the shameless brutality of religious elimination in places like Darfur and Iraq. The more benign side of exclusion by elimination is exclusion by assimilation. This happens in churches all the time. We say, “You can survive, even thrive among us if you become like us. You can keep your life if you give up your identity.
Religious purists also exclude through domination. They will think of others as inferior and then exploit them. Another form of exclusion is called abandonment or indifference. In the name of purity, we keep a safe distance from those who are beneath us so that they won’t contaminate us.
Exclusion and purity rules expose our withered faith. We exclude because we are uncomfortable with anything that blurs the boundaries or disturbs our identities. We want to remove the dirt and restore a sense of propriety in the world. Is this what we really want -- scrupulously and tenuously clutching a shriveled faith system that gains strength only by making distinctions between us and them, insider and outsider, righteous and sinner?
How would Jesus deal with this – the Pharisees in and among us who want to focus on rules rather than relationships? Well, here is how Matthew continues the story . . .
Jesus answered, “If you had a sheep that fell into a well on the Sabbath, wouldn’t you work to pull it out? Of course you would. And how much more valuable is a person than a sheep! Yes, the law permits a person to do good on the Sabbath.”
Jesus knew the answer before he asked it. He knew that unless one’s life was in danger, it was absolutely forbidden to heal on the Sabbath because it was regarded as an act of work. But Jesus was wise. He said there is no time so sacred that it cannot be used for helping someone in pain. In the eyes of Jesus, there are no insiders and outsiders. We are one—one nature, one flesh, one grief, and one hope.
Harold Kushner writes, “Life is not a trap set for us by God, so that He can condemn us for failing. Life is not a spelling bee, where no matter how many words you have gotten right, if you make one mistake you are disqualified. Life is more like baseball season, where even the best team loses one third of its games and even the worst team has its days of brilliance. Our goal is not to go all year without every losing a game. Our goal is to win more than we lose, and if we can do that consistently enough, then when the end comes, we will have won it all . . . But at the end, if we are brave enough to love, if we are strong enough to forgive, if we are generous enough to rejoice in another’s happiness, and if we are wise enough to know that there is enough love to go around for us all, then we can achieve a fulfillment that no other living creature will ever know.”
Jesus was brave enough to love, strong enough to forgive, and wise enough to show God’s love. Listen to what he does next.
Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” So the man held out his hand, and it was restored, just like the other one!
If you were here last week, I said that Matthew wrote his gospel as a liturgical text. Jewish Christians wanted to hear stories about Jesus during their worship services, so Matthew took stories about Jesus and lined them up with events in the Jewish calendar. The next event on the Jewish calendar is Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement. It starts Friday at sundown. In Matthew’s church, this reading from Matthew 12 would have been read at Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is day that reminds worshippers of their alienation and their need to be right with God and other people. Yom Kippur is the day when God is reconciled with creation. It’s a day for God to be merciful, to pardon, to cleanse and to forgive. It’s the day when God revives the dead.
Early Christians understood Jesus through the lens of Yom Kippur. Jesus enters that which the world deems as impure and restores the victims to wholeness. Jesus walks into the realm of sickness. He cleanses and redeems withered people who need a touch from God.
I just need to ask you – are there any withered-hand people out there today? Outcasts who feel out of place? Any who feel rejected or misunderstood. Any who have been made to feel like dirt? Is there anyone here who is hurting? Are you sick? Are you unsure of the future? Are you tired of being asked to give up who you are in order to become what someone else wants you to be? Are you living a life of withered hands? Withered hopes? Withered relationships. Withered faith?
If so, then I invite you to come. This morning, I offer anointing with oil as a symbol of God’s love, forgiveness, and blessing. As we sing the hymn, you are invited to come forward and receive the laying on of hands and anointing with oil. We use oil as a symbol of the Holy Spirit who us here in this place, bringing us to wholeness and unity. You can receive anointing and a word of blessing, or just one. If you choose to remain in your seats, I ask that you do so prayerfully.
We all need a touch from Jesus – the Reviver of The Dead. Jesus revives dead hands and dead religion. Jesus gives us life. If you would like to receive anointing and prayer as a statement of your desire for healing, wholeness – if you would like to have tangible symbol of God’s love, please come.
Sermon for September 9, 2007
“Therefore You Shall Choose Life”
Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Matthew 11:1-6
In a tiny house lived a mother and her two children — a girl and a boy. The mother loved her children and worked hard to support them. Their house was very small — barely big enough for the three of them — but it had a little yard. In that little yard, the family had a modest garden that provided some food. They had a couple of chickens that gave them eggs. And in that small yard they had a duck. The duck was precious. The duck would one day be dinner for the little family.
On one spring day, the boy was in the tiny backyard throwing rocks, as little boys like to do. His young hands were barely as big as the rocks he threw, and his aim was not as sure as his desire. For a while, he threw them at a mark on the fence, missing it nearly every time. Then a voice from somewhere inside him told him to throw a rock at the duck. He threw the rock, and for once his aim was true. He killed that duck.
The boy was horrified. In panic, he began thinking about how to cover up his mistake when his sister came out from behind the chicken coop. “I saw you throw that rock,” she said, “and I saw you kill that duck.” The boy looked at his sister with fear as she said to him, “I won’t tell Mama what you did, but you have to do something for me. You have to pull me around the neighborhood in our wagon this summer.” And the boy, conquered by fear and shame, agreed. All summer, he pulled his little sister around in the wagon. Around the yard. Around the house. Around the neighborhood. He would be playing with his friends when his little sister would appear and say three words, “Pull the wagon.” And he would. Or he would be reading on the back steps when he’d hear those words, “Pull the wagon.” And he would. All summer he bore the weight of his guilt and his shame in that wagon.
One particularly hot August day, the boy had been pulling his sister around in the wagon all
day. In a spare moment, he went into the house for a glass of water. He saw his mother standing at the sink, washing the dishes. She greeted him warmly, and returned to her work. He sidled up to her quietly as she stood at the sink, and leaned his little body against hers, his head barely reaching her waist.
“Mama,” the boy began, tears beginning to stream down his face. “I killed your duck. I killed him, Mama. I didn’t mean to. I was throwing rocks and I hit him. I know it was wrong. I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry.” The little boy could barely stand, so deep was his grief and his shame, so strong was his sorrow. The mother looked down at the boy. She wiped her hands on her apron, and knelt down and drew her son into her arms. “Son,” she said. “I know you killed that duck. I was standing here at this window when it happened. And I’ve watched you pull that wagon all over creation this summer. I have been waiting for you to tell me. I love you. I forgive you. All is well between us.”
Well, the boy felt so freed up that his feet rose off the ground and the top of his head nearly touched the sky. Just then, his little sister came in, looking for him. When she saw him, she barked the words that had kept the boy imprisoned all summer: “Pull the wagon.” The boy turned to her, looked her squarely in the eye and said, “Little sister, I have gone to Mama and I have gotten my duck business fixed. I am not pulling that wagon anymore.”
Are you pulling a wagon load of something around this morning? Does shame weigh your feet down and prevent you from full life? Has your heart been deprived of dancing?
We all need some healing. Every one of us needs forgiveness in order to take on new life. However, just because we need it doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s hard to come to God -- not humiliated but with humility -- and to admit our failings. Our deep difficulty with repentance makes it almost impossible for us to feel forgiven. Repentance is probably one of the bitterest words in the lexicon of manipulation. Churches and church leaders have used this word to shame, divide, hurt, and cast out. This word has been used to plant the corrosive idea that our very beings are not good -- that God created us bad and we’ll never be good enough. That’s not what we’re talking about today.
Let me be clear about this: carrying around guilt and shame is not about God. It is about us. Like Mama in the story I told, God waits at the window, watching, hoping. As long as we pull the wagon, as long as we decide to haul our heavy burdens around, we cannot accept that love. We are the ones holding onto the troubles. We are afraid that if we admit we did something wrong, we will give up our last shred of pride and we won’t have anything left. So we get stuck. You have to give up your old comfortable life of pain to get the new uncomfortable life of joy.
There is a Jewish holiday coming up this Thursday at sundown. It’s called Rosh Hashanah – the Jewish New Year. The holiday begins with the blast of the shofar, or ram’s horn. The blast calls worshipers to a period of eight days of self-examination known as “The Days of Awe.” This time of reflection and repentance prepares worshipers for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. This is a season to examine the hearts to see if one is truly living for God as we should.
We could use a little Rosh Hashanah in our lives – some time to think about our dead ducks and the wagons we pull out of fear, or shame or embarrassment -- to think about how we have devalued our selves, and our fellow human beings -- to prepare ourselves for the task of asking forgiveness and making things right. It’s about choosing life.
In Matthew’s Gospel, we hear something about the call to new life by giving up tired ways of living. Matthew was probably a Jewish scribe or teacher who wrote to a group of Jewish worshipers who believed that Jesus was the Messiah. The people who first heard Matthew’s Gospel would have known all about Rosh Hashanah. They would have been listening for the blast of the shofar. In Matthew’s Gospel, John the Baptist is the human shofar who calls people to new beginnings. Imagine this scene: a group of early Jews who have become Christians. Its about 100 AD. Their lives are knit into the Jewish calendar. When they go to their churches, they want to hear stories about Jesus during their Sabbath services. So Matthew may have written his gospel to be read during the Jewish liturgical year. The reading for Rosh Hashanah in Matthew’s church would have been this episode from chapter 11. In today’s reading, John, the voice crying out in the wilderness, sends some of his followers to ask Jesus if he is really the One – the expected Messiah. Jesus answers by quoting Isaiah. “The blind see, the lame walk. Lepers are cleansed. The deaf hear. The dead are raised. The wretched of the earth learn that God is on their side. Is this what you were expecting? Then count yourselves most blessed!” This is the Rosh Hashanah message. When you look to Jesus, you will see the signs and know that the kingdom of God is at hand.
In our reading from Deuteronomy, God says these words: “Look at what I’ve done for you today: I’ve placed in front of you Life and Good, Death and Evil. Choose life so that you and your children will live.” What else can we do?
What else can we do when we run out of gas? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when life seems barren and drained of color and taste, when the landscape that used to thrill us with its beauty, now lies before us flat and dull? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when we finally admit to ourselves that we really don’t care about the things we used to care about anymore? Yet here we are in the life or the job or the marriage that we got into when we did care; here we are, daily required to promote feelings and principles that we once fervently believed, but which we now no longer believe. What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when we are daily afflicted with a sense of having sold out-- of going through the motions, of doing something we don’t really believe in? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when our life becomes characterized by a sense of meaninglessness, by a loss of passion, by fatigue and depression? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do, that is, besides drink ourselves into oblivion, drug ourselves insensate, drown ourselves in shopping or television or sports, or try to simulate passion for objects instead of relationships? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when our religious life begins to feel this way; when we avoid God out of fear or shame. What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when worship no longer brings us into a sense of communion with God? What else can we do when the words of our prayers no longer mean anything to us, but rather, grate on us? What else can we do? Choose life.
And what if we tell God what we’ve really done and how we’re really feeling and God gets angry? Or shames us? Or exposes us as nasty fakers? If you’ve ever been shamed by parents, or spouses, or teachers, or coaches, you may not deeply, honestly believe that God is like no one else. If you’ve been the tool to someone else’s pride, you may not believe that God can love you and expect nothing else in return.
Listen to the good news. God is fully invested in you. Jesus has come to give sight to those who cannot see their way to wholeness. Jesus speaks a word of love to those whose ears have become deafened by the abuse of others. Those who feel crippled by life can get up and walk. Those who feel dead can now choose life so that they may live.
God forgives you already. It is up to you to make room and receive that love. If you want healing, you have to admit you are broken. If you want God’s grace and love, you have to admit you need it. And your God, who loved you since before you were born, your God who is standing at the window watching you pull your wagon, your God is waiting for you to be loved, forgiven, and healed. Trust God to love you and forgive you like no one else can, for God in Christ loves even you, and nothing will ever change that.
Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Matthew 11:1-6
In a tiny house lived a mother and her two children — a girl and a boy. The mother loved her children and worked hard to support them. Their house was very small — barely big enough for the three of them — but it had a little yard. In that little yard, the family had a modest garden that provided some food. They had a couple of chickens that gave them eggs. And in that small yard they had a duck. The duck was precious. The duck would one day be dinner for the little family.
On one spring day, the boy was in the tiny backyard throwing rocks, as little boys like to do. His young hands were barely as big as the rocks he threw, and his aim was not as sure as his desire. For a while, he threw them at a mark on the fence, missing it nearly every time. Then a voice from somewhere inside him told him to throw a rock at the duck. He threw the rock, and for once his aim was true. He killed that duck.
The boy was horrified. In panic, he began thinking about how to cover up his mistake when his sister came out from behind the chicken coop. “I saw you throw that rock,” she said, “and I saw you kill that duck.” The boy looked at his sister with fear as she said to him, “I won’t tell Mama what you did, but you have to do something for me. You have to pull me around the neighborhood in our wagon this summer.” And the boy, conquered by fear and shame, agreed. All summer, he pulled his little sister around in the wagon. Around the yard. Around the house. Around the neighborhood. He would be playing with his friends when his little sister would appear and say three words, “Pull the wagon.” And he would. Or he would be reading on the back steps when he’d hear those words, “Pull the wagon.” And he would. All summer he bore the weight of his guilt and his shame in that wagon.
One particularly hot August day, the boy had been pulling his sister around in the wagon all
day. In a spare moment, he went into the house for a glass of water. He saw his mother standing at the sink, washing the dishes. She greeted him warmly, and returned to her work. He sidled up to her quietly as she stood at the sink, and leaned his little body against hers, his head barely reaching her waist.
“Mama,” the boy began, tears beginning to stream down his face. “I killed your duck. I killed him, Mama. I didn’t mean to. I was throwing rocks and I hit him. I know it was wrong. I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry.” The little boy could barely stand, so deep was his grief and his shame, so strong was his sorrow. The mother looked down at the boy. She wiped her hands on her apron, and knelt down and drew her son into her arms. “Son,” she said. “I know you killed that duck. I was standing here at this window when it happened. And I’ve watched you pull that wagon all over creation this summer. I have been waiting for you to tell me. I love you. I forgive you. All is well between us.”
Well, the boy felt so freed up that his feet rose off the ground and the top of his head nearly touched the sky. Just then, his little sister came in, looking for him. When she saw him, she barked the words that had kept the boy imprisoned all summer: “Pull the wagon.” The boy turned to her, looked her squarely in the eye and said, “Little sister, I have gone to Mama and I have gotten my duck business fixed. I am not pulling that wagon anymore.”
Are you pulling a wagon load of something around this morning? Does shame weigh your feet down and prevent you from full life? Has your heart been deprived of dancing?
We all need some healing. Every one of us needs forgiveness in order to take on new life. However, just because we need it doesn’t mean it’s easy. It’s hard to come to God -- not humiliated but with humility -- and to admit our failings. Our deep difficulty with repentance makes it almost impossible for us to feel forgiven. Repentance is probably one of the bitterest words in the lexicon of manipulation. Churches and church leaders have used this word to shame, divide, hurt, and cast out. This word has been used to plant the corrosive idea that our very beings are not good -- that God created us bad and we’ll never be good enough. That’s not what we’re talking about today.
Let me be clear about this: carrying around guilt and shame is not about God. It is about us. Like Mama in the story I told, God waits at the window, watching, hoping. As long as we pull the wagon, as long as we decide to haul our heavy burdens around, we cannot accept that love. We are the ones holding onto the troubles. We are afraid that if we admit we did something wrong, we will give up our last shred of pride and we won’t have anything left. So we get stuck. You have to give up your old comfortable life of pain to get the new uncomfortable life of joy.
There is a Jewish holiday coming up this Thursday at sundown. It’s called Rosh Hashanah – the Jewish New Year. The holiday begins with the blast of the shofar, or ram’s horn. The blast calls worshipers to a period of eight days of self-examination known as “The Days of Awe.” This time of reflection and repentance prepares worshipers for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. This is a season to examine the hearts to see if one is truly living for God as we should.
We could use a little Rosh Hashanah in our lives – some time to think about our dead ducks and the wagons we pull out of fear, or shame or embarrassment -- to think about how we have devalued our selves, and our fellow human beings -- to prepare ourselves for the task of asking forgiveness and making things right. It’s about choosing life.
In Matthew’s Gospel, we hear something about the call to new life by giving up tired ways of living. Matthew was probably a Jewish scribe or teacher who wrote to a group of Jewish worshipers who believed that Jesus was the Messiah. The people who first heard Matthew’s Gospel would have known all about Rosh Hashanah. They would have been listening for the blast of the shofar. In Matthew’s Gospel, John the Baptist is the human shofar who calls people to new beginnings. Imagine this scene: a group of early Jews who have become Christians. Its about 100 AD. Their lives are knit into the Jewish calendar. When they go to their churches, they want to hear stories about Jesus during their Sabbath services. So Matthew may have written his gospel to be read during the Jewish liturgical year. The reading for Rosh Hashanah in Matthew’s church would have been this episode from chapter 11. In today’s reading, John, the voice crying out in the wilderness, sends some of his followers to ask Jesus if he is really the One – the expected Messiah. Jesus answers by quoting Isaiah. “The blind see, the lame walk. Lepers are cleansed. The deaf hear. The dead are raised. The wretched of the earth learn that God is on their side. Is this what you were expecting? Then count yourselves most blessed!” This is the Rosh Hashanah message. When you look to Jesus, you will see the signs and know that the kingdom of God is at hand.
In our reading from Deuteronomy, God says these words: “Look at what I’ve done for you today: I’ve placed in front of you Life and Good, Death and Evil. Choose life so that you and your children will live.” What else can we do?
What else can we do when we run out of gas? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when life seems barren and drained of color and taste, when the landscape that used to thrill us with its beauty, now lies before us flat and dull? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when we finally admit to ourselves that we really don’t care about the things we used to care about anymore? Yet here we are in the life or the job or the marriage that we got into when we did care; here we are, daily required to promote feelings and principles that we once fervently believed, but which we now no longer believe. What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when we are daily afflicted with a sense of having sold out-- of going through the motions, of doing something we don’t really believe in? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when our life becomes characterized by a sense of meaninglessness, by a loss of passion, by fatigue and depression? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do, that is, besides drink ourselves into oblivion, drug ourselves insensate, drown ourselves in shopping or television or sports, or try to simulate passion for objects instead of relationships? What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when our religious life begins to feel this way; when we avoid God out of fear or shame. What else can we do? Choose life.
What else can we do when worship no longer brings us into a sense of communion with God? What else can we do when the words of our prayers no longer mean anything to us, but rather, grate on us? What else can we do? Choose life.
And what if we tell God what we’ve really done and how we’re really feeling and God gets angry? Or shames us? Or exposes us as nasty fakers? If you’ve ever been shamed by parents, or spouses, or teachers, or coaches, you may not deeply, honestly believe that God is like no one else. If you’ve been the tool to someone else’s pride, you may not believe that God can love you and expect nothing else in return.
Listen to the good news. God is fully invested in you. Jesus has come to give sight to those who cannot see their way to wholeness. Jesus speaks a word of love to those whose ears have become deafened by the abuse of others. Those who feel crippled by life can get up and walk. Those who feel dead can now choose life so that they may live.
God forgives you already. It is up to you to make room and receive that love. If you want healing, you have to admit you are broken. If you want God’s grace and love, you have to admit you need it. And your God, who loved you since before you were born, your God who is standing at the window watching you pull your wagon, your God is waiting for you to be loved, forgiven, and healed. Trust God to love you and forgive you like no one else can, for God in Christ loves even you, and nothing will ever change that.
Sermon for August 19, 2007
The Messiah is Among You
Matthew 10:40-42
A famous monastery fell on hard times. Once its buildings filled with young monks and its huge chapel resounded with the singing of the choir. Now it was deserted. People no longer came there to be nourished by prayer. A handful of old monks shuffled through the cloisters with heavy hearts. On the edge of the monastery woods, an old rabbi had built a tiny hut. He would come there from time to time to fast and pray. No one ever spoke with him, but whenever he appeared the word would be passed from monk to monk: The rabbi walks in the woods. And, for as long as he was there, the monks would feel sustained by his prayerful presence. One day the abbot decided to visit the rabbi and open his heart to him. After the morning Eucharist, he set out through the woods. As he approached the hut, the abbot saw the rabbi standing in the doorway, his arms outstretched in welcome. It was as though he had been waiting there for some time. The two embraced like long-lost brothers. Then they stepped back and just stood there, smiling at one another with smiles their faces could hardly contain. After a while, the rabbi motioned the abbot to enter. In the middle of the room was a wooden table with the Scriptures open on it. They sat there for a moment, in the presence of the Book. Then the rabbi began to cry. The abbot could not contain himself. He covered his face with his hands and began to cry, too. For the first time in his life, he cried his heart out. The two men sat there like lost children, filling the hut with their sobs and moistening the wood of the table with their tears. After the tears had ceased to flow and all was quiet, the rabbi lifted his head. “You and your brothers are serving God with heavy hearts,” he said. “You have come to ask a teaching of me. I will give you a teaching, but you can only repeat it once. After that, no one must ever say it aloud again.” The rabbi looked straight at the abbot and said, “The Messiah is among you.”
For a while, all was silent. Then the rabbi said, “Now you must go.” The abbot left without ever looking back. The next morning, the abbot called his monks together. He told them that he received a teaching from the rabbi who walks in the woods, and that this teaching was never again to be spoken aloud. Then he looked at each of his brothers and said, “The rabbi said that one of us is the Messiah.” The monks were startled by this saying. “What could it mean?” they asked themselves. “Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, which one? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly, Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly, he could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I?” They were all deeply puzzled by the rabbi’s teaching. But no one ever mentioned it again.
As time went by, though, something unusual began to happen at the monastery. The monks began to treat one another with a very special reverence. There was a gentle, human quality about them now which was hard to describe, but easy to notice. They lived with one another as brothers who had finally found something. They prayed over the Scriptures together as those who were still looking for something. Visitors found themselves deeply moved by the genuine caring and sharing that went on among the brothers. Before long, people came from far and wide to be nourished by the prayer life of these monks. Young men were asked to become part of the community. The rabbi no longer walked in the woods. His hut has fallen into ruins. But the older monks who learned his teaching still feel sustained by his prayerful presence.
The followers of Jesus, both then and now, are sent to find the presence of the Messiah among us. Today’s reading represents Jesus’ closing comments to his disciples before he sends them out on a missionary journey. Let’s remind ourselves what’s happened in this passage up to this point. First, Jesus gives his followers their mission: preach, heal the sick, raise the dead, and drive out demons. What you have heard from me, Jesus says, shout it from the rooftops. Next, he warns them of the dangers ahead: People will turn against you. They will hurt you. Your family relationships and social network will be destroyed–but God is watching out for you. So do not be afraid. Then Jesus says, take up your cross and follow me.
Jesus concludes his pep-talk by telling his followers what the outcome of all this will be. Even though they have a difficult task ahead, even though they will be rejected by many, there are those who will receive and welcome the disciples as guests. To receive one of Christ’s followers will be just like receiving the master himself. Jewish people would have been very familiar with this concept. The Rabbis used to say, “He who greets a learned person is as if he greeted God.” The Jews always felt that showing hospitality to the ambassador was the same as receiving and welcoming the king who sent him. Now the disciples are being sent as Christ’s ambassadors. Any honor paid to the disciples will also overflow to God the Father through Jesus.
Jesus reminds us that if you welcome a good person who walks in step the will of God, you are agreeing with that person’s basic ideas. You recognize the truth of the message or the truth of the person’s lifestyle, and you make yourself ready to bring about goodness in your own life. You may not be the great prophet. You may not even be the person walking closely with God. But, if you can notice how God is working in others and receive God’s presence in another–if you can welcome and respond to it, then you will be rewarded.
Jesus then turns his teaching to how a follower should treat a person with no status–God’s little ones. Jesus talks about giving a drink to a person who is usually ignored. He’s speaking about giving the smallest imaginable gift to the most undistinguished of people. God notices even the smallest acts of service to those who are dismissed by the rest of the community as inconsequential and unimportant. You know, it’s nice to be recognized by the greatest, but Jesus reminds us that those who respond to the smallest needs of the humblest of his people will also be rewarded.
Wonderfully surprising things can happen when we take some time to look at those around us and notice that the Messiah is among us. Our perspective changes when we take time to see the Christ-like qualities in one another.
This is harder than it sounds. I am likely to find a person’s bad qualities before I look for the presence of Christ. I will think of ways to criticize another, or find reasons to convince myself of how I am better than the other person. I think this attitude saddens the heart of God and stifles the presence of the Spirit. Biblical hospitality is about welcoming the stranger, seeing Christ in the insignificant, and humbling myself in the presence of greatness. The twist is that the greatness I need to recognize in others comes from the presence and calling of Christ, not a person’s social status, family reputation, or job title. My job is to order my inner life in such a way that when I meet any person, Christian or not, I am looking into his or her eyes, walking in his or her shoes, and opening myself up to the possibility that this person is an embodiment of God’s presence for me today.
I’m looking at a person and seeing Christ-like qualities.
· “Wow, that mean old church person really sacrificed something important to so that this could be possible.” OR
· “Every time that person speaks to me, something stirs inside of me and awakens me to the movement of God in my life.” OR
· “I didn’t know that person has such a gentle, giving spirit. I never took the time to find that out.” OR
· “That teen-ager has such an inspiring faith.” OR
· “That child has such spirit-filled, simple wisdom.”
When we reach out and serve one another, we serve Christ. And the environment changes. We receive God’s reward. There will be a gentle, human quality about us which will be hard to describe, but easy to notice. Visitors will find themselves deeply moved by the genuine caring and sharing that goes on among us. We will be nourished by our prayer life together, and our need to explore Scripture together as we are sustained by the presence of God. It all begins with a simple but unnatural act of welcome. Remember, the Messiah is among us. In the name of God the Father who forms us, Christ who calls us, and the Spirit who opens our eyes, ears and hearts.
Matthew 10:40-42
A famous monastery fell on hard times. Once its buildings filled with young monks and its huge chapel resounded with the singing of the choir. Now it was deserted. People no longer came there to be nourished by prayer. A handful of old monks shuffled through the cloisters with heavy hearts. On the edge of the monastery woods, an old rabbi had built a tiny hut. He would come there from time to time to fast and pray. No one ever spoke with him, but whenever he appeared the word would be passed from monk to monk: The rabbi walks in the woods. And, for as long as he was there, the monks would feel sustained by his prayerful presence. One day the abbot decided to visit the rabbi and open his heart to him. After the morning Eucharist, he set out through the woods. As he approached the hut, the abbot saw the rabbi standing in the doorway, his arms outstretched in welcome. It was as though he had been waiting there for some time. The two embraced like long-lost brothers. Then they stepped back and just stood there, smiling at one another with smiles their faces could hardly contain. After a while, the rabbi motioned the abbot to enter. In the middle of the room was a wooden table with the Scriptures open on it. They sat there for a moment, in the presence of the Book. Then the rabbi began to cry. The abbot could not contain himself. He covered his face with his hands and began to cry, too. For the first time in his life, he cried his heart out. The two men sat there like lost children, filling the hut with their sobs and moistening the wood of the table with their tears. After the tears had ceased to flow and all was quiet, the rabbi lifted his head. “You and your brothers are serving God with heavy hearts,” he said. “You have come to ask a teaching of me. I will give you a teaching, but you can only repeat it once. After that, no one must ever say it aloud again.” The rabbi looked straight at the abbot and said, “The Messiah is among you.”
For a while, all was silent. Then the rabbi said, “Now you must go.” The abbot left without ever looking back. The next morning, the abbot called his monks together. He told them that he received a teaching from the rabbi who walks in the woods, and that this teaching was never again to be spoken aloud. Then he looked at each of his brothers and said, “The rabbi said that one of us is the Messiah.” The monks were startled by this saying. “What could it mean?” they asked themselves. “Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, which one? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly, Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly, he could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I?” They were all deeply puzzled by the rabbi’s teaching. But no one ever mentioned it again.
As time went by, though, something unusual began to happen at the monastery. The monks began to treat one another with a very special reverence. There was a gentle, human quality about them now which was hard to describe, but easy to notice. They lived with one another as brothers who had finally found something. They prayed over the Scriptures together as those who were still looking for something. Visitors found themselves deeply moved by the genuine caring and sharing that went on among the brothers. Before long, people came from far and wide to be nourished by the prayer life of these monks. Young men were asked to become part of the community. The rabbi no longer walked in the woods. His hut has fallen into ruins. But the older monks who learned his teaching still feel sustained by his prayerful presence.
The followers of Jesus, both then and now, are sent to find the presence of the Messiah among us. Today’s reading represents Jesus’ closing comments to his disciples before he sends them out on a missionary journey. Let’s remind ourselves what’s happened in this passage up to this point. First, Jesus gives his followers their mission: preach, heal the sick, raise the dead, and drive out demons. What you have heard from me, Jesus says, shout it from the rooftops. Next, he warns them of the dangers ahead: People will turn against you. They will hurt you. Your family relationships and social network will be destroyed–but God is watching out for you. So do not be afraid. Then Jesus says, take up your cross and follow me.
Jesus concludes his pep-talk by telling his followers what the outcome of all this will be. Even though they have a difficult task ahead, even though they will be rejected by many, there are those who will receive and welcome the disciples as guests. To receive one of Christ’s followers will be just like receiving the master himself. Jewish people would have been very familiar with this concept. The Rabbis used to say, “He who greets a learned person is as if he greeted God.” The Jews always felt that showing hospitality to the ambassador was the same as receiving and welcoming the king who sent him. Now the disciples are being sent as Christ’s ambassadors. Any honor paid to the disciples will also overflow to God the Father through Jesus.
Jesus reminds us that if you welcome a good person who walks in step the will of God, you are agreeing with that person’s basic ideas. You recognize the truth of the message or the truth of the person’s lifestyle, and you make yourself ready to bring about goodness in your own life. You may not be the great prophet. You may not even be the person walking closely with God. But, if you can notice how God is working in others and receive God’s presence in another–if you can welcome and respond to it, then you will be rewarded.
Jesus then turns his teaching to how a follower should treat a person with no status–God’s little ones. Jesus talks about giving a drink to a person who is usually ignored. He’s speaking about giving the smallest imaginable gift to the most undistinguished of people. God notices even the smallest acts of service to those who are dismissed by the rest of the community as inconsequential and unimportant. You know, it’s nice to be recognized by the greatest, but Jesus reminds us that those who respond to the smallest needs of the humblest of his people will also be rewarded.
Wonderfully surprising things can happen when we take some time to look at those around us and notice that the Messiah is among us. Our perspective changes when we take time to see the Christ-like qualities in one another.
This is harder than it sounds. I am likely to find a person’s bad qualities before I look for the presence of Christ. I will think of ways to criticize another, or find reasons to convince myself of how I am better than the other person. I think this attitude saddens the heart of God and stifles the presence of the Spirit. Biblical hospitality is about welcoming the stranger, seeing Christ in the insignificant, and humbling myself in the presence of greatness. The twist is that the greatness I need to recognize in others comes from the presence and calling of Christ, not a person’s social status, family reputation, or job title. My job is to order my inner life in such a way that when I meet any person, Christian or not, I am looking into his or her eyes, walking in his or her shoes, and opening myself up to the possibility that this person is an embodiment of God’s presence for me today.
I’m looking at a person and seeing Christ-like qualities.
· “Wow, that mean old church person really sacrificed something important to so that this could be possible.” OR
· “Every time that person speaks to me, something stirs inside of me and awakens me to the movement of God in my life.” OR
· “I didn’t know that person has such a gentle, giving spirit. I never took the time to find that out.” OR
· “That teen-ager has such an inspiring faith.” OR
· “That child has such spirit-filled, simple wisdom.”
When we reach out and serve one another, we serve Christ. And the environment changes. We receive God’s reward. There will be a gentle, human quality about us which will be hard to describe, but easy to notice. Visitors will find themselves deeply moved by the genuine caring and sharing that goes on among us. We will be nourished by our prayer life together, and our need to explore Scripture together as we are sustained by the presence of God. It all begins with a simple but unnatural act of welcome. Remember, the Messiah is among us. In the name of God the Father who forms us, Christ who calls us, and the Spirit who opens our eyes, ears and hearts.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Sermon for August 12, 2007
Sometimes We Need Snakes
Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21
Do you like snakes? Not many do. I can think of no other creature on the face of the planet that so universally brings forth a sense of revulsion and disgust. When we used to live near Boston there was a woman named “the Snake Lady” She adopted sick and crippled boa constrictors and brought them on tour to schools and other groups for education where she would cuddle them and tell the stories of their previous abuse. She came to one of our church picnics once, causing one of the older members of the church to have a panic attack. True or not, many think of snakes as slimy and nasty. And as our Old Testament lesson reminds, snakes can also be dangerous.
It seems that the children of Israel, in the midst of their wilderness wandering, stumbled to a location south of the Dead Sea that was infamous for its lethal snakes. “Big deal,” they no doubt thought. “Why should we expect anything different? This trip has been one big fiasco from beginning to end.” In the Hebrew Bible, our book of Numbers is more accurately entitled, “In the Wilderness.” The account begins about a year after the Exodus. God tells Moses to take a census of the people to determine the NUMBER of men available for combat (thus the name “Numbers”). After the census, the children of Israel set out for the Promised Land.
It did not take long for mutinous muttering to begin. Their diet of manna was becoming stale. God has supplied those small round grains that appeared around the Israelites’ camp each morning. They were ground and baked into cakes or boiled into a bread called manna. But now they were weary of manna . The mumbled, “How about some MEAT, Moses? Egypt may not have been perfect, but at least we had some fish every so often...not to mention cucumbers and melons and leeks and onions, even garlic. Give us some meat.”
So Moses said to God, “Why are you treating me this way? What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Did I conceive them? Was I their mother? So why dump the responsibility of this people on me? Where am I supposed to get meat for all these people who are whining to me, ‘Give us meat; we want meat.’ I can’t do this by myself—it’s too much, all these people. If this is how you intend to treat me, do me a favor and kill me. I’ve seen enough; I’ve had enough. Let me out of here.” (Numbers 11:11-15).
Poor Moses. God says that some help would be forthcoming Quail. God says, “Oh, You’re going to eat meat. And it’s not just for a day that you’ll eat meat, and not two days, or five or ten or twenty, but for a whole month. You’re going to eat meat until it’s coming out your nostrils. You’re going to be so sick of meat that you’ll throw up at the mere mention of it.” (Num. 11:19-20a). So there!
The wilderness wandering continues. They arrived at the border of Canaan and were instructed to send in a spy squad for a 40-day reconnaissance run. The spies reported a land “flowing with milk and honey”, but also populated by menacing giants. Again, the weeping and wailing winds up. “All the People of Israel grumbled against Moses. The entire community was in on it: “Why didn’t we die in Egypt? Or in this wilderness? Why has GOD brought us to this country to kill us? Our wives and children are about to become plunder. Why don’t we just head back to Egypt? And right now!” (Num. 14:2-3) They wanted to choose a new leader to replace Moses, someone who would take them back to the Pharaoh.
By now, God is getting steamed. The LORD says to Moses, “How long will these people treat me like dirt? How long refuse to trust me? And with all these signs I’ve done among them! I’ve had enough—I’m going to hit them with a plague and kill them. But I’ll make you into a nation bigger and stronger than they ever were.” (Num. 14:11-12).
Once more, Moses steps in on the people’s behalf, calms God down and promises not to wipe Israel out. But there would be a price: the wilderness wandering would continue for 40 years.
The story doesn’t end there. More grumbling. One outright mutiny against Moses’ leadership ended up costing the lives of almost 15,000 people in a plague. And still the people complain. In today’s reading, the end of the long journey is near. The children of Israel have encamp in this desert region that is infamous for the snakes. The bellyaching begins: “Moses, why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable manna.” Their venomous tongues would be repaid in kind... with more venom. And people began to die. The Israelites come to Moses, finally admitting that they have done wrong: “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you.” Aha! All the twelve-step programs tell us that the only way to correct a problem is to recognize that you have it. They agree that their mouths have gotten them into this trouble. “Now Moses, please, please, please pray to the LORD to take away the serpents from us.”
So he does. Moses prays and receives this strange command about making a bronze image of a serpent and hanging it on a pole in the center of the camp. Then he is to inform the people that anyone who is bitten will survive if he or she will just cast their eyes toward the snake. Strange. Why not just get rid of the snakes? Was this God’s way of saying that healing will not come until we recognize the disease? So, the prescription was given - Look and Live - and they did. And the grumbling finally stopped.
Jesus recalled the story one night in a Jerusalem garden in a conversation with Nicodemus. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” It was a wonderful word of love and grace. One might wish that this encounter in the desert with serious venom would have marked the absolute end of venomous complaining and criticizing among God’s people, but we know it did not. Complaining continues, even to this day, despite the fact that it does no one any good. Sometimes we might NEED snakes.
There is a story of three men who live on a ranch out West, the father John, the sons, Jake and Joe. They never had any use for the church until one day Jake is bitten by a rattlesnake. The doctor is summoned, but the prognosis is not good. Jake is going to die. The younger son is sent to bring the preacher. When he arrives, the parson is asked to offer a prayer for Jake: “O Father God, we give you thanks that you have sent this snake to bite Jake. It has brought him to seek you. We ask, Lord, that you would send another snake to bite Joe and a really big one to bite the old man, so that they, too, might come to seek you. We thank you for your providence and ask that you send among us bigger and better rattlesnakes. Amen.”
Some years ago, an insightful watcher of the church by the name of Mike Yaconelli, wrote an article called “The Tyranny of Trivia.” Some of his observations remind me of our ancient desert wanderers as well as our own situation. Listen:
Time for the church to get the focus back. To Look and Live. And to remember how contagious that sort of thing is: look up, and everyone else wants to look up with you. What’s the point? This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life.
Look up and live!
Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21
Do you like snakes? Not many do. I can think of no other creature on the face of the planet that so universally brings forth a sense of revulsion and disgust. When we used to live near Boston there was a woman named “the Snake Lady” She adopted sick and crippled boa constrictors and brought them on tour to schools and other groups for education where she would cuddle them and tell the stories of their previous abuse. She came to one of our church picnics once, causing one of the older members of the church to have a panic attack. True or not, many think of snakes as slimy and nasty. And as our Old Testament lesson reminds, snakes can also be dangerous.
It seems that the children of Israel, in the midst of their wilderness wandering, stumbled to a location south of the Dead Sea that was infamous for its lethal snakes. “Big deal,” they no doubt thought. “Why should we expect anything different? This trip has been one big fiasco from beginning to end.” In the Hebrew Bible, our book of Numbers is more accurately entitled, “In the Wilderness.” The account begins about a year after the Exodus. God tells Moses to take a census of the people to determine the NUMBER of men available for combat (thus the name “Numbers”). After the census, the children of Israel set out for the Promised Land.
It did not take long for mutinous muttering to begin. Their diet of manna was becoming stale. God has supplied those small round grains that appeared around the Israelites’ camp each morning. They were ground and baked into cakes or boiled into a bread called manna. But now they were weary of manna . The mumbled, “How about some MEAT, Moses? Egypt may not have been perfect, but at least we had some fish every so often...not to mention cucumbers and melons and leeks and onions, even garlic. Give us some meat.”
So Moses said to God, “Why are you treating me this way? What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Did I conceive them? Was I their mother? So why dump the responsibility of this people on me? Where am I supposed to get meat for all these people who are whining to me, ‘Give us meat; we want meat.’ I can’t do this by myself—it’s too much, all these people. If this is how you intend to treat me, do me a favor and kill me. I’ve seen enough; I’ve had enough. Let me out of here.” (Numbers 11:11-15).
Poor Moses. God says that some help would be forthcoming Quail. God says, “Oh, You’re going to eat meat. And it’s not just for a day that you’ll eat meat, and not two days, or five or ten or twenty, but for a whole month. You’re going to eat meat until it’s coming out your nostrils. You’re going to be so sick of meat that you’ll throw up at the mere mention of it.” (Num. 11:19-20a). So there!
The wilderness wandering continues. They arrived at the border of Canaan and were instructed to send in a spy squad for a 40-day reconnaissance run. The spies reported a land “flowing with milk and honey”, but also populated by menacing giants. Again, the weeping and wailing winds up. “All the People of Israel grumbled against Moses. The entire community was in on it: “Why didn’t we die in Egypt? Or in this wilderness? Why has GOD brought us to this country to kill us? Our wives and children are about to become plunder. Why don’t we just head back to Egypt? And right now!” (Num. 14:2-3) They wanted to choose a new leader to replace Moses, someone who would take them back to the Pharaoh.
By now, God is getting steamed. The LORD says to Moses, “How long will these people treat me like dirt? How long refuse to trust me? And with all these signs I’ve done among them! I’ve had enough—I’m going to hit them with a plague and kill them. But I’ll make you into a nation bigger and stronger than they ever were.” (Num. 14:11-12).
Once more, Moses steps in on the people’s behalf, calms God down and promises not to wipe Israel out. But there would be a price: the wilderness wandering would continue for 40 years.
The story doesn’t end there. More grumbling. One outright mutiny against Moses’ leadership ended up costing the lives of almost 15,000 people in a plague. And still the people complain. In today’s reading, the end of the long journey is near. The children of Israel have encamp in this desert region that is infamous for the snakes. The bellyaching begins: “Moses, why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable manna.” Their venomous tongues would be repaid in kind... with more venom. And people began to die. The Israelites come to Moses, finally admitting that they have done wrong: “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you.” Aha! All the twelve-step programs tell us that the only way to correct a problem is to recognize that you have it. They agree that their mouths have gotten them into this trouble. “Now Moses, please, please, please pray to the LORD to take away the serpents from us.”
So he does. Moses prays and receives this strange command about making a bronze image of a serpent and hanging it on a pole in the center of the camp. Then he is to inform the people that anyone who is bitten will survive if he or she will just cast their eyes toward the snake. Strange. Why not just get rid of the snakes? Was this God’s way of saying that healing will not come until we recognize the disease? So, the prescription was given - Look and Live - and they did. And the grumbling finally stopped.
Jesus recalled the story one night in a Jerusalem garden in a conversation with Nicodemus. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” It was a wonderful word of love and grace. One might wish that this encounter in the desert with serious venom would have marked the absolute end of venomous complaining and criticizing among God’s people, but we know it did not. Complaining continues, even to this day, despite the fact that it does no one any good. Sometimes we might NEED snakes.
There is a story of three men who live on a ranch out West, the father John, the sons, Jake and Joe. They never had any use for the church until one day Jake is bitten by a rattlesnake. The doctor is summoned, but the prognosis is not good. Jake is going to die. The younger son is sent to bring the preacher. When he arrives, the parson is asked to offer a prayer for Jake: “O Father God, we give you thanks that you have sent this snake to bite Jake. It has brought him to seek you. We ask, Lord, that you would send another snake to bite Joe and a really big one to bite the old man, so that they, too, might come to seek you. We thank you for your providence and ask that you send among us bigger and better rattlesnakes. Amen.”
Some years ago, an insightful watcher of the church by the name of Mike Yaconelli, wrote an article called “The Tyranny of Trivia.” Some of his observations remind me of our ancient desert wanderers as well as our own situation. Listen:
There is something wrong with the organized church. You know it. I know it. We all see that something is wrong -- drastically wrong. Just one semi-close look at the organized church - with its waning influence, its corruption, and its cultural impotence -- tells us that something has gone awry. But, the question is, what has gone awry? What IS wrong? I think I know . . .The problem is pettiness. Blatant pettiness.Pettiness proved a problem for ancient Israel. Yes, they focused on the brass serpent when they were supposed to and found healing. They actually held on to that brass serpent for hundreds of years. And, as the years wore on, that brass serpent became an idol to which the people brought sacrifices. Finally, the practice became so outrageous that King Hezekiah smashed the thing to pieces. It’s easy to lose focus.
Visit any local church board meeting, and you will be immediately shocked by the sheer abundance of pettiness. The flower committee chairman has decided to quit because someone didn’t check with her before they put flowers on the altar last Sunday. The Chairman of the Board is angry because a meeting was held without his knowledge. One of the elders is upset with the youth director because the youth director wants to take the church youth group to a secular Rock concert. The Women’s Kitchen committee is up in arms because, at the last youth group meeting (which has mushroomed from 15 kids to 90 kids in six months), the kids took some sugar from the kitchen. The janitor is threatening to quit because the youth group played a game on the grass over the weekend, and now the lawn needs extra work.
I can understand each and every one of the gripes mentioned above. I also understand that the same general argument is always made for each one of these gripes: “If you don’t have order, you have chaos. It sounds like a little thing, but if everyone was allowed to do ‘...,’ think what that would mean.”
Ah, yes, think what it would mean. What WOULD it mean? Probably nothing. And yet, in every church in this country, boards, ministers, and church members -- in the name of “what would this mean?” -- are running around trying to answer that very question. In other words, churches are so preoccupied with the petty, they can’t spend the time required to do what does matter. So, I would like to say what people in church leadership are apparently having a difficult time saying today: there is no excuse for pettiness in the church. Pettiness should have no place at all in any church for any reason. Petty people are . . . people who have lost their vision. They are people who have turned their eyes away from what matters and focused, instead, on what doesn’t matter...
Time for the church to get the focus back. To Look and Live. And to remember how contagious that sort of thing is: look up, and everyone else wants to look up with you. What’s the point? This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life.
Look up and live!
Sermon for August 5, 2007
The Ark Builders
Genesis 7:11-8:5
You have never heard the story of Noah until you’ve heard it from biblically illiterate Junior Highers. While I was at camp last week, we talked about the story of Noah’s Ark. Sure, we know about the flood and the rainbow, but did you know that there were mermaids and unicorns? When I asked the kids why God flooded the earth, one Jr. High girl told the group, “OK, so there were these evil men who built their house on some sand, and they wouldn’t listen to God so God sent a flood and everyone who built their house on the sand died but everyone who like built their house on the rocks lived, except the flood came over the whole earth, so they died too.” Bet you didn’t know that part! We see pictures of the animals going into the ark two by two that we don’t always pay attention to the details of the story.
I wonder what Noah must have thought after the flood–when he looked back on the months of awesome and fearful events. God gave Noah a surprise announcement that the whole creation would be destroyed by flood because it hadn’t turned out the way it was intended. In the olden days, people would settle any little disagreement with a rock to the head or a flint knife between the ribs. The times were filled with undiluted evil. The whole creation project was a wash out, so to speak, and God cleaned up everyone’s act with a bath like no one had ever seen. But the cure seemed as bad as the disease. God said to Noah, “Build an ark. Collect representatives from creation. Gather your family and you will be rescued. What’s not on the ark will be destroyed.” Noah thought about trying to change God’s mind, but God’s Voice sounded so sad, so very disappointed. It wasn’t long before the beautiful hills and valleys became nothing but dark water. After the fact, when new generations asked Noah how the long the journey lasted he would answer, “Forever.” To that day, when dark clouds rolled in and the smell of rain filled the air, the old feelings came rushing back..memories of being carried along like a single ship on an ocean of time stretching in all directions. He was filled with memories of being saved from death; being given a new chance by a loving God to be his people.
Let’s think about the disasters that surround us on a daily basis.
· We live in a world where people are desperate for spiritual truth, but they feel that they can’t find the answers they need from Christian churches.
· We live in a time when more than 30 million Americans who live in poverty–that’s more than live in the entire nations of Canada or Australia. Even worse, 40 percent of the American poor are children. For every dollar spent on ministries to the poor, a typical church spends 5 dollars on buildings and maintenance.
· In this nation, an overwhelming majority of teenagers feel disconnected from and devalued by adults.
· And we all know people are drowning in despair. Family members are fighting with one another. Our neighbors are isolated. People we know and love are broken, dying in the water, waiting for the next wave to crash upon them.
Thinking about it can give us a headache and a heartache. One thing hasn’t changed from Noah’s time until now. A drowning person can’t save himself. People need a Rescuer
Fortunately the situation is not hopeless. God never leaves people without a rescue plan! God’s solution for Noah’s day was to say, “Noah, build an ark, and be ready to gather those whom I have chosen to save.” Those ark builders did not just build a big boat. They were the vessels that brought life to a new generation. I believe God is calling us here at Trumbull Congregational Church to be ark builders. The God of creation is asking us to build vessels to rescue those who are perishing. I believe God is calling us to be modern day Noah’s–collecting God’s creation from the arms of death and leading them to life in Christ.
We are the ark builders for a new generation. My question this morning is this: What vessels can we use to bring the life of the gospel to a hurting world? What kind of containers can we use that will help people use the gospel to navigate the storms of life?
In the past the church has said, “Come on board and listen to our beautiful music. Hear an inspiring sermon. Talk with some people who care. Join a church board. Come to one of our classes. Become a church member. Come to us and you will find rest and peace.”
I think we got confused somewhere along the line. Don’t get me wrong. I love church. I’m the biggest church advocate you will ever find. But at some point we forgot that there are people around us who are dying. We got thinking that if people really wanted to get their lives together they would come to church. And when they get to church, they had better like organ music and hymns. They better like formality and liturgy, because that’s the way we do it. Where has it gotten us? We live in a time when people are more hungry for spiritual meaning than ever, yet mainline churches are losing members by the tens of thousands every year. The truth is that you can come to church for years and your life can still be miserable. You can sit in these pews week after week and still feel like you are dying inside. You can be sitting in a crowded sanctuary and be the loneliest person on the planet. The problem, as I see it, is that the church needs to cast off from the dock and get wet. Don’t expect people to just come here and get on board. Jesus calls us to weigh anchor and take off into the watery world around us.
Do you have a favorite cup? My favorite cup lately is this big, 30 oz yellow plastic tumbler. I like the way it fits my hand. The interesting thing about this containers is that I can pour water into my yellow tumbler, and the water will take the shape of the container. I can pour the same water into a different shaped cup, and the shape changes, but it’s still the same water–the recipe hasn’t changed. The containers change, but the content remains the same.
It’s the same when I serve communion. I can pour wine from one container to another, from pitcher to chalice. The wine takes the shape of the new containter, but it is still wine.
Every generation needs a container that fits its own hands and soul. Each person needs an ark to sail the storms of life. The truth is that your container might look different from mine. That’s OK. What matters is that the content is still the same. We are leading people to Jesus Christ, and He never changes. If we are serious about being ark builders, we need to be prepared to navigate the flood in vessels that we would never have considered seaworthy in the past. Our task is to offer the gospel to fill all shapes and sizes of containers. We tell the old story in new ways. Our calling is to be ark builders who help everyone, everywhere to negotiate the storm by using whatever it takes–whatever it takes-- to lead the dying to Christ.
As we come to communion this morning, we remember our Savior, Jesus, who emptied his human container so that we could have life. For those of us who have ever felt like we are drowning in the currents of life, let this meal serve as our re-introduction to our rescuer, Jesus Christ. Because of what Jesus has done for us, we respond in thanksgiving to by doing everything possible– EVERYTHING, to present the truth to the world. We are committed because we know that Jesus brings hope, healing, and life to those who are drowning.
Genesis 7:11-8:5
You have never heard the story of Noah until you’ve heard it from biblically illiterate Junior Highers. While I was at camp last week, we talked about the story of Noah’s Ark. Sure, we know about the flood and the rainbow, but did you know that there were mermaids and unicorns? When I asked the kids why God flooded the earth, one Jr. High girl told the group, “OK, so there were these evil men who built their house on some sand, and they wouldn’t listen to God so God sent a flood and everyone who built their house on the sand died but everyone who like built their house on the rocks lived, except the flood came over the whole earth, so they died too.” Bet you didn’t know that part! We see pictures of the animals going into the ark two by two that we don’t always pay attention to the details of the story.
I wonder what Noah must have thought after the flood–when he looked back on the months of awesome and fearful events. God gave Noah a surprise announcement that the whole creation would be destroyed by flood because it hadn’t turned out the way it was intended. In the olden days, people would settle any little disagreement with a rock to the head or a flint knife between the ribs. The times were filled with undiluted evil. The whole creation project was a wash out, so to speak, and God cleaned up everyone’s act with a bath like no one had ever seen. But the cure seemed as bad as the disease. God said to Noah, “Build an ark. Collect representatives from creation. Gather your family and you will be rescued. What’s not on the ark will be destroyed.” Noah thought about trying to change God’s mind, but God’s Voice sounded so sad, so very disappointed. It wasn’t long before the beautiful hills and valleys became nothing but dark water. After the fact, when new generations asked Noah how the long the journey lasted he would answer, “Forever.” To that day, when dark clouds rolled in and the smell of rain filled the air, the old feelings came rushing back..memories of being carried along like a single ship on an ocean of time stretching in all directions. He was filled with memories of being saved from death; being given a new chance by a loving God to be his people.
Let’s think about the disasters that surround us on a daily basis.
· We live in a world where people are desperate for spiritual truth, but they feel that they can’t find the answers they need from Christian churches.
· We live in a time when more than 30 million Americans who live in poverty–that’s more than live in the entire nations of Canada or Australia. Even worse, 40 percent of the American poor are children. For every dollar spent on ministries to the poor, a typical church spends 5 dollars on buildings and maintenance.
· In this nation, an overwhelming majority of teenagers feel disconnected from and devalued by adults.
· And we all know people are drowning in despair. Family members are fighting with one another. Our neighbors are isolated. People we know and love are broken, dying in the water, waiting for the next wave to crash upon them.
Thinking about it can give us a headache and a heartache. One thing hasn’t changed from Noah’s time until now. A drowning person can’t save himself. People need a Rescuer
Fortunately the situation is not hopeless. God never leaves people without a rescue plan! God’s solution for Noah’s day was to say, “Noah, build an ark, and be ready to gather those whom I have chosen to save.” Those ark builders did not just build a big boat. They were the vessels that brought life to a new generation. I believe God is calling us here at Trumbull Congregational Church to be ark builders. The God of creation is asking us to build vessels to rescue those who are perishing. I believe God is calling us to be modern day Noah’s–collecting God’s creation from the arms of death and leading them to life in Christ.
We are the ark builders for a new generation. My question this morning is this: What vessels can we use to bring the life of the gospel to a hurting world? What kind of containers can we use that will help people use the gospel to navigate the storms of life?
In the past the church has said, “Come on board and listen to our beautiful music. Hear an inspiring sermon. Talk with some people who care. Join a church board. Come to one of our classes. Become a church member. Come to us and you will find rest and peace.”
I think we got confused somewhere along the line. Don’t get me wrong. I love church. I’m the biggest church advocate you will ever find. But at some point we forgot that there are people around us who are dying. We got thinking that if people really wanted to get their lives together they would come to church. And when they get to church, they had better like organ music and hymns. They better like formality and liturgy, because that’s the way we do it. Where has it gotten us? We live in a time when people are more hungry for spiritual meaning than ever, yet mainline churches are losing members by the tens of thousands every year. The truth is that you can come to church for years and your life can still be miserable. You can sit in these pews week after week and still feel like you are dying inside. You can be sitting in a crowded sanctuary and be the loneliest person on the planet. The problem, as I see it, is that the church needs to cast off from the dock and get wet. Don’t expect people to just come here and get on board. Jesus calls us to weigh anchor and take off into the watery world around us.
Do you have a favorite cup? My favorite cup lately is this big, 30 oz yellow plastic tumbler. I like the way it fits my hand. The interesting thing about this containers is that I can pour water into my yellow tumbler, and the water will take the shape of the container. I can pour the same water into a different shaped cup, and the shape changes, but it’s still the same water–the recipe hasn’t changed. The containers change, but the content remains the same.
It’s the same when I serve communion. I can pour wine from one container to another, from pitcher to chalice. The wine takes the shape of the new containter, but it is still wine.
Every generation needs a container that fits its own hands and soul. Each person needs an ark to sail the storms of life. The truth is that your container might look different from mine. That’s OK. What matters is that the content is still the same. We are leading people to Jesus Christ, and He never changes. If we are serious about being ark builders, we need to be prepared to navigate the flood in vessels that we would never have considered seaworthy in the past. Our task is to offer the gospel to fill all shapes and sizes of containers. We tell the old story in new ways. Our calling is to be ark builders who help everyone, everywhere to negotiate the storm by using whatever it takes–whatever it takes-- to lead the dying to Christ.
As we come to communion this morning, we remember our Savior, Jesus, who emptied his human container so that we could have life. For those of us who have ever felt like we are drowning in the currents of life, let this meal serve as our re-introduction to our rescuer, Jesus Christ. Because of what Jesus has done for us, we respond in thanksgiving to by doing everything possible– EVERYTHING, to present the truth to the world. We are committed because we know that Jesus brings hope, healing, and life to those who are drowning.
Sermon for July 22, 2007
The Life of Justice
Micah 6:6-8
Have you ever heard someone say something like this: “There’s so much pain out there. I suppose someone’s got to address it, but why should I have to do it? I mean, I’ve got my hands full right now, what with working 60 hours a week and my family and all. Besides, I’ve worked hard to get what I have. Why shouldn’t be able to enjoy it?” That’s what might be called the “I’ve Got Mine” theory of social justice: I’ve got mine; let someone else take care of the world’s problems. It’s not much of a social justice theory, but I hear it a lot.
How about this one as an alternative? “Yes, I know. The world is full of injustice and all. It needs to be corrected, but that will take a better person than I. It will take a Martin Luther King, Jr., a Gandhi, a Mother Theresa. Maybe all three rolled into one. I can’t to that; I’m just an ordinary sort of person” That’s the Great Healer Theory of social justice: It takes a few great people to make a difference, and since I’m not a great person, I’ll wait for one to come along and follow that one. In the meantime, there’s not much I can do. Again, not much of a social justice theory. But I’ve heard it.
A variation on this theory is this: “There’s so much to do I wouldn’t know where to begin. I need someone to tell me. In the meantime, all I can do is wring my hands.” That one at least has the merit that it does not pretend to be anything but an excuse for not getting involved. Still, it has precious little to do with social justice. And it won’t heal any of the pain the world.
The church often uses guilt as a way to motivate people into action. “How can you possibly just stand there and do nothing? The world is falling to pieces all round you, from famine to racism. And if you don’t do anything about it, you are as guilty as those who perpetuate the pain, because your inaction allows the pain to continue and grow.” I know you’ve all heard some version of this. I’ve even preached it on occasion. It has the great virtue of getting a fair amount of social justice work started. Guilt really can motivate people. But there has to be something better, something that really will motivate people to get involved and touch the world with the loving compassion that Jesus demonstrated. This morning we will think about this as we read a word from a Hebrew Prophet.
In today's reading, God and the people of Israel are in the middle of a lawsuit. They have come to court to see who is at fault in their fractured relationship. Israel has ignored God. The people have forgotten how God saved them from the land of Egypt and brought them to the Promised Land. In choosing not to remember their own exodus and the struggles leading up to liberation, the people grow indifferent. They are all too willing to bargain, to bribe, and to buy off their neighbor and their God. On the stand, Israel comes up with a clever defense. “What can we bring before the Lord to make up for what we’ve done? Maybe God would be happy if we took a valuable yearling calf and sacrificed it. No. . .God will want more. Maybe we should raise the value by sacrificing not one, but a thousand rams, and then smother it with rivers of precious olive oil. Then would God be pleased? What if we sacrificed our firstborn children to pay for the sins of our souls? Then would God forgive? Tell us the cost, and we will pay.”
The urgent cries of Israel don’t sound very different than our own laments today. We mess something up, and we have an urgent compulsion to clear our consciences. We want a sign that God forgives us and still loves us. We cry, “God, what do you want from me. What can I do to make up for what I’ve done? Will you be happy if I promise to go to church every Sunday for a month? How about a year? What if I make good on my stewardship pledge? I’ll even put a little extra in? Then would you be pleased, God? How much do I need to give in order to secure your love? Do I need to find the people and things that are most valuable to me and offer them to you, Lord? Then would you forgive? Tell me the cost, and I will pay.” WHAT DOES THE LORD REQUIRE?
Micah gives a surprise answer. If we think we can buy God’s love, then we have missed the point. God doesn’t want stuff. God wants you. God doesn’t require sacrifice of physical objects. God wants your heart. Micah says that if you want to experience God’s presence, then do justice, love mercy, and walk in humility with your God. Let’s think about this for a minute.
First God says do justice or do what is right. God cares deeply about people and how we treat one another. If we could see the world through the eyes of God, we would be looking through eyes of compassion. God cares about our needs, our hurts and brokenness. In Micah’s day, most of the county’s leaders were caught up in their own comfort and prosperity. But Micah saw the suffering of the general population. He knew that justice would not come from the state or the power structure. Justice rises from people who dare to envision dynamic alternatives to their current unjust conditions. To do justice is not a romantic ideal nor an abstract concept. Rather, justice means hard work. A life of justice asks us to work together, to analyze the present unjust system and to find ways to change the system. Justice is able to disrupt, dismantle, break down, disarm, and transform the world when we dare to see what is really happening without growing cynical. Living a life of justice means being willing to risk seeing another person’s suffering as our own.
Doing justice is hard because it means that life has to change. And many of us have a strong allergic reaction to change of any kind. We also have a strong revulsion to the church getting involved in politics. The important decisions in our time – whether there will be peace or war, freedom of totalitarianism, racial equality or discrimination, homophilia or homophobia, food or famine –all these are political decisions. Not every political issue of the day demands a decision from the churches. I don’t think churches should pursue political goals that are self-serving. I hate to see Christians try to legislate their convictions on divorce or abortion into sate and federal law. I hate to see Christians fight the ACLU to keep crèches on public greens, or prayer in schools, or evolution out of schools. I love to see Christian speak up and act up on behalf of the poor and disadvantaged, to fight for housing for low-income families, for decent health care for the aging, for fair treatment of all people. Jesus pointed to the outcasts of the world—those who were handicapped, those who were poor, those who were in prison, those who were considered “the least”—and said, in effect, “Those people are just like me. If you love me, then you will also love them.” Anyone can love the healthy, the successful, and the glamorous. There’s little nobility or courage in that. But God calls us to a higher standard—to love and serve the world just as he does – to understand that when one suffers, we all suffer. When one person is given dignity, we are all brought a little higher. In these times that are neither safe nor sane, I love to see Christens risk maximum fidelity to Jesus Christ when they can expect to see minimal support from the culture around them. The churches have to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and shelter the homeless. But they also have to remember that the answer to homelessness is homes, not shelters. What the poor and downtrodden need is not piecemeal charity, but wholesale justice.
Micah also mentions kindness. Showing kindness means choosing to recognize and respond to the needy among us. In his book, The Power of the Powerless, Chris deVinck wrote about his brother Oliver who was severely handicapped, blind, and bedridden. No one was sure whether Oliver was aware of the world around him, although he did eat when he was fed. Though he lived to be over 30, feeding him was like feeding an eight-month-old child. He required 24-hour care, which his mother gave him until the day he died. Chris remembers it like this:
If you want to live in God’s forgiving grace, then walk in kindness, meeting the needs around you with the compassion of God.
Micah also mentions humility. A story is told about a doctor at a mental institution who made his rounds one evening. She heard someone shouting from one of the rooms. “I am the King of the Universe. I am the Ruler of the World! From now on everyone will do what I say because I am the Supreme Commander of the Galaxies!” The doctor investigated, opening a door to find a man in his underwear, standing on a chair, beating his chest and yelling, “I am the King of the Universe!” The doctor shouted, “Harry, get own off that chair! And quiet down! You’re disrupting people who are trying to sleep!” “I am the King of the Universe!” “Harry, your are not the King of the Universe!” “Yes I am!” he cried all the louder. “And just what makes you think you are the King of the Universe?” asked the doctor. “God told me I was King of the Universe!” shouted Harry. Just then, a voice erupted from another patient’s room down the hallway: “I did not say that!”
Humility means recognizing that the universe doesn’t revolve around us. In fact, it means serving others in a way that doesn’t even draw attention to the good deeds we do. It means that we do acts of justice and kindness with quiet simplicity.
Justice. Kindness. Humility. Honestly, it would be a lot easier to buy God off. But new life in Christ means living in ways that make life better for others. It’s risky and uncomfortable.
The life of justice is a response to God’s goodness. It refuses to back down in the face of evil. It never relents shining the light of grace into the dark place sin the world. Do you want to experience God’s presence? Do you seek tangible evidence of the New Life? Then live for God by living for justice, kindness, and humility.
Let me suggest some beginning steps in living such a life:
· Write a kind or encouraging letter, perhaps to someone who is struggling with a decision, or a failed marriage, or disappointment. Or write notes of encouragement to our Christian brothers and sisters throughout the world who are persecuted for their faith.
· Volunteer to help at a food bank.
· Guard the reputation of another person. Refuse to take part in discussions that focus on fault-finding or gossip.
· Look for injustice and address it. Ask yourself, “Am I doing something that oppresses someone else? Have I taken advantage of another person? By examining yourself, you will be able to see the injustice around you.
· Take a stand. All around is there is racism, sexism, and other forms of discrimination. You have the power to make a difference in Jesus’ name.
The life of justice is a life of sacrifice–but a much different kind than we may think. God doesn’t want stuff. God wants you. God has shown you what is good, and what does the Lord require of you. To do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah 6:6-8
Have you ever heard someone say something like this: “There’s so much pain out there. I suppose someone’s got to address it, but why should I have to do it? I mean, I’ve got my hands full right now, what with working 60 hours a week and my family and all. Besides, I’ve worked hard to get what I have. Why shouldn’t be able to enjoy it?” That’s what might be called the “I’ve Got Mine” theory of social justice: I’ve got mine; let someone else take care of the world’s problems. It’s not much of a social justice theory, but I hear it a lot.
How about this one as an alternative? “Yes, I know. The world is full of injustice and all. It needs to be corrected, but that will take a better person than I. It will take a Martin Luther King, Jr., a Gandhi, a Mother Theresa. Maybe all three rolled into one. I can’t to that; I’m just an ordinary sort of person” That’s the Great Healer Theory of social justice: It takes a few great people to make a difference, and since I’m not a great person, I’ll wait for one to come along and follow that one. In the meantime, there’s not much I can do. Again, not much of a social justice theory. But I’ve heard it.
A variation on this theory is this: “There’s so much to do I wouldn’t know where to begin. I need someone to tell me. In the meantime, all I can do is wring my hands.” That one at least has the merit that it does not pretend to be anything but an excuse for not getting involved. Still, it has precious little to do with social justice. And it won’t heal any of the pain the world.
The church often uses guilt as a way to motivate people into action. “How can you possibly just stand there and do nothing? The world is falling to pieces all round you, from famine to racism. And if you don’t do anything about it, you are as guilty as those who perpetuate the pain, because your inaction allows the pain to continue and grow.” I know you’ve all heard some version of this. I’ve even preached it on occasion. It has the great virtue of getting a fair amount of social justice work started. Guilt really can motivate people. But there has to be something better, something that really will motivate people to get involved and touch the world with the loving compassion that Jesus demonstrated. This morning we will think about this as we read a word from a Hebrew Prophet.
In today's reading, God and the people of Israel are in the middle of a lawsuit. They have come to court to see who is at fault in their fractured relationship. Israel has ignored God. The people have forgotten how God saved them from the land of Egypt and brought them to the Promised Land. In choosing not to remember their own exodus and the struggles leading up to liberation, the people grow indifferent. They are all too willing to bargain, to bribe, and to buy off their neighbor and their God. On the stand, Israel comes up with a clever defense. “What can we bring before the Lord to make up for what we’ve done? Maybe God would be happy if we took a valuable yearling calf and sacrificed it. No. . .God will want more. Maybe we should raise the value by sacrificing not one, but a thousand rams, and then smother it with rivers of precious olive oil. Then would God be pleased? What if we sacrificed our firstborn children to pay for the sins of our souls? Then would God forgive? Tell us the cost, and we will pay.”
The urgent cries of Israel don’t sound very different than our own laments today. We mess something up, and we have an urgent compulsion to clear our consciences. We want a sign that God forgives us and still loves us. We cry, “God, what do you want from me. What can I do to make up for what I’ve done? Will you be happy if I promise to go to church every Sunday for a month? How about a year? What if I make good on my stewardship pledge? I’ll even put a little extra in? Then would you be pleased, God? How much do I need to give in order to secure your love? Do I need to find the people and things that are most valuable to me and offer them to you, Lord? Then would you forgive? Tell me the cost, and I will pay.” WHAT DOES THE LORD REQUIRE?
Micah gives a surprise answer. If we think we can buy God’s love, then we have missed the point. God doesn’t want stuff. God wants you. God doesn’t require sacrifice of physical objects. God wants your heart. Micah says that if you want to experience God’s presence, then do justice, love mercy, and walk in humility with your God. Let’s think about this for a minute.
First God says do justice or do what is right. God cares deeply about people and how we treat one another. If we could see the world through the eyes of God, we would be looking through eyes of compassion. God cares about our needs, our hurts and brokenness. In Micah’s day, most of the county’s leaders were caught up in their own comfort and prosperity. But Micah saw the suffering of the general population. He knew that justice would not come from the state or the power structure. Justice rises from people who dare to envision dynamic alternatives to their current unjust conditions. To do justice is not a romantic ideal nor an abstract concept. Rather, justice means hard work. A life of justice asks us to work together, to analyze the present unjust system and to find ways to change the system. Justice is able to disrupt, dismantle, break down, disarm, and transform the world when we dare to see what is really happening without growing cynical. Living a life of justice means being willing to risk seeing another person’s suffering as our own.
Doing justice is hard because it means that life has to change. And many of us have a strong allergic reaction to change of any kind. We also have a strong revulsion to the church getting involved in politics. The important decisions in our time – whether there will be peace or war, freedom of totalitarianism, racial equality or discrimination, homophilia or homophobia, food or famine –all these are political decisions. Not every political issue of the day demands a decision from the churches. I don’t think churches should pursue political goals that are self-serving. I hate to see Christians try to legislate their convictions on divorce or abortion into sate and federal law. I hate to see Christians fight the ACLU to keep crèches on public greens, or prayer in schools, or evolution out of schools. I love to see Christian speak up and act up on behalf of the poor and disadvantaged, to fight for housing for low-income families, for decent health care for the aging, for fair treatment of all people. Jesus pointed to the outcasts of the world—those who were handicapped, those who were poor, those who were in prison, those who were considered “the least”—and said, in effect, “Those people are just like me. If you love me, then you will also love them.” Anyone can love the healthy, the successful, and the glamorous. There’s little nobility or courage in that. But God calls us to a higher standard—to love and serve the world just as he does – to understand that when one suffers, we all suffer. When one person is given dignity, we are all brought a little higher. In these times that are neither safe nor sane, I love to see Christens risk maximum fidelity to Jesus Christ when they can expect to see minimal support from the culture around them. The churches have to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and shelter the homeless. But they also have to remember that the answer to homelessness is homes, not shelters. What the poor and downtrodden need is not piecemeal charity, but wholesale justice.
Micah also mentions kindness. Showing kindness means choosing to recognize and respond to the needy among us. In his book, The Power of the Powerless, Chris deVinck wrote about his brother Oliver who was severely handicapped, blind, and bedridden. No one was sure whether Oliver was aware of the world around him, although he did eat when he was fed. Though he lived to be over 30, feeding him was like feeding an eight-month-old child. He required 24-hour care, which his mother gave him until the day he died. Chris remembers it like this:
When I was in my early 20s, I met a girl, and I fell in love. After a few months I brought her home for dinner to meet my family. After the introductions and some small talk, my mother went to the kitchen to check the meal, and I asked the girl, “Would you like to see Oliver?” for I had, of course, told her about my brother. “No,” she answered. She did not want to see him. It was as if she slapped me in the face. In response I mumbled something polite and walked to the dining room.
Soon after, I met Rosemary—a dark-haired, dark-eyed, lovely girl. She asked me the names of my brothers and sisters. She bought me a copy of The Little Prince. She loved children. I thought she was wonderful. I brought her home after a few months to meet my family. The introductions. The small talk. We ate dinner; then it was time for me to feed Oliver. I walked into the kitchen … and prepared Oliver’s meal. Then, I remember, I sheepishly asked Roe if she’d like to come upstairs and see Oliver. “Sure,” she said, and up the stairs we went. I sat on Oliver’s bed as Roe stood and watched over my shoulder. I gave him his first spoonful, then his second. “Can I do that?” she asked with ease, with freedom, with compassion. So I gave her the bowl, and she fed Oliver one spoonful at a time.
Which girl would you marry? Today Roe and I have three children.
If you want to live in God’s forgiving grace, then walk in kindness, meeting the needs around you with the compassion of God.
Micah also mentions humility. A story is told about a doctor at a mental institution who made his rounds one evening. She heard someone shouting from one of the rooms. “I am the King of the Universe. I am the Ruler of the World! From now on everyone will do what I say because I am the Supreme Commander of the Galaxies!” The doctor investigated, opening a door to find a man in his underwear, standing on a chair, beating his chest and yelling, “I am the King of the Universe!” The doctor shouted, “Harry, get own off that chair! And quiet down! You’re disrupting people who are trying to sleep!” “I am the King of the Universe!” “Harry, your are not the King of the Universe!” “Yes I am!” he cried all the louder. “And just what makes you think you are the King of the Universe?” asked the doctor. “God told me I was King of the Universe!” shouted Harry. Just then, a voice erupted from another patient’s room down the hallway: “I did not say that!”
Humility means recognizing that the universe doesn’t revolve around us. In fact, it means serving others in a way that doesn’t even draw attention to the good deeds we do. It means that we do acts of justice and kindness with quiet simplicity.
Justice. Kindness. Humility. Honestly, it would be a lot easier to buy God off. But new life in Christ means living in ways that make life better for others. It’s risky and uncomfortable.
The life of justice is a response to God’s goodness. It refuses to back down in the face of evil. It never relents shining the light of grace into the dark place sin the world. Do you want to experience God’s presence? Do you seek tangible evidence of the New Life? Then live for God by living for justice, kindness, and humility.
Let me suggest some beginning steps in living such a life:
· Write a kind or encouraging letter, perhaps to someone who is struggling with a decision, or a failed marriage, or disappointment. Or write notes of encouragement to our Christian brothers and sisters throughout the world who are persecuted for their faith.
· Volunteer to help at a food bank.
· Guard the reputation of another person. Refuse to take part in discussions that focus on fault-finding or gossip.
· Look for injustice and address it. Ask yourself, “Am I doing something that oppresses someone else? Have I taken advantage of another person? By examining yourself, you will be able to see the injustice around you.
· Take a stand. All around is there is racism, sexism, and other forms of discrimination. You have the power to make a difference in Jesus’ name.
The life of justice is a life of sacrifice–but a much different kind than we may think. God doesn’t want stuff. God wants you. God has shown you what is good, and what does the Lord require of you. To do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.
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