Sermon for June 6, 2010

Courageous Compassion

Jesus went with his disciples to the village of Nain, and a large crowd followed him. A funeral procession was coming out as he approached the village gate. The young man who had died was a widow’s only son, and a large crowd from the village was with her. When the Lord saw her, his heart overflowed with compassion. “Don’t cry!” he said. Then he walked over to the coffin and touched it, and the bearers stopped. “Young man,” he said, “I tell you, get up.” Then the dead boy sat up and began to talk! And Jesus gave him back to his mother. Great fear swept the crowd, and they praised God, saying, “A mighty prophet has risen among us,” and “God has visited his people today.” And the news about Jesus spread throughout Judea and the surrounding countryside. -- Luke 7:11-17

Many years ago, Kitty Genovese, a 28-year-old manager of a bar in Queens, New York, returned to her quiet residential neighborhood, parked her car in a lot adjacent to her apartment building, and began to walk the 30 yards through the lot to her door. Noticing a man at the far end of the lot, she paused. When he started toward her, she turned the other way and tried to reach a police call box half a block away. The man caught and stabbed her. She started screaming that she'd been stabbed, and screaming for help. Lights went on in the apartment building across the street. Windows opened. One man called out, “Let that girl alone!”

The assailant shrugged and walked away. Windows closed and lights went out. The assailant returned and attacked Ms. Genovese again. This time she screamed “I'm dying! I'm dying.” This time lots more windows opened and lots more lights went on. The attacker walked to his car and drove away, leaving Genovese to crawl along the street to her apartment building. Somehow, she managed to drag herself inside. The man returned a third time, found Genovese on the floor at the foot of her stairs, and finally succeeded in killing her. During those three separate attacks over the course of 35 minutes, not one of Genovese's neighbors tried to intervene. Worse than that, of the more than 30 people who saw at least one of the attacks and heard Genovese's screams and pleas for help, not one of them called the police.

We hear stories like this once in a while. They make us wonder about what makes us human. They call us to a deeper level of reflection and responsibility. Today, I want is to think about how the church responds to the screams for help around us. What do we do when we see people in pain?

One response religions often take is to ignore problems. Sometimes, we withdraw from the crucial issues of the world. Our religious values and practices can disconnect from human suffering. The problem is, compassion is inconvenient. Think back to the story about Kitty Genovese. One of the witnesses to the crime said he was too tired to call the police, so he went back to bed! He found a way to justify his actions. We've probably all done it, when we are presented with an opportunity to show compassion. For instance, I've excused myself pulling over when I witnessed a minor fender bender at midnight because I didn't want to stick around for an hour to fill out a police report. Without any good reason, I've excused myself from several opportunities to show compassion.

Another strategy is anger with the sponsors of crisis. I experienced this yesterday. I was out for a bike ride on the trails. As I was crossing Rte. 111, I heard something clap the pavement. A driver threw a full garbage bag into the middle of the road and sped away. Was I ever angry! How dare he pollute, especially in this day and age! How dare he assume someone else will pick up his filth! The more I thought, the angrier I got. The laziness!! The arrogance!! The lack of concern!! Guess what I did NOT do. I did not go back and pick up the garbage from the road. Turns out, the laziness, hubris, and lack of concern were part of my soul, too. Religions do this all the time. We get angry at the sources of pain, but we do nothing to alleviate the suffering. In fact, that which we condemn, we often find lurking in our own religious worlds.

Another strategy religions use to deal with pain is to talk about it. We need to think, explore, read, reflect, pray, understand, mull, listen, form a committee, go to a workshop, call in experts, find all the opinions, debate, vote, and then come up with a proposition to deal with the problem. This may be helpful in moral and ethical development, but it seems to have limited success in engaging the pain of the world around us. Here is the problem: We can convince ourselves that we are correct in our own conclusions when we talk too much. We begin to think we are wise. When we talk too much, we open ourselves to arrogance and superiority.

Here is another response: sometimes religions engage in social action. Finally, we meet need with deed. Many churches are great at social action, such as charity to the poor, food to the hungry, shelter to the homeless, and so on. We need to be careful here, though. Charity is not compassion. Charity can be good. It alleviates pain temporarily. But it is not the same as compassion.

I remember when I began to learn about the difference between compassion as charity and compassion as empowerment. I think I've told you about my experience with a woman named Jen. It was right before my 28th birthday. I worked in a small rural church – I’d been there for about a year. One day I met Jennifer, and 18-year old mom with a daughter who was just a few months younger than Zoe. When Jen was 17, she was romanced by a 30-year-old man who got her pregnant. They lived together, unmarried, trying to raise their new daughter. Rumors had it that the boyfriend was abusive, so Chris invited Jen to a mother’s group to get her out of the house and meet some people in the community. That afternoon, when I came home from work, Jen was sitting at our kitchen table with Chris and Zoe. Jen decided to leave her boyfriend who, according to her, was verbally and emotionally brutal. She was like a prisoner in her own house and she wanted out. Since she was still 17 and a minor, her decision posed some unique challenges. Jen quickly learned the “system”: social services, WIC, welfare, and family court. We gave her grocery money to help her get by. Chris watched her baby for free. The deacons bought Christmas gifts for Jen and her baby. Family Court eventually awarded her full custody. When she wasn’t living with a family member, she and her baby stayed at a sleazy hotel room, funded by Social Services. After a few months, Jen moved back in with her boyfriend. I guessed she would rather live with the abuse than live with the alternative. She also got used to our charity, still expecting us to give gifts, watch the baby, and fund her reckless decisions. When we heard she moved back, I felt so naive. It felt like all of our compassion was for nothing. My compassion moved me to give charity, but was she ever empowered to be a better person, a better mother, a healthier member of our community? Did we do the right thing? Did we help her like Jesus would have helped her? This band-aid approach may salve guilty consciences and give temporary symptomatic aid to victims but does not attend to structural and institutional causes of the crises.

Today, I suggest another response. Courageous Compassion. This is what I see Jesus doing, and it's where I see us going. We need a new religious vision that addresses the global problems around us. The twentieth first century, so far, leaves millions of people hungry and homeless and hopeless. Nightly news depicts the pathetic pictures of bloated stomachs, bodies distorted by disease and wars, and the agonies of death by starvation. These dark images of misery stand in contrast to equally deplorable images of overfed, overweight, and overindulged consumers who live in overdeveloped countries. The poor have always had a special place in the thoughts and practice of major religions. Yet, as deprivation grows, traditional religions limit themselves to making statements and providing temporary handouts. They seldom tackle the systemic changes required to make the world a better place.

In today's gospel reading, Jesus does something amazing. When the Lord sees the grieving widow, he has compassion. He comes forward and touches the coffin. What Jesus does is inconceivable. Few things are as unclean in ancient Jewish culture as a corpse, or anything connected with a corpse. It is against the law of Torah to touch a coffin. One who does so becomes unclean. Rabbis don't touch the unclean. Jesus touched the coffin. Jesus is willing to get his hands dirty to touch something unclean and controversial for the sake of the weak and vulnerable. Jesus polluted himself. The people talked. They murmured. They gossiped. They accused. But no one else was willing to take the pain upon himself like Jesus did. This is about more than raising a dead man. With Courageous Compassion, Jesus confronts a system where rules have become more important than people. He puts love before law, the integrity compassion before the purity of dogma.

There is another healing that day, too. Consider the mother. She is in trouble. She is a widow and her only son has died. With no more family connections, her life expectancy is short. In Jesus’ day, women did not speak on their own behalf. They did not own property. They had no status. This mother's last remaining means of survival was gone. What would happen to her? Jesus sees her, and moved with compassion, he touches her dead son. He lives, and now the mother is given her life back, too. Jesus raises the mother from social death, just as he raises the son from physical death. Both are now empowered to live new, productive lives.

Courageous Compassion means loving everyone. Period. It means we don't listen to shoulds, coulds, and oughts when it comes to touching the pain of others. It means we don't even consider another person's skin color, or social class, or religion, or sexual orientation, or wealth, or anything. Every human is created in the image of God and they need to be loved.

Courageous Compassion begins with us, today, right here, right now. God is leading you to confront some pain and suffering in the world. You might ignore it, but it's there. You might get angry at it, but that only makes YOU worse off. You might talk about it, but the problem persists. You might give charity, but while you feel better, it is only a temporary fix. So now what? How about Courageous Compassion? How about becoming unclean for the sake of restoring some sanity to the world? How about touching the pain, without first mapping out consequences? How about embodying love in action to those who offend us, to those who have hurt us, to those who don't deserve a second chance (or a third or fourth)? How about turning the status quo upside down? How about confronting unjust family systems, and religious systems and economic or political systems that offer great gifts to insiders while pushing others to the side?

In Christ's sight, there are no insiders. No outsiders. We are all one nature. One flesh. One grief. One hope. If we fail to love, we fail in everything else, too. So, train your heart to look at people at the grocery store, at the gas station, at restaurants, at the office, in the neighborhood, and the people you see as you drive. Give yourself permission to be inconvenienced by their pains. Let yourself be moved by compassion that is free from any strings. Be open, and God will use you. And who knows? You might just change part of the world!

Sermon for May 30, 2010

Wisdom Calls -- A Letter From Home

The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago.
Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth.
When there were no depths I was brought forth,
when there were no springs abounding with water.
Before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth—
when he had not yet made earth and fields, or the world’s first bits of soil.
When he established the heavens, I was there, when he drew a circle on the face of the deep,
when he made firm the skies above, when he established the fountains of the deep,
when he assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not transgress his command,
when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him,
like a master worker; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing before him always,
rejoicing in his inhabited world and delighting in the human race. Prov. 8:22-31

Dear Matt,

We had ourselves a garden-variety tornado here on the hill. It danced its way through the better part of our county. When my weather radio alarm went off, I turned on the television to see what the radar picture would show (I’m a visual learner). The weatherman was giving me ‘bout 8 to 10 minutes to get my life in order. I don’t have a basement or a storm shelter -- just a small bathroom in the back of the house. From the television it didn’t look like it was heading dead-on straight at me but it was close enough. I took up a few items I didn’t want blown away to the next county and stored them in the back bathroom. Then I went out on the front porch and looked westward through the trees along our ridge. It was pitch black. The blackness moved northeast towards the end of our farm. While it was taking out a neighbor’s barn, I could hear what sounded like a jet engine with the pilot’s foot all the way down on the gas pedal. It then continued to the next little town where it tore things up even more.

Now this tornado was said to have only been an EF-0 to an EF-1, not anything that would get cast in a movie. But there it was. It completely demolished a barn and took roofs off of some houses as it hiked through the hills leaving a path not unlike the one Bea Jimson leaves when she’s havin’ one of her temper spells. You remember Bea -- she’s Woodchuck’s wife. We have a saying ‘round here: Meanness don’t happen overnight. They wrote that one in honor of Bea Jimson.

I never thought I was so special that I could get a tornado right at my front door any more than believing Ed McMann would show up holding balloons and a Publishing Clearance House check. It makes me stop and think ‘bout what’s most important in life. What kind a’ person I want to be.

The tornado made your cousin, Daryl-Bob Broadfoot, think ‘bout the meaning of life, too. Usually he keeps to himself in his 390 C Travelair luxury park model trailer. You know, he’s always trying to make a buck or two. He heard that rich city folk pay big money for old our throwaway art projects. They call it folk art. Why not take some of our simple hill food and market it as fancy cuisine? Our chow is actually more savory than the strange garbage I see them TV chef’s serving up to their tongue-wagging fans. Those people think we eat strange, all the while they suck down all sorts of unholy offerings. The other day, on the cable TV, I saw a chef cooked up a LIVE lobster sushi. No joke. The dying lobster was served while in his final death throws, his antennae frantically waving like a last ditch SOS code. This dish is for people who enjoy watching the lobster watching them devour his tail, fully horrified at being eaten alive. It’s all for the show, not the flavor, since raw lobster is probably a lot like eating greasy rubber eggs.

Anyways, Daryl-Bob has been working at making new Slim Jim recipes. One’s called Slim Jim Chili Mac. He boils the Slim Jims in beer until he gets a red greasy sludge, adds pasta and nacho cheese sauce. It would do if you were easy to please, but last time I tried it, the chili mac coated my tongue with an odd waxiness. He drives all the way to Chigger Falls to pick up the meat sticks, due to the Slim Jim shortage from the gas leak, which destroyed the only Slim Jim plant on the planet. Anyways, he was going to the Ozark Unnatural Food Coop when he saw something that changed his life. It was a martial arts practice hall, run by a one-armed judo master named Freelove Turnbo. Freelove Turnbo lost his arm in a farm accident when he was just 10. His parents put him into the Judo to help him learn some confidence, not to mention some balance. Freelove actually was good at the Judo. There was only one problem. After three months of training, the humble Judo master only taught him one move. Freelove finally got up the guts to ask his teacher, “Shouldn’t I learn more moves?” “This is the only move you’ll ever need to know,” the humble Judo master replied.

Freelove didn’t get it, but he kept on training. Several months later, the teacher took Freelove to his first Judo Games. Surprise, surprise, Freelove won his first two matches, easy as shooting fish in a barrel. Amazed by his success, Freelove made it to the finals. His opponent was big as a continent and strong as a brick outhouse. Called himself Child of Calamity. Freelove was overmatched, and he sure took a beating for a while. Eventually, the brute got distracted. Freelove saw the opportunity and used his move topple Calamity to the ground. Freelove Turnbo, the one-armed judo boy, was the champion. On the way home, Freelove summoned the courage to ask what was really on his mind. “Teacher, how did I win the Judu Games with only one move?”

“I reckon you won for two reasons,” the humble Judo master answered. “First, you mastered one of the most difficult throws in all of judo. And second . . . the only known defense for that move is for your opponent to grip your left arm.”

That was one wise teacher. Turned out, Freelove Turnbo’s biggest weakness had become his biggest strength.

When Daryl-Bob heard that story, he decided he was gonna change the world by learning the Judo. Daryl-Bob’s not the smartest man in the world. I love him, but that boy is ‘bout as dumb as a pot of beans. ‘Bout a week ago, I was washing my dinner dishes when I see a flash of red out the window. Thought maybe it was a cardinal. ‘Bout two minutes later, I spot that flash again, only big this time. I slinked out to the stoop to investigate, and there is Daryl-Bob, wearing his blue jeans and dirty t-shirt. He also had a red cape that he twirled around his shoulders like a rodeo clown. Right next to him is his lazy sidekick, his dawg named Mr. Pickles. The old Bloodhound got a cape on, too, and a pair of star-spangled undergarments. I reckon that dog looked just like Wonder Woman, and he looked real shamed ‘bout it. I says, “Daryl-Bob, what are you up to now.” He looks at me, kind of mysterious-like, and he says, “I’m the Jerico Ninjee.” Turns out, after one Judo lesson with Freelove Turnbo, Daryl-Bob went and bought his’ self and his dawg some fancy get ups, and now they will protect us from Lord knows what. What I’ve always wanted to know is, who will protect us from Daryl-Bob Broadfoot.

Daryl-Bob wants to show me his routine. Now, I’m not really in the mood, mind you, not with dishes in the sink that need washing. But I’ve learned, you can’t say no to Daryl-Bob. I nod, but I give him the hairy eyeball so he knows he better not be wasting my time. He lifts his right arm up and swings it straight back down, and he says, “Right there’s a Judy Chop. You gotta say it as you do it.” He yells out, “Judy Chop,” and swings his arm again, like he’s a hillbilly Jackie Chan on a Twinkies high. Then he kicks his foot in the air and hollers out, “Kung Fu Kick! Did ya’ see that Antie Georgee? I know, you are just a beginner, so I’ll go over it slow.” He chops at the air again. “You got yourself a Judy Chop, and a Kung Fu kick. But you don’t NEVER want to do ‘em at the same time. Likely to chop your own leg right off if you ain’t careful.” He starts spinning and kicking, like he’s having a sleep twitch. Then, as soon as it began, the judo fit stops. He folds his hands, takes a deep bow, and runs inside to make himself a sandwich. Guess all those “Judy” moves work up an appetite. I follow him in the house and watch him make a grilled bologna sandwich on buttered Wonder Bread toast. He drips some soy sauce on the top -- figures he might as well eat like a real ninja now. With his mouth full of food, he gets all serious and says, “Auntie Georgee, you gotta promise me somethin’, OK? I showed you some real secret moves out there. With great power comes great responsibility. Now you promise me not to use any of them Ninjee moves I showed ya’ unless you have ta’. Don’t go ninjin someone who don’t need ninjin! OK?”

Daryl-Bob is a lovable fool. He couldn’t hurt a shoe fly if he wanted to. Problem with Daryl-Bob is he lacks wisdom. Daryl-Bob is oblivious. He just does his own thing – makes his own tainted recipes, dresses in his own red cape, and Judy Chops to the tune of his own sak-u-hachi. I’m just waiting for him to learn what Freelove Turnbo learned all those years ago: his biggest weakness can become his greatest strength.

As for me, I don’t know if I can change. I’m just getting old. Some people think if you soak up enough years, pretty soon everyone will be asking for your advice. I don’t think wisdom just comes to us when we get old. Wisdom is something that God creates, “The first of God’s acts long ago,” Scripture says. Wisdom leads us from one point to another in life until we learn what we’re supposed to learn. We do what we’re supposed to do. We each become what God crafted us to become. It’s like we become God’s folk art.

Pastor Sanford at the Jerico Springs Progressive Church of the Ozarks was just preaching on wisdom. He did a ten-part sermon series. If he asked me, I could’ a done it in two sermons. He likes to stretch things out. Anyways, he says if you wanna get wise, the first thing you need to do is get in touch with bad feelings. Lots of people have bad feelings they’re not even aware of. Take gloominess, for instance. You’re feeling gloomy and moody. You feel that life is as pointless as having two windows at the McDondald’s drive-thru -- it just makes no sense. You’ve got hurt feelings. You’re nervous and tense. Get yourself in touch with those feelings first.

Next, you gotta understand that the feelings are not reliable. We spend all our time trying to change our spouses, our bosses, our friends, our enemies, and everybody else. But we don’t stop and ponder that maybe WE need to change instead. Truth is, no person on earth has the power to make you unhappy. There is no event on this wide earth that has the power to disturb you. So stop taking stuff personally.

Let’s suppose that rain washes out a picnic. Who’s grumbling? The rain, or YOU? When you bump your knee against a table, the table’s fine. It’s busy being what it was made to be -a table. Believe me, the table’s not sitting there wondering why you hate it. That table’s not saying, “Oh, I guess Jimmy, there, is havin’ a bad day and he’s taking out on me.” Nope -- it’s just a table. The pain’s in your knee, not in the table. The feeling is in you, not in reality.

You see, you are more than your feelings. Don’t say, “I am gloomy.” If you want to say gloominess is there, that’s fine. But don’t say, “I am gloomy.” You’re defining yourself by a feeling. Your gloominess actually has nothing to do with your happiness.

No matter how clever you are, or how wise you have been in the past, the moment you allow these distractions to control you and define you. Why, that’s ‘bout as foolish as yankin’ a dawg’s ears. We’re so busy thinking ‘bout how we’ve been insulted, we stop forgiving. Carrying grudges makes us even worse off. It’s all so incredibly addled-brained.

We spend so much time seeking. We seek happiness. We seek revenge. We seek justice. We seek peace. If I’ve learned one thing I’ve learned is that when it some to faith, I’m better off when I let God seek me. God has a lot of ways of finding me, too. That’s what the wise ones do – they stop seeking.

The Ozark Standard had a nice way of explaining wisdom – it was right next to a recipe for livermush on page 12: a wise person no longer marches to the drums of society. The wise one dances to the tune of the music that springs up from within. When you depend on what all the other people think ‘bout you to make you happy, then you always have to be on your best behavior. You can never let your hair down. You can’t take your girdle off an have a piece of candy. You’ve got to live up to expectations, right? But, if you live to love, and find ways to get yourself found by God, maybe we’d get rid of all that fool pain we carry around. Deep wisdom has been there since the dawn of time. What might happen if we let that deep and ancient wisdom from God lead us home?

As I scribble this note, it gets me to thinking that maybe Daryl-Bob is wiser than I give him credit for. Maybe he’s wise ‘cause he lives in a life of compassion, and there really is no such thing as wisdom without compassion. He’s truly ignorant of what the world thinks about him, and he’s happy. He doesn’t know how ridiculous he really is. It’s ‘cause he has nothing to prove. He has no hatred. He has no enemies, far as he’s concerned.

Well, time for this old lady to stop preaching. I got a new martial art that I’m gonna teach Daryl Bob. I call it No Kan Do. It’s actually a very simple art. I’ve doin’ it for years, and no one can lay a blow on me. When someone tries to fight me, I scream “No Kan Do” and run away. I’m undefeated in fifteen, cross-discipline bouts. You no longer need to be bullied, just learn No Kan Do.

Give my love to the little ones, and remind those church people in CT that there’s a good way to live -- the way of wisdom and compassion. Just be still and let God be God.

Love,
Aunt Georgia.

Sermon for May 23, 2010 / Pentecost

Sharing in Suffering, Sharing in Glory

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves. Instead, you received God’s Spirit when he adopted you as his own children. Now we call him, “Abba, Father.” For his Spirit joins with our spirit to affirm that we are God’s children. And since we are his children, we are his heirs. In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory. But if we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering. Romans 8:14-17

I’ve always worried that there is a fatal flaw in my life. If people see it, they won’t want to be near me. I will feel abandoned. People will reject me. Growing up, I concluded that dancing on the lips of an abyss can move a person from insignificance to importance. When edged between hope and despair, why not throw caution to the wind? I think that’s how I ended up perched atop the Granby Gorge.

The Granby Gorge was one of the most dangerous places in town when I grew up there. We all knew the stories about kids who dove into the gorge, broke their necks and never walked again; or unaware swimmers who jumped off the cliffs and got pulled into underground caves by the currents of the waterfall. I remembered the words of my father, who told me what he’d do to me if he ever caught me swimming at the Granby Gorge. Let’s just say it involved his foot connecting to my rear-end, followed by weeks of hard labor on our family woodpile.

So there I was, toes curled over the edge of the rocks, hands in the air, ready to perform a record-breaking cannonball to the cheers of my high school friends. One well-placed leap could put me in the pantheon of gorge jumpers. I’d have friends, and fame, and respect, and girls who liked to go out with risk-taking daredevils like me. Yes, I was about to have it all in one 30-foot jump. No more feelings of abandonment. No more snubs. I would be unique and special, and people would see me for who I really am.

I took a deep breath and looked to the left. I loosened my neck as the teens below started to chant. “Jump! Jump! Jump!” I looked to the right, and did a quick double take. There, watching the spectacle from the road, was my father in his Chevy Silverado half ton pickup. Let’s just say, I never jumped the Granby Gorge that day, but I learned a lot about splitting and piling wood.

I didn’t really want to jump the gorge. I really wanted to be popular and liked and accepted. I really wanted people to see something heroic, and intense, and mysterious about me. I wanted to be like The Most Interesting Man in the World, like in those Dos Equis commercials. “The police often question him just because they find him interesting. His blood smells like cologne. When he orders a salad, he gets the dressing right there on top of the salad, where it belongs . . . where there is no turning back. If he disagrees with you, it is because you are wrong. Dicing onions doesn’t make him cry . . . it only makes him stronger. He’s against cruelty to animals, but isn’t afraid to issue a stern warning. Who is this man of mystery? Matt Braddock!”

Much later I realized that those people cheering for me at the base of the gorge did not care about me. They just wanted to see me dive. They would use my obsessive need to belong for their own entertainment. This has happened a lot in my life. I misinterpret people’s support for care. I forget that people have veiled motives behind their behavior, just like I do. In the end I feel embarrassed. Used. Hurt. Betrayed. It is a kind of suffering -- a craving to be unique; a need to be needed; a desire to be desired. But life doesn’t always work that way.

Desire can be compared to fire. If we grasp at fire, what happens? Does it lead to happiness? If we say, “Look at this beautiful fire! Look at the beautiful colors! I love red and orange, and the sliver of greenish blue in the flames; they’re my favorite colors,” and then grasp it, we would find a certain amount of suffering entering the body, right? If we thought about the cause of our pain, we would discover it was the result of having grasped that fire.

One would think that we would then let the fire go. We’ve been burnt once. Let’s not let that happen again.

Now imagine that I don’t want to get burned, but I keep reaching for the fire. I know it will hurt. I know I will suffer. But I keep doing it anyway. Sounds crazy, but we do it all the time. Buddhists have a word for this kind of suffering. I think they are on to something. They call it attachment, or craving. Craving is like a fire that burns everything with which it comes into contact.

In the South of India, people used to catch monkeys in a very special way. Actually they let monkeys catch themselves. A hunter cuts a small hole in a coconut, just large enough for a monkey to put its hand in. Next, the hunter ties the coconut to a tree, and fills it with something sweet. The monkey smells the sweet, squeezes its hand into the coconut, grabs the sweet and finds that the fist does not fit through the hole. Here’s the trick. The last thing the monkey will think of is to let go of the sweet. The monkey holds itself prisoner. Nothing could be easier for a human who comes and catches it. Desires . . . attachments . . . cravings . . . they arise again and again. Trying to fulfill our desires is like reaching for an alluring treat and getting caught rather than letting go. It’s like reaching for the fire again. You get burned. This is life: full of suffering from our self-made pain. Humans tend to long for what they do not have, or to wish for their lives to be different than they are; they often fail to fully appreciate what they do have.

I think this is what’s happening in the Upper Room on Pentecost. Here sit the followers of Jesus. They are afraid. They are afraid they will be found and persecuted, ridiculed, exposed, tortured, and killed. They are afraid they’ll be given the same treatment that the government gave to Jesus. They are confused. They are powerless. They are still attached to old behaviors and worn-out understandings, obsessed by the presence of Christ’s absence. They have never really understood what Jesus was teaching them about a new kingdom. So they tremble in secret, trapped. They live for their selves -- their safety, their protection, the comfort of their beliefs. And they suffer. They long for what they do not have: peace, harmony, safety, comfort, trust, belief, security.

In the book of Romans, Paul says that there are two ways to live and that the difference between these two ways is everything. Paul says that we can live, “according to the flesh,” or we can be, “led by the Spirit of God.” To live according to the flesh is to live with self at the center. My desire to be loved as an original man of mystery is a self-centered way of life. My impatience in the traffic jam is a self-centered thing. It is MY schedule that is supreme and MY destination that is most important. Everyone else on the road should yield to MY needs. Paul thinks that this self-centered way of living, this attachment to our obsessions, leads to slavery and death.

Paul says there is another way to live. There is a way to overcome suffering. For Christians, it happens when we stop living according to the flesh and begin to be led by the Spirit of God. This puts God and God’s interests at the center of our lives. Instead of reaching into flames and getting burned over and over, we allow the fire of the Spirit to come upon us and control our lives. If we look closely, we can see those tongues of flame resting on people around us. The Spirit is upon people who realize that craving does not make life better. They have a purpose beyond self-protection. They appreciate the world around them because it’s God’s world. They can enjoy it without unrealistically grasping at it. They can be part of God’s world and not try to control what it offers. They can be authentic selves among others and they seem to have what many of us long for: peace, harmony, safety, comfort, trust, belief, and security.

Instead of being burned by the flames of false attachment, we are ignited by the Spirit of God.

I once read a story about a church deacon. The pastor tried to get the deacon to open up and let the spirit of God lead her. The deacon concluded that there was one thing she could do. She could take the youth group to the old folk’s home. Once a month the youth group of this church went to the old folk’s home and put on a little church service for the people who lived there. Once she went with the youth group and she stood in the back of the room. The young people were performing and this old man rolled his chair over to where this deacon was standing, took hold of her hand and held it all during the service. The man did the same thing the next month, and the next month, and the next month, and the next month, and the next month. Then they went one Sunday afternoon and the man wasn’t there. The deacon asked the nurse in charge, “What happened to that man?” “Oh,” she said, “He’s near death. He’s just down the hall, the third room. Maybe you should go in and visit him. He’s unconscious, though.”

The deacon walked down and went into the room. You know how people are when they are just about gone and lying there? It was a horrible scene. The deacon went over and held the hand of the gentleman in the bed. She did not know what to do. Those moments are so awkward. Then, instinctively, led by the Spirit, she said a prayer. And when she said “Amen,” the old fellow squeezed her hand. The deacon was so moved by that squeeze, she began to weep. She shook a little. She tried to get out of the room. As she was leaving, she bumped into a woman who was coming into the room. The visitor said, “He’s been waiting for you. He said he did not want to die until Jesus came and held his hand. I tried to tell him that after death he would have a chance to meet Jesus and talk to Jesus and hold Jesus’ hand. But he said, ‘No. Once a month Jesus comes and holds my hand and I don’t want to leave until I have a chance to hold the hand of Jesus once more.’”

To be ignited by the Spirit may bring you into doing things as awesome as that. When you live in the Spirit, there’s something very important that God wants to do in you and through you. It might be just as simple as this: to go some place and to hold somebody’s hand and Jesus for somebody. That’s what Christ wants of us. Not just to have us believe in him, he wants us to be people who surrender to the Spirit, people who are transformed by the Spirit.

People are waiting for us to stop living for ourselves and to live in the Spirit. They are waiting for us to awaken them to their holiness and their giftedness. In the Spirit we move away from the attachments that trap us. We move from isolation to unity. We go from oppression to liberation. We are freed from insignificance and find importance. We recognize the failures and accept grace. We have shared in the suffering. Now it is time to share in the glory. We live in the Spirit, and allow God to transform our lives.

Sermon for May 9, 2010

Reflecting the Image of God

We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.
— 2 Corinthians 4:7-10

In a large temple north of Thailand’s ancient capital, there once stood an enormous and ancient clay Buddha. Over a period of five hundred years, violent storms, changes of government, and invading armies had come and gone, but the statue endured. At one point, however, the monks who tended the temple noticed that the statue had begun to crack. It would soon be in need of repair and repainting. After a stretch of particularly hot, dry weather, one of the cracks became so wide that a curious monk took a light and peered inside. What shone back at him was a flash of brilliant gold! Inside this plain old statue, the temple residents discovered one of the largest and most luminous gold images of Buddha ever created in Southeast Asia. Now uncovered, the golden Buddha draws throngs of devoted pilgrims from all over Thailand. The monks believe that this shining work of art had been covered in plaster and clay to protect it during times of conflict and unrest.

What might happen if we trained ourselves to see beyond our cracks to the shimmering beauty that lies beneath? Paul describes this experience in 2 Corinthians 4 as “treasures in clay jars.” He says the treasures are in clay jars so that you won’t get attached to pride. You will keep a proper and restrained view of yourself. You won’t treasure a particular version of yourself that might not be true — for example, the self who stops traffic with youthful good looks, or the self who fascinates the world with middle aged charm, or the self who dazzles the world with senior wisdom. These stories we tell about ourselves are not reliable measures of self worth. These various “selves” we masquerade aren’t so unique. We are all just slight variations on a theme. The real measure of worth is what Paul describes as “the all surpassing power of God” — treasures in jars of clay. Think about it as beauty beneath the cracks.

You won’t ever see the beauty beneath the cracks in others or in the world, until you can accept the cracks in yourself. You won’t learn to see the image of God in others until you learn to see it in yourself. Think of yourself in a new way. Do not be conformed any longer to the patterns of this world, especially what the media or other people tell you about yourself. Think of your body in a new way. Look at the wrinkles on your face and see only character lines. Look at your spare tires and see bay windows with a panoramic view of life. Look at the stretch marks and see a road map that tells the story of your journey. Look at the extra flab on your arms and see wings that can soar like eagles. Learn to recognize the image of God in yourself, and then you will be ready to see it in others.

I once heard a story about a young kid named Jake who always wanted to be just like Billy Widdledon. He walked like Billy walked and talked like Billy talked. But then Billy Widdledon began to hang out around Herby Vandeman. He walked like Herb, and talked like Herb. It messed with Jake’s head. He was walking and talking like Bill Widdledon, who was walking and talking like Herby Vandeman. Then it dawned on Jake that Herb Vandeman walked and talked just like Joey Haverlin, and Joey Haverlin walked and talked just like Corky Sabinson. Jake thought to himself — Here I am walking and talking like Billy Widdledon’s imitation of Herby Vandeman’s version of Joey Haverlin, trying to walk and talk like Corky Sabinson. And who do you think Corky Sabinson is always walking and talking like? Of all people, Dopey Wellington - that guy who walks and talks just like me!

A lot of us, myself included, fall for the trap of seeking change at the surface and then feeling surprised that we don’t feel any better at a deeper level. If you want to lose weight, but start from the assumption that your extra weight is an imperfection, then you are bound for disappointment. If you use Botox, but start from the assumption that your blemished skin is ugly, then you are bound for disappointment. If you begin a workout regime but start from the assumption that you are not good enough without it, then you are bound for disappointment. If you dye your hair, but start from the assumption that your natural color is not beautiful, then you are bound for disappointment. Now, here is a liberating truth. If you have come to see the constant and beautiful image of God within, the masterpiece that is you, then you can work at changing the surface effects with freedom. You can celebrate the lost weight, the toned arms, the smooth skin, the died hair, with a great sense of achievement, but all the time knowing that this too will pass and when it does you are no less of a person.

Here’s something we might want to try: What might happen if we stop all our self-loathing. Put aside everything you see in yourself that you hate. Seek the image of God first, then worry about smoothing out the wrinkles, if it even matters to you anymore. Maybe once we see the image of God, we will spend our time and money elsewhere.

Maybe you have a head full of impossible goals. Maybe they have been in your head since you were a child. The media creates an image of what beauty looks like, and it is an impossible image, reflected by none other than those touched-up and photo-shopped into perfection. We know they are fakes, right? Those imperfectly perfect models with the blemish-free skin and stretch-mark free abs. Their waists have been slimmed, their heads enlarged, their rear ends slimmed. We know the pictures have been retouched. But advertisers know we aren’t going to buy magazines with blemished cover models. On the February cover of British GQ, actress Kate Winslet looks absolutely terrific. So who’s complaining? Kate Winslet herself, who says these were not her thighs that appeared on the cover. The worst thing is this. We know that’s not her. We know that advertizers altered her picture for the cover. But then what did they write in the ad line? That’s what’s pervasive and horrible. “Kate Winslet looks sexier than ever. Slim, elegant and self consciously flirty.” The editors are saying that the reason Kate Winslet looks sexier than ever is because she’s slim. Kate Winslet actually has a curvy, real woman’s body. But we get the message loud and clear: you are only sexier than ever if you’re slim. That’s insane

In another story, Self magazine, which champions accepting one’s “true self,” published a thinned-down photo of the singer Kelly Clarkson, with a headline pushing “total body confidence.” Self magazine’s editor, defended the photo as “the truest we have ever put out there.” Did you get that? It’s not a true image, but it’s getting there.

People don’t look like this. People are flawed. It’s why we’re people. We’re flawed.

Imagine if beauty was measured according to the image of God. What percentage of people in the world might recognize the image of God within, no matter how they define or experience that image of God? Don’t fall for the beauty myth. You are so much more valuable than the media would have you believe.

I came across a Washington Post article on the beauty myth, written by a blind man. The man describes the way he experiences beauty:

Occasionally, I allow myself to imagine that I see the . . . faces that we all suspect lie just below the surface. But in any event, I know you differently than do your hand mirrors or photographs. One thing I won’t know is whether you are, in the ocular sense of the word, beautiful. It’s not that I’m inured to beauty. Imagine that you’re talking to a woman who is sitting across a table from you. When you look at her, all you see is a shimmering cloud of light . . . You are able to observe people as mystical emanations of divine radiance . . . I get turned on by your accent, your fragrance, your laugh, your enthusiasm for almost anything. Strictly speaking, I don't even know what my wife looks like. Instead, I live for the thrill of the touch of her lips, and my hands are privileged to see her. My wife lives in a luminous blue corona of light, and that is good enough for me.

Isn’t that marvelous? He senses “mystical emanations of divine radiance.”

When we realize that we are created in the image of God, cracks and all, we can experience salvation. The idea of salvation rests on the notion that there is a rupture between God and us. We live in the world of the rupture, where every creature walks alone, feeling split off from the Whole, cut off from holiness and goodness, severed from the Source of life and power. Where is the all-surpassing power of God that Paul talks about? Let’s listen a little earlier in 2 Corinthians. Paul writes these words:

For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image (3:18).

The Greek translation of the word image is eikon. God longs to restore cracked eikons into glory-producing eikons. To be saved is to be renewed in the true image of God, as women and men in Christ. To be saved is to have our relationships restored between God, others, and the self. We are free to be new creations – people who sparkle and shine, and reflect God’s glory. And don’t you worry. God’s light shines through you. Through cracks and wrinkles, through spare tires and stretch marks, through faults mistakes and regrets, God’s light shines through you.

So get rid of some self-loathing today. Look beyond the masks and the false images of your self that you think will win admiration from others. Look beyond the beauty myths and ridiculously unreachable standards. Look beyond any poor estimations of yourself. You may be surprised to find God in a place where you never thought God would be. You might just see the image of God shining through you. Then you will also be able to see the image of God in the world around you.

Sources:
• Reflecting the Image of God.
• http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2003/04/28/48hours/main551362.shtml
• Austin Garrett Ward. .
• http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/11/08/AR2006110801480.html

Sermon for May 2, 2010

Tattooed by Christ

Then the angel showed me a river with the water of life, clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb. It flowed down the center of the main street. On each side of the river grew a tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, with a fresh crop each month. The leaves were used for medicine to heal the nations. No longer will there be a curse upon anything. For the throne of God and of the Lamb will be there, and his servants will worship him. And they will see his face, and his name will be written on their foreheads. And there will be no night there—no need for lamps or sun—for the Lord God will shine on them. And they will reign forever and ever. Revelation 22:1-5

I was a teenager, sitting at the counter in my family’s kitchen, grabbing a snack. My father came in the room and we began to speak as only and fresh-mouthed teen and his father do. I don’t remember how the conversation came up, but I remember the conclusion. My father got right in my face and said in no uncertain terms that if I ever came into his house with an earring or a tattoo, he would not let me back in. All ties would be severed from that moment and forever. I believed him, too. Uncharacteristically, I chose not to bring up the fact that he had a tattoo on his arm from his days in Vietnam. As a child, I remember staring at the dark green ink of the paratrooper’s emblem on his arm, wondering where and how that icon became an indelible part of his skin. That night at the kitchen counter just didn’t seem like the right time to mention it. So, being the oldest and ever obedient son, I have complied with his wishes, even after all these years. No tattoos. No piercings. My brother is a different story. I assume he got the same lecture. He promptly went out and got himself an ear ring and a tattoo. Nothing was ever said about it. He lived with my parents for years and years.

I remember talking to a teenager who had a tattoo plan. When he turned 18, he has going to get a tattoo of Yoda on his arm. That’s right, Yoda, the little green Jedi Master from the Star Wars movies. I think the teenager was hurt when I started laughing. I know, we need to support our teens’ fragile egos, but I couldn’t help myself. I pictured this guy as a 90-year-old, looking at the wrinkled ink blob on his arm, not knowing for the life of him what it was or how it got there. The teen didn’t see the humor in it.

If you get a tattoo that you don’t like, you can always change it to something else. Like Angelina Jolie and her famous tattoos. Angelina has gotten three different tattoos on her stomach, but one was a cover-up of another. She claims she used to have a blue dragon on the left-hand side of her stomach, the result a night of drunken fun in the city of Amsterdam. Apparently, she had no recollection of getting that tattoo and had the proverbial “How did that get there?” experience. Dissatisfied with the design, she chose to have it covered up with a large, solid black cross. Her second stomach tattoo is a Latin phrase that can be translated “What nourishes me also destroys me.” If I ever got a stomach tattoo, I would have it say, “Live without regrets.” But with my luck, someone would spell it wrong. I’d have a giant “Live without REGETS” on my chiseled abs for the rest of my life.

Here’s my question: are they crazy? My thinking was challenged about when I read a web article from Next Wave Magazine about Christians who wear body art as a means of spiritual expression. One Christian tattoo wearer had this to say:

Is it possible that in our pain we can worship God? As a society, we have been taught the road of least resistance is most desirable. But is this road most honorable? In our pain, we physically grieve the fall of humankind and turn to God, dependent and hopeful for a world to come-- beyond the physical limitations of death. We too share in the crucifixion of Christ. We too are able to touch the scars. In the mystical act of Communion, we share in his blood and body-- the eternal scars of grace.

In today’s Scripture reading from Revelation we hear John’s final remarks about what heaven is like. Verse 4 struck me as I read the passage: Jesus’ name will be on their foreheads. As a sign of belonging to the kingdom, Christ will put his indelible mark of belonging on all who are his. In a sense, the citizens of heaven will be sporting spiritual tattoos which identify them as the children of God. This morning I’d like us to think about what it might mean to be tattooed by Christ.

I can’t get away from the idea of Baptism as I reflect on this passage. John writes about flowing water, fruit-bearing trees, and marked followers of the Lamb. You could say that Baptism is our spiritual tattoo – our mark of inclusion into the covenant community of God. Congregational theology teaches that Baptism is the sign and symbol of inclusion in God’s grace and covenant with the church. Baptism is the identifying mark signifying faithfulness of God, the washing away of sin, rebirth, being sealed by the Spirit, adoption into the covenant family of the church and new life in Christ. No matter how old you were when it happened, no matter what church on denomination did it, we recognize that Christian Baptism is a once and for all sign that you belong to Jesus. No ifs, ands, or buts.

So, Christians are marked people. It seems to me, however, that our baptismal tattoos don’t always but seem to make a big impact on us. And people outside the church don’t care much about them, either.

A sociologist noticed that this is a time of great spiritual hunger in our country, perhaps greater than ever before. At the same time the church is having less impact on people’s perspectives than ever. A growing number of people have dismissed the Christian faith as outdated and irrelevant. The researcher concluded that our failure is not the content of our words, but our failure to practice those truths. His research shows that professing Christians think and behave no differently than anyone else. The same numbers of Christians and non-Christians give to the poor and volunteer their time. The same numbers of Christians and non-Christians donate money to non-profit organizations and visit Internet chat rooms. Equal numbers of believers and non-believers watch reality TV. Both groups discuss moral issues and see themselves as good people who treat others as they want to be treated. And I found this very interesting: Christians are more likely to spend their money in lottery tickets than are non-Christians (38% Christian, 10% other faiths, 12% atheist and agnostic). The point is, if some one was to put the average Christian and the average non-Christian side by side, one would not be able to tell them apart by their day-to-day behavior.

If we wear the mark of Christ, shouldn’t others should be able to see it -- not as a physical mark, but as a set of behaviors that distinguish us as followers of Christ? God has given us the promise of a life that is new and fresh – a life of ultimate joy, holiness and peace -- and for some reason, many of us hang back.

Perhaps this situation is most painfully illustrated when we look at our covenant children. These are the people who have been baptized by this congregation. We have been given the responsibility of raising them in the faith. We are painfully aware that many of the covenant children of our church don’t continue in a life of community worship and service to Christ. It can hurt when we baptize our children and nurture them in the faith community, and when it comes time for them to make their own faith decisions, some of them wander away, unconnected from any kind of formal faith involvement.

This not only happens in our congregation. In the big picture, we can’t escape the slow and steady demise of mainline churches like the UCC. In a 10-year span, the UCC lost close to 230,000 of its 1.25 million members (1994-2004). The United Church of Christ has experienced larger percentage declines in membership and average weekly worship attendance than the other mainline denominations. Members of our covenant community are leaving the denomination in record numbers. Baptisms are way down from levels a decade ago.

Many people leave the church and go nowhere. These are our covenant children. They carry the mark of Christ. And many of them just leave and sink so easily into the patterns of the world.

My message today is, “Fear not!” We are not left without the consolation of the promises of God. Based on my understanding of Scripture and my father’s convictions about tattoos, let me offer two reminders.

First, tattoos are permanent. John reminds us that in the end, the name of Christ will identify the faithful forever. Jesus’ spiritual mark, imprinted upon us in Baptism, is permanent. It might seem to fade at times. The picture might get blurry around the edges. But the mark is still there. You all belong to Jesus Christ! He will not let you go. The work started in Baptism will be completed. You may wander away. You may take a vacation from following God, but you are never forgotten. God doesn’t say, “Oh, she’s hopeless. I guess I’ll just try harder and do better on the next one. You win some and you lose some.” If you’ve been marked by Christ, you belong to Christ. God’s faithfulness needs no renewal. Human faithfulness needs repeated renewal, but God’s faithfulness is constant and sure.

Secondly, tattoos are a choice. Tattoos don’t just magically appear on your skin by having casual contact with another tattoo owner. You have to make some effort to get one. The covenant of Baptism is the same way. Inclusion in the covenant is not automatic. It is not hereditary. Now I understand that many of you didn’t make the choice in your Baptism. For most of you, your parents made that decision for you. But you have a choice of how you live it out. It doesn’t matter if you chose the mark or someone put it on you before you were too young to know. It doesn’t matter if you were sprinkled, dunked, or sprayed. What matters is how you make good on the promises.

Celebrated preacher Fred Craddock tells of an evening when he and his wife were eating dinner in a little restaurant in the Smokey Mountains. A strange and elderly man came over to their table and introduced himself. “I’m from around these parts,” he said. “My mother was not married, and the shame the community directed toward her was also directed toward me. Whenever I went to town with my mother, I could see people staring at us, making guesses about who my daddy was. At school, I ate lunch alone. In my early teens, I began attending a little church but always left before church was over, because I was afraid somebody would ask me what a boy like me was doing in church. One day, before I could escape, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the minister. He looked closely at my face. I knew that he too was trying to guess who my father was. ‘Well, boy, you are a child of. . .’ and then he paused. When he spoke again he said, ‘Boy, you are a child of God. I see a striking resemblance.’ Then he swatted me on the bottom and said, ‘Now, you go on and claim your inheritance.’ I left church that day a different person,” the now elderly man said. “In fact, that was the beginning of my life.”

“What’s your name?” Dr. Craddock asked. He answered, “Ben Hooper. My name is Ben Hooper.” Dr. Craddock said he vaguely recalled his father talking about how the people of Tennessee had twice elected a fellow who had been born out of wedlock as the governor of their state. His name was Ben Hooper.

When people make good on their Baptism, we are encouraged to identify ourselves with the work of Christ. We bear God’s resemblance. We proclaim good news. We find the lost. We feed the hungry. We bandage the wounds of the world. We offer hope to those who live in fear. We wear the mark of Christ. Do you do it in shame, or do you wear it proudly? Do you choose to live for Christ daily, or do you hope that if you don’t call attention to yourself, maybe you will be able to hide your mark from others?

Listen to the questions asked at our Baptisms. I want to ask them to you, and as I do, I want you to think about what your answer is:
• Trusting in the gracious mercy of God, do you turn from the ways of sin and renounce evil and its power in the world?
• Who is your Lo Savior?
• Will you be Christ’s faithful disciple, obeying his word and showing his love?
• Will you be a faithful member of the church, share in it’s worship and ministry through your prayers and gifts, your study and service, and so fulfill your calling to be a disciple of Jesus Christ?

We, the church, wear the forever mark of Christ. In other words:
We take responsibility for our own actions and allow others to do the same.
We celebrate God’s faithfulness.
We proudly wear Christ’s tattoo and let the world identify us by the quality of our caring and the exuberance of our love. We remember that Jesus’ love will not let us go. So, we don’t give up on ourselves or others.

Sermon for April 18, 2010

Trading My Sorrows

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared. And the sea was also gone. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven like a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” And the one sitting on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new!” And then he said to me, “Write this down, for what I tell you is trustworthy and true.” And he also said, “It is finished! I am the Alpha and the Omega—the Beginning and the End. To all who are thirsty I will give freely from the springs of the water of life. -- Revelation 21:1-6

Three women die together in an accident and go to heaven. When they get there, St. Peter says, “We only have one rule here in heaven: don’t step on the ducks!” So they enter heaven, and sure enough, there are ducks all over the place. It is almost impossible not to step on a duck, and although they try their best to avoid them, the first woman accidentally steps on one.

Along comes St. Peter with the ugliest man she ever saw. St. Peter chains them together and says, “Your punishment for stepping on a duck is to spend eternity chained to this ugly man!” The next day, the second woman steps accidentally on a duck and along comes St. Peter, who doesn’t miss a thing. With him is another extremely ugly man. He chains them together with the same admonishment as for the first woman.

The third woman has observed all this and, not wanting to be chained for all eternity to an ugly man, is very, VERY careful where she steps. She manages to go months without stepping on any ducks, but one day St. Peter comes up to her with the most handsome man she has ever laid eyes on ... very tall, long eyelashes, muscular, and thin. St. Peter chains them together without saying a word.

The happy woman says, “I wonder what I did to deserve being chained to you for all of eternity?”

The guy says, “I don’t know about you, but I stepped on a duck!”

According to a NEWSWEEK Poll, 76 percent of Americans believe in heaven, and, of those, 71 percent think it’s an “actual place,” but after that, agreement breaks down. Nineteen percent think heaven looks like a garden, 13 percent say it looks like a city, and 17 percent don’t know. In the peaceful, prosperous West, visions of heaven are increasingly individualistic. Consider the best-selling novel, The Lovely Bones, narrated by a 14-year-old girl who has gone to heaven. Her paradise contains puppies, big fields and Victorian cupolas. For more than 2,000 years, theologians and children have been asking the same, unanswerable questions: Do we keep our bodies in heaven? Are we reunited with loved ones? Can we eat, drink? Can you go to my heaven? Can I go to yours? How do you get there?

The New Testament’s fullest descriptions of heaven were also battle cries. After the Romans crushed Jerusalem in A.D. 70, Middle Eastern cities teemed with festivals honoring the Roman emperors. The earliest Christians had a dilemma. “To what extent do we join the mainstream culture?” they wondered. “Do we attend without participating, participate without believing, or believe without embracing?” The Book of Revelation drew the battle lines. Revelation’s descriptions of thunder and lightning and burning torches, as well as its promises of pearl gates and jeweled walls, were warnings to the earliest Christians: Do not worship the Roman emperors. Stay faithful to your God and Jerusalem will be restored and you will live in a magnificent city forever.


What is your vision of Heaven? Some people find it difficult to think realistically about Heaven. And it’s little wonder we feel so indifferent about it all. The image most people dream up about Heaven is anything but appealing -- some bright place tucked behind a galaxy where birds chirp and organs play with heavy tremolo and angels bounce from cloud to cloud. By the way, this image is used by advertisers to sell items as unremarkable as cream cheese – a beautiful women wearing a size-two angel outfit and a tilted halo enjoying a bagel and cream cheese atop a fluffy cloud. Now for some this may be a remarkable vision of things to come. For me, though, it’s remarkably boring.

Why even worry about Heaven right now? There are people dying, starving and killing each other in our world. We face depression, loneliness, fear, anxiety, and grief on a daily basis. We are too busy to think about some future promise like Heaven. But, if the idea of Heaven doesn’t have some day-to-day impact on the suffering we go through here and now, it is useless.

What if Heaven could touch us today? What if Heaven isn’t just some future eternal bliss, but a reality to our Christian lives here and now?

If I had to define Heaven I would say something like this: Heaven is the destination of ultimate joy. This is how I understand the vision of John the Seer: Heaven is a place where there is no more pain, no more sorrow, no more tears, no more crying or pain. All the evils of the world are wiped away. And the Lord makes everything new.

Heaven, I suppose, is the greatest blessing – the greatest gift. Heaven is the destination of ultimate joy. By the way, when I say joy, I don’t mean the leaping-up-and-down enthusiasm of a game show contestant who has just won an all-expenses-paid-two-week vacation to Europe. I’m talking but the deep, sometimes tearful appreciation of the “ordinary” pleasures of life. Wouldn’t even a taste of that in our lives today be wonderful? Just a little joy in the bleak moments...a second of spiritual comfort in the midst of turmoil...peace in the thick of our hectic lives? How do we get to experience even a little bit of that ultimate joy here and now?

We get a glimpse of joy when we find time to celebrate and remember what God is doing in our lives. But let me say this as well: Blessing doesn’t assume joy. That sounds strange, doesn’t it? You would assume that if someone’s received a blessing she’d be elated. I know plenty of blessed people who spend their lives complaining about how rotten life is. I see people who are healthy, people with strong families, people who live in comfort who see something wrong with in everything and everyone. Have you ever someone say grace over a meal and then promptly gripe about it? Someone cooked that meal. Someone prepared the ingredients. His hunger is about to be satisfied. His body is about to be nourished. And all he can do is complain. The meal is not really a blessing. It brings no joy.

But look around. Take stock of life. We are blessed. And joy? Joy is a choice.
We don’t have to wait until we die to experience the kind of joy promised in Heaven. I think we can get a little foretaste of Heaven on earth right now. So, the question is, when we are tempted to sit back and itemize everything that is wrong with the world and in our own lives, where do we find that heavenly taste of joy?

Let me offer a few strategies for focusing on the joy of Heaven here and now:

1. Choose joy through obedience.
Joy is a sign that the Holy Spirit is alive and working in your life. Joy begins to bloom when obedience to Jesus works its way into the fabric of our daily lives.


Imagine that you work for a company whose president found it necessary to travel out of the country and spend an extended period of time abroad. The President says to you and the other trusted employees, “Look, I’m going to leave. And while I’m gone, I want you to pay close attention to the business. You manage things while I’m away. I will E-mail you regularly and I will instruct you in what you should do from now until I return from this trip.” The boss leaves and stays gone for a couple of years. During that time the boss writes often, communicating her desires and concerns. Finally she returns. She walks up to the front door of the company and immediately discovers everything is a mess -- weeds flourishing in the flower beds, windows broken across the front of the building, the secretary at the front desk dozing, loud music roaring from several offices, two or three people engaged in horseplay in the back room. Instead of making a profit, the business has suffered massive loss. Without hesitation she calls everyone together and barks, “What happened? Didn’t you get my messages?” You say, “Oh, yeah, sure. We got all your Email. We’ve even printed your messages and the bound them in a book. You know, those were really great letters.” I think the president would then ask, “But what did you do about my instructions?” No doubt the employees would respond, “Do? Well, nothing. But we read every one!”

Do you know anyone like that, a person who knows God’s expectations? That person might have even read the Bible from cover to cover, but doesn’t live it out. There’s no obedience, and therefore no joy. Living out God’s word can bring joy.

2. Choose joy by trading your sorrows
There is something to be said for disciplining yourself to be positive in the midst of life’s difficulties. I read a story about Jerry -- the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, “If I were any better, I would be twins!” He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.

Seeing this managerial style, a curious observer approached Jerry and said, “I don’t get it! You can’t be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?” Jerry replied, “Each morning I wake up and say to myself, ‘Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood. I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it . . . Life is all about choices . . . You choose how you react to situations . . . The bottom line: It’s your choice how you live life.”

Several years later, Jerry did something you are never supposed to do: he left the back door of his business open one morning and was held up at gun point by three armed robbers. While trying to open the safe, his hand slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry was found quickly and rushed to the local trauma center. After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital.

About six months after the accident, when people asked him how he was, Jerry replied, “If I were any better, I’d be twins. Wanna see my scars?” Someone asked him what went through his mind as the robbery took place. Jerry replied. “The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door. Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or I could choose to die. I chose to live . . . When they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes I read, ‘He’s a dead man.’ I knew I needed to take action. There was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me. She asked if I was allergic to anything. ‘Yes,’ I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, ‘I’m allergic to bullets!’ Over their laughter, I told them, ‘I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.’ Jerry lived thanks to the skill of his medical team, but also because of his amazing attitude.

Every day we have the choice to live against the odds. Choose joy by trading your sorrows for the joy of the Lord.

3. Choose joy by choosing to persevere.
Let me tell you the story about Clint Courtney. Clint never came close to making it into the Baseball Hall of Fame. He wasn’t a legend in his own time -- not even in his own mind. But a few die-hard fans were inspired by his tremendous perseverance. Clint played catcher for the Baltimore Orioles in the 1950s. During his career he earned the nickname of Scrap Iron. Clint was weathered and tough. Old Scrap Iron broke no records -- only bones. He had little power or speed on the base paths. As for grace and style, he made the easiest play look rather difficult. But armed with mitt and mask, Scrap Iron never flinched from any challenge. Batters often missed the ball and caught his shin. Their foul tips nipped his elbow. Runners fiercely plowed into him, spikes first, as he defended home plate. Though often doubled over in agony, and flattened in a heap of dust, Clint Courtney never quit. Without fail, he’d slowly get up, shake off the dust, punch the pocket of his mitt once or twice, and nod to his pitcher to throw another one. The game would go on and Clint with it -- scarred, bruised, clutching his arm in pain, but determined to continue. Some made fun of him, calling him a masochist. Insane. Others remember him as a true champion. What kept him going? I guess he really loved baseball.

The lesson? Persevere. Hang in there, even when life gets really tough. And make no mistake, life will get really tough. Curve balls come. We get knocked down. The wind gets knocked out of us. Live with purpose. In the midst of it all, do what you love. Follow your heart. In obedience, with a positive attitude and with perseverance, there is an opportunity to choose joy.

I’d like to leave you with an excerpt from a letter by Fra Giovanni Giocondo . Giovanni was an architect, engineer, and classical scholar who was born in Verona around 1433 and died in 1516. This letter was written to a friend on Christmas Eve, 1513. It’s words are ancient but still meaningful.

I salute you! There is nothing I can give you which you have not; but there is much, that, while I cannot give, you can take.

No Heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take Heaven.

No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant. Take peace.

The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet, within our reach, is joy. Take joy.

May we all find a way to take joy and know heaven on earth, here and now.

Sermon for April 11, 2010

Praising the Passover Lamb

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In his book The Source, James Michener tells the story of a man named Urbaal. Urbaal lived about 4200 years ago. He worshiped two gods, one a god of death, the other a goddess of fertility. One day, the temple priests tell Urbaal to bring his young son to the temple as a sacrificial victim to the fertility god . . . if he wants good crops. Urbaal obeys. On the appointed day, he drags his wife and boy to the scene of the boy’s sacred execution by fire. After the sacrifice of Urbaal’s boy the several others, the priests announce that one of the fathers will spend next week in the temple with a new temple prostitute. Urbaal's wife is stunned as she notices a desire written more intensely across his face than she had seen before. She is overwhelmed to see him eagerly lunge forward when his name is called. The ceremony over, she walks out of the temple. With her head swimming, she wonders, “If he had different gods, he would have been a different man?”

I have to confess, I have a hard time making it through Michener’s lengthy books. But, I like Michener’s perspective. Urbaal’s wife reminds us that worship shapes life. Whatever or whomever it is that you name as the greatest value–that defines who you are. Let’s look at another worship experience. This is from the vision of John the Seer in the Book of Revelation.
Then I looked again, and I heard the voices of thousands and millions of angels around the throne and of the living beings and the elders. And they sang in a mighty chorus:
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slaughtered—
to receive power and riches
and wisdom and strength
and honor and glory and blessing.”
And then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea. They sang:
“Blessing and honor and glory and power
belong to the one sitting on the throne
and to the Lamb forever and ever.”
And the four living beings said, “Amen!” And the twenty-four elders fell down and worshiped the Lamb (Rev. 5:5-11)

Do you ever wonder why we need to worship? I mean, why bother? Can’t we get along fine without it? A story is told about a young boy who was sitting with his mother in a morning worship service, bored to tears. Not much was keeping his attention, so his eyes began to roam the sanctuary, looking for something that would interest him. Soon his gaze fixed on a bronze plaque on that wall that was covered with stars, letters and an outline of the American flag. He couldn’t figure out what it meant, so he leaned over to his mother, pointed to the plaque and asked in a loud whisper, “Mom, what’s that thing over there?” She whispered back, “That’s a plaque in memory of those who died in the service.” After a long pause, the little boy, wide-eyed and anxious, nudged his mother again and asked her in a solemn tone, “Mom, just tell me one thing–did they die in the morning or evening service?

Have you ever felt that way–like sitting through another boring worship service would kill you? I have. If this is what worship is going to be like, can’t we just as well live without it? Sure, we go to church to see friends, or teach, or sing, or for any other number of commendable reasons. But if we don’t feel like we are meeting with God, it doesn’t seem worth it. It sounds dreadful to go to church just to tolerate another worship service. If God’s presence isn’t obvious at church, the main reason for attending is gone. So, why bother with worship?

Before we answer that, let’s understand what worship is. My definition goes something like this: worship is assigning the highest value to someone or something else. What consumes your thought time? Is there something you are obsessed with–so much so that it’s all you think about and all you crave? It’s probably something of tremendous worth to you. In a sense, whatever you thought of is something you worship. It doesn’t have to be God.

Some people worship the power of human reason. In other words, the human ability to be make objective, rational improvements has the highest value in the universe.

Some people worship self-sufficiency. That is, some consider the Self to be the highest good and that which is most worthy of praise.

Some people worship the power of technology. Some people assign the highest value to science, or psychology, or medicine.

Some people worship a dream. Some have a picture in their minds of what the future should look like. They spend so much time living in the future, they forget that there is some living to do right in the present. They unintentionally make their imaginings their highest value.

A lot of people worship that which makes them feel good at the moment. People become obsessed with personal delight. People begin to worship the things that bring the most individual gratification: sex, food, fantasy, alcohol, relationships, exercise, music, sports. The list could go on and on.

So, unless you value nothing, then everyone worships. The real question is, what does the object of your attention say about what you value the most? Whatever or whomever it is that you name as the greatest value–that defines who you are.

Robert Oppenheimer was the one man responsible for the development for the atomic bomb the United States used against Japan at the close of World War II. As a teacher at the California Institute of Technology, Oppenheimer was considered one of the top ten theoretical physicists in the world, specializing in the study of sub-atomic particles and gamma rays. From 1943 he began directing 4500 men and women at Los Alamos, New Mexico. Their sole purpose was to build an atomic bomb. Two years and two billion dollars later, they had successfully detonated the first atomic bomb. When he saw what he had made, Robert Oppenheimer underwent a radical reconsideration of his values. Upon seeing the first fireball and mushroom cloud, he quoted from the Bhagavad-Gita, “I am become death.” Two months later he resigned his position at Los Alamos and spent much of the remainder of his life trying to undo the damage, trying to get the genie of atomic weapons back in the bottle.

There are certain individuals who, in a flash, see that all they once valued is really of no lasting value at all. Their entire life has been turned on its head. Everything is upside down. Priorities change. Objects of desire shift around. They see with painful clarity that the very things they prized most in life can be, in reality, inexpensive novelties, or at worst, destructive achievements. Whatever or whomever it is that you name as the greatest value–that defines who you are.

Think about that as we turn back to Revelation 5. John describes a scene of worship pushed to the ultimate limits. In this passage the creation says, “Jesus, you have the greatest value of anyone or anything else, hands down, bar none.” The angels, and elders and creatures all say, “Jesus, you are worthy. YOU ARE WORTHY to receive power, riches, wisdom, strength, honor, glory, and blessing.”

Why worship? For one reason alone–because Jesus is worthy. Why is Jesus worthy? Because he is the Lamb.

This is one of the most important images in the whole book of Revelation. When all seems hopeless – when it seems like the power of evil gets the final word, John hears the roaring of a lion. Image what he feels when he hears that noise: the spine-chilling sound of a muscular and ferocious animal that has the ability to tear him limb from limb. When he turns to look at the lion, he is instantly surprised and confused. Instead of a lion, he actually sees a lamb, standing as thought it had been slain. God fulfills the hopes and needs of humanity, and we see it in the vision of a resuscitated lamb. Not a lion. A lamb. God’s power is not the kind of power that manipulates people to worship through fear and force. God’s power is the power of self-giving love. God wins people over by loving them and inviting them to choose a new life. All the forces of evil could not conquer love by killing Jesus the Lamb. Jesus conquered evil. He did not retaliate. He did it through non-coercive love.

Now remember I said that whatever it is that you ascribe the greatest value to–that defines who you are? I think that worshiping the Lamb defines you as a lamb. In other words, worshiping Christ defines you as a Christian – a follower of Christ’s ways. Worshiping Jesus demonstrates that you are a person who can put your trust in Christ, even in most dismal circumstances. You might have doubts along the way. But somewhere deep inside, you know that Jesus is worthy, and you value the self-giving love of Christ above anyone or anything else. The Lamb has power because the Lamb stood up. When the power of evil wanted to sit him down, the lamb lives as a resistant force – a symbol of resurrected defiance against that which wants to keep us tied to deadly ways. And the Lamb’s overcoming power is available to those who see his risen life as our highest value. We see the Lamb who was slain and we order our lives according to the values of God’s Kingdom. We see the Lamb who was slain and we live our days with inclusive love and compassion. We see the Lamb who was slain and we forgive as we have been forgiven; we show mercy as God has shown mercy. We see the Lamb who was slain and we remember that nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate us from God’s love.

Why worship God? Because the Lamb is worthy! The Lamb is worthy of blessing and honor and glory and power, forever and ever.

In honor of the beginning of baseball season, here’s a little story from a couple of decades ago. In 1988 Orel Herschiser pitched an unbelievable season for the Los Angeles Dodgers. In the World Series, his complete game victory over the Oakland A’s in game five clinched the series for the Dodgers. Orel was awarded the Cy Young award and two MVP awards, one for the National League and the other for the World Series.

During the play-offs, the TV cameras zoomed in on Orel in the dugout between innings singing softly to himself. Unable to make out the tune, the announcers merely commented that Orel’s record certainly gave him something to sing about. All of this to-do was over a fellow who was cut from his high school baseball team, who couldn’t make the traveling squad of his college team, who almost quit in the minors, who never quite looked the part he was trying to play.

Johnny Carson replayed the tape on the Tonight Show a few days later when Orel appeared as a guest. Johnny asked him what song he had been singing during the game and if Orel would sing it again right then and there. The audience roared its approval over Orel’s embarrassed reluctance. So, on national TV, Orel softly sang the words TV crews had barely caught on tape.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him all creatures here below;
Praise him above ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

Orel Hershiser did what God’s people do. He was praising God. When it comes right down to it, nothing or nobody else can do what Jesus does for you. Human ingenuity is not going to save you. Medicine might prolong life, but it won’t give you the new and abundant life that Jesus promises. Seeking pleasure only brings temporary enjoyment before one needs to seek the next thrill. But I promise you, nobody else is going to do for you what Jesus did. Nobody else is going to love you like Jesus does. Nothing else is going to gratify like Jesus. To me, that gives Jesus the highest value. The Christ, the Lamb is worthy of praise.


Sources:
Paul Basden in The Worship Maze (Downer’s Grove: InterVarsity, 1999), 15.
http://www.sermonillustrations.com/a z/v/values.htm
William Barclay, Jesus as They Saw Him (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1962), 311.
Ted Grismund, Triumph of the Lamb (Scottsdale: Herald Press, 1987), 55-56.
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1068107/1/index.htm
Brain Blount, ed., True to Our Native Land, An African American NT Commentary, 533.