Sermon for February 20, 2011

“Travelin’ Through”
A Farewell Sermon

Have you ever noticed that sacred and scared are practically the same word. Just switch the c and the a and the one turns into the other. Sacred … Scared. I’m scared this morning. I’m scared because this is the last Sunday here for my family and me. I’m scared because I want to offer something truly sacred today. I want to honor this moment. I want to treasure being with you all. And, honestly, I’ve struggled with this sermon all week. I don’t know what to say that I haven’t said already.

Can I allow the “scared” to become sacred? In this sanctuary I have wrestled and wept and laughed. I have preached and listened. I have danced and lain down and found comfort and have felt my heart break a hundred times. I have been filled with joy. I have felt scared and stretched and ill at ease. I have been welcomed. I have been blessed. I have met God here, so many times and in so many ways.

Sometimes the room has looked like it does now. Sometimes I’ve come to the sanctuary in the early morning and and listened to the sounds you can only hear when the building is empty and watched the sun come through the window and light up the dust that floats in the air. I have sat in silence in here. I have taken — and offered — the bread and the wine here I’ve baptized young ones and said good bye to friends. I have felt the presence of Christ here. Sometimes it’s been in words spoken, sometimes in shared silence. Sometimes I have known where that presence is, and sometimes it’s been beyond my awareness, impossible to pinpoint but still here.

I have been cooked here. Listen to this verse from the poet Rumi:

If your knowledge of firehas been turned to certainty by words alone, then seek to be cooked by the fire itself. Don’t abide in borrowed certainty. There is no real certainty until you burn; if you wish for this, sit down in the fire.”

It’s not a threat so much as an invitation. I have made mistakes and said the wrong thing and hurt people. I have been forgiven. I have felt stretched to my maximum. And I have found that my heart has grown bigger, and that the hearts around me have been big enough to include me each time.

I am leaving TCC not because I’m fully cooked, but because Chris and I have come to believe that we need a different community and Church to raise our children as we long to do. We are moving because know there is something sacred there for us, even though we are scared to take the steps to get there.

I lot of people have asked me if there are other circumstances behind the scenes that are contributing to my decision to leave TCC. What can I say? Many of you know about conflicts here. Personality conflicts. Conflicts of interest. Those who wish to preserve worn traditions struggle against those who have a wider vision of what this church can be. My wish for this church is that you can courageously confront these conflicts and find some unity.

There is another reason why I’m leaving. I feel like I’ve failed. I haven’t been good enough. Some of you may want to disagree with me and I appreciate that opinion. Or, you may want to agree with me, in which case I appreciate you remaining quiet. But the truth of the matter is that, when I look at who I was called to be, I wasn’t good enough. In fact, none of us are. No matter how excellent our lives, no matter how selfless or generous or compassionate we are, we can never measure up to the standards that are set for us. At some point, whether it is six days or six years or sixty years, we will fall short.

I wish had been a different kind of leader. I wish I had spoken up more when I saw people being pushed to the margins. I wish I spoke up for myself when I felt like the ministry at TCC was being sabotaged. I wish I had been more loving, more grateful, and more secure in myself. That’s why I like the imagery of being a Pilgrim. Not the people who landed on Plymouth Rock, but a pilgrim in the sense of a wanderer or a person on a journey. Christians are like temporary residents or exiles. There is little we can know for sure about how our faith journeys will turn out, except that we will be loved and forgiven when we allow God in. As much as we might like to think otherwise, life in church can be a messy, turbulent, disorienting walk. We would do well to be gentle with one another and with ourselves, as we are trying to figure it all out as we go along. There are no guarantees as to how the decisions we make as individuals of faith or as a community of faith will turn out. Some may succeed spectacularly, some may fail spectacularly. And it’s all OK. We can let go of the ways we try to keep ourselves safe, and mistake-free, and secure. We can let go of the times we have felt scared, and let something sacred emerge.

Although I feel like I have not been good enough, I want you to know that you are good enough, as individuals and as a congregation. We’ve had our ups and downs together, our successes and our failures, our times of great faith and times of great doubt, but in the end, I can say with confidence that you are good enough. Not because of anything you have done, but because of what I’ve seen God do through you. And I can say that because I’ve heard your stories. Over these past 6 ½ years, I’ve had the honor of listening to your stories and being a part of them. I’ve been invited into your homes. I’ve sat across lunch tables with you. I’ve talked with you on the phone. I’ve exchanged emails with you. And I’ve been listening to your stories.

So I want to encourage you today to keep telling your stories. You see those doors in the back of the sanctuary? There will be people coming through those doors who don’t know your stories, including your next minister. They need to hear your stories, not only because they are your stories, not only because they are these this church’s stories, they are God’s stories. And when you when you speak them out loud, when you give voice to them, you become who God created you to be. And I when I tell my story, you will have a special place in it.

All of us are figuring this faith out as we go along. The Bible does not offer us prescriptions for every circumstance in this life, other than the call to love our God with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength, and our neighbors as ourselves. What that looks like in day to day life, as we’re traveling through this pilgrim land, is up to us to figure out. So hear now these words from the great theologian . . . Dolly Parton.

Like the poor wayfaring stranger that they speak about in song
I'm just a weary pilgrim trying to find my own way home
Oh Jesus if you're out there, keep me ever close to you
As I'm travelin', travelin', travelin', as I'm travelin' through.

She sings about stumblin’, tumblin’, wonderin’ as we’re traveling through. Because it isn’t easy, but it is life, and in the midst of all the stumbling and tumbling and wondering and traveling, in the midst of all our risks and straying, and falling, we can trust in the God who abides with us as we figure it out.

And now, this chapter comes to an end. I have had several people say, “I’m not going to say ‘goodbye’ because that just sounds so final.” Yes, it does and yes, it is. But not when you consider what it really means. The word “goodbye” is a contracted form of the phrase, “God be with you.” To say “goodbye” is to entrust someone to God’s care once he or she is no longer in your presence. In the Christian lexicon, there’s a word that carries with it some of the same meanings. It’s a word we use a lot when we pray: “Amen.” Amen means “right on” or “let it be so.” It’s the exclamation point at the end of sentence that affirms the truth of what’s been said and hands it over to God.

I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed that I don’t end my sermons with an “Amen” as a lot of pastors do. I believe a sermon should only be the beginning of the conversation, not the end of it. “Don’t put a period where God wants to put a comma.” In other words, ending a sermon with “Amen” is like saying, “And that’s all there is to say about that.” I don’t believe that’s true, so I rarely say “Amen” at the end of a sermon.

But this sermon is a little different, because in some ways it IS the end of the conversation, at the least one between you and me. We are putting the punctuation on the end of the sentence at the end of the paragraph at the end of the chapter, a chapter that I humbly pray was “good enough.”

It feels like there’s still so much more to be done and so much we have left undone, but we’ll just have to turn that over to God and trust that the dialogue will be picked up by your next conversation partner. I can’t wait to hear what stories are written in your future. And until that happens, I am able to say with confidence, trust, faith and so much love, goodbye and Amen.

Sermon for February 13, 2011

A Letter From Home

Here's the latest from Aunt Georgia. She is not good at typing -- I did not correct her typos. Enjoy. --mbb

Dear Matt,

Had an ice storm here on the hill last night. The trees are all covered up with frozen water droplets, shimmerin’ in the sunlight. Branches sway and crack in the soft breeze, makin’ a lovely high-pitched chime. HA! Sound like a poet, don’t I? Just call me the Emily Dickinson of the Ozarks.

Actually, I’ve been feelin’ my age lately, and that just will not do. I’m carryin’ more poundage than I should. Think large stuffed Christmas goose. And the lunchtime Skoal habit’s not exactly contributin’ to my general well bein’. I bit the bullet and made an appointment with my doctor, better known as the Angel of Death. My appointment was for 2:10 p.m. I showed up at two o’clock on the dot. Docs got a receptionist that looks like Bernadette Peters in The Longest Yard, right down to the beehive hair-do. I’ve had the same doctor for over a decade and yet she can never remember my name. I told her who I was and that I had a 2:10 appointment. She glanced at her appointment calendar and then told me that the doctor was runnin’ a little late and I would have to wait. just HOW late? She informed me that the doctor was behind on his rounds and it would be an hour wait, maybe more. I can usually keep calm in most situations, but I could hear the sound of rushin’ wind buildin’ inside my head as I thought of sittin’ there for an hour. I mean, how many times can you watch that condescendin' educational tape about the beauty of cruciferous vegetables? I figured if I had that much time I could put it to good use and get some errands done while the doctor made his way across town. I told Bernadette I’d be back in about an hour. This is about where Bernadette turned things mean. She told me if I left I would be charged for a missed appointment and would have to re-schedule. That’s office policy. The wind in my head became like a tornado. I said, ‘So if I leave while the doctor isn’t here and come back when he is here I will still be charged and not get to see him even then? That makes no sense.’

‘It’s office policy.’ she said. ‘And you are holdin’ up the line.’ I turned around and tried not to flinch, but I think I made a noise like someone had stepped on a baby chick. Standin’ there was Bea Jimson’s husband, Woodchuck, wearin’ a t-shirt that said, “Come to the Dark Side, We Have Cookies.” He looked like someone had stretched a baby shirt over a small haystack, balanced on a pillar of red sweat pants and flip-flops made from recycled tires. He had the 2:15. I told him the doctor wasn’t here and he said that was OK with him. ‘I seen a new People Magazine over there I haven’t read yet.’ Woodchuck moved his lips as he read the pictures. I heaved a mighty sigh and did what any red blooded woman would do. I sat down and waited. So remember…bend your knees and eat your Brussels sprouts.

Do you remember Sunny Clobberhouse? Her real name is Sunshine. She always acts like the whole world is puttin’ her down with their eyes. She comes over to the farm every now and again, and we watch the TV stories together in the afternoon. The other day, Sunny forced me into shoppin’ at the mall in Chigger Falls. She even promised to buy lunch. Doc said I could use more exercise, so I decided to go with Sunny an her mall romp.

While hikin’ through the Chigger Falls Shoppin’ Towne, Sunny insisted on goin’ to the makeup counter at Deek Willises’ Ozark Couture and Farm Supply Store. She knows an old lady like me don’t want a makeover. But when I mustered a fuss, Sunny just gave me a once over -- the kind of squinty-eyed nod she thinks everyone else squints at her, and she said, “Li’l paint on that old barn wouldn’t hurt ya’ ‘tall, Georgia.” I could tell Sunny was lookin’ for trouble. She wuz wearin’ a red T-shirt that had the word “Fresh” printed in sequins across her grandmotherly bosom (What’s with all the tight shirts, these days?). Fresh can mean a couple-a things. The positive type of "fresh" is what you really want a good head of lettuce to be. The not-so-positive type of "fresh" is when Bea Jimson’s husband Woodchuck ogles you in Doc’s waitin’ room. Another renderin’ of "fresh" could be a woman who’s sassy and ready to party until the money runs out. This ain't exactly the mental picture one wants of Sunshine Clobberhouse.

Our trip to town started tumblin’ downhill when I ignored a few of my own hard and fast rules about makeovers (namely the ones about ignorin’ advice from a saleswoman who has done on purpose turned herself tangerine, and the one about women willin’ly wearin’ black lip liner in the middle of the day havin’ no business with their hands near my face). Despite my misgivin’s, I sat in the makeover chair for Sunny. I have to say, the makeup girl was a heavy hand with the pancake. Rubbin’ powders from my collarbone to my widow’s peak, she muttered somethin’ about spackle in crevices and how she’s talented with foundation, but she’s not a miracle worker. The stuff on my brow-bones was, I kid you not, an inch thick! She used so many products on my face, the whole thing started slippin’ down from sheer weight. She caked more and more and more powder over the top to keep the "look" in place. When she was done, she spun me around made me look at all the razzle dazzle in the mirror. I looked, and I tell you the truth, like the picture in the People Magazine of Micky Rourke after his most recent faceclift. It was a truly terrifyin’ face full of slap that made me look like a greasepaint addict on a bronzer binge. And she was so proud of her work! I tried to tell her nice that this wasn’t the look I was going for. I’m more the mu-mu-wearin’, Home Shoppin’ Network kind of lady. The “Red Hot Granny from Chigger Falls” look isn’t for me. The "artist" was insulted. She yelled at me for not recognizin’ a professional and refused to chisel the makeup off. Took me seven washin’s in the ladies room to get that crud off my face. I’m sorry I ever gave that woman a tip.

I think people are tryin’ to irritate me on purpose. As I get older, I try not to get upset anymore. I want to laugh stuff off, but it aint easy. Like Sunny’s idea of lunch after our makeover. She drove over to Big Molly’s Pizza Cavalcade. Big Molly’s is a buffet-style franchise that never really made it out of the Chigger Falls area. Their claim to fame is the $2.99 all-you-can-eat pizza pie. The weird thing is it’s not really that bad. If you play your cards right you can go to Big Molly’s late in the day, eat like an off-season sumo wrestler, and have your food needs covered for about three days. Nobody can figure out exactly how the food is so cheap. The explanation I like the best is the “angry sauce” theory. Red’s wife Adelaide realized that every time she ate at Big Molly’s, she would suddenly turn angry for no reason. One bite turned her into a she-devil. She speculated that Big Molly’s was actually operated by Satan, and the reason that the food was so cheap was because Satan wanted to distribute his angry sauce and turn people against one another. She never ate there again. Satan or not, no one’s stoppin’ me from eatin’ a $2.99 pie!

So there we were at Big Molly’s Pizza Cavalcade. It took Sunny a half our to find a spot. She just kept circlin’ ‘round the lot, waitin’ for people to leave. There were plenty of spots, mind you. It’s just that she wanted the spot right next to the handicapped lane near the front door. On her last lap, she saw the perfect opportunity. But just as she turned the corner, someone else pulled into it first. I told Sunny, “If you hadn’t spent 30 minutes drivin’ around the parkin’ lot waitin’ for that piece of prime real estate we could have already eaten and been on our merry way.” Besides if you would walk a little every now and then you wouldn’t have to park so close so as to avoid a heart attack from too much exercise, you lazy harpy. I didn’t say that second part. I just thought it -- indicatin’ that I was reachin’ my breakin’ point. Sunny parked the car and stomped inside to order her food. By the time I got my things together and made it into Big Molly’s, Sunny was at the counter havin’ a screamin’ spell ‘bout how she ordered the double cheeseburger pizza, not the quarter pound deluxe beef pie with cheese. The terrified teenager behind the counter was doin’ everything possible to fix the situation, but there was no stoppin’ this train wreck. Sunny wanted justice. What she got was a cryin’ teenager who was really startin’ to wind up. This poor girl wuz heavin’ and makin' awkward sounds, even though she was tryin’ real hard to keep silent), and she started leakin’ tears from every openin’ on her face from her hairline to her chin.

Watchin’ that teenager clabber before us got Sunny even angrier. “Jez cuz yer feelin’s’r mussed up, don’t ‘spect me to go outta my way to be nice to ya. I never liked ya’ in the first place. Actually I am thoroughly enjoyin’ your personal welcome to the real world.”

That’s Sunny for you. She’s anything but Sunny when she’s been set off. Sunny’s not int’rested in mercy. She’s all ‘bout gettin’ justice. Pastor Sanford at the Jerico Springs Progressive Church of the Ozarks was sermonizin’ about this a few weeks ago. He asked us, “When someone makes a mistake, do you want justice or mercy? How about when YOU make a mistake . . . then do you want justice or mercy?”

The way I figure, we got two different ways we can act when we bend outta shape. There’s Lightin’ Mode and Lovin’ Mode. Lightnin’ Mode is where we desire swift and sure justice when we’ve been offended. If we were in charge of makin’ things right, we might shoot off a lightnin’ bolt to emphasize the point! That’s how I felt at the doctor’s office. If I could have shot a bolt of electricity at Bernadette Peter’s evil twin, or at Woodchuck, I wouldn’t’ve thought twice about it. From what I saw of Sunny at Big Molly’s, she would have done the same thing. She sent off a few verbal lightin’ bolts, that’s for sure.

Lovin’ Mode is where we flirt with the idea of why the person did what they did. We don’t just assume that it was intentional or mean spirited. Maybe was merely an oversight or they had other things on their mind. Maybe they’re inept or incapable.

Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea . . . until they have something to forgive. Here’s the thing, when it comes to our forgivin’ others, we can’t seem to imagine that God would expect us to show the same level of patience with others as God does with us. Many good people think that forgivin’ your enemies means calculatin’ out that they are really not so bad after all, when it’s quite plain that they are bad people, plain and simple. I remember Christian teachers tellin’ me long ago that I must hate a bad person’s actions, but not hate the bad person. Or as they would say, hate the sin but not the sinner. For a long time I used to think this is silly, straw-splittin’. How can you hate what a person does and not hate the actual person? One day it occurred to me that there’s one person who I had been doin’ this for all my life – namely myself. Even when I don’t like my own cowardice or selfishness, I go on lovin’ myself. Never think twice about it. If I can do it for myself, maybe I can do it for others, too.

Makes me think of Floyd Lincoln Tribbit. ‘Cause of his hygiene philosophies, Floyd led a very lonesome life. He spent the bulk of his days makin’ fishin’ lures and starin’ at a wall picture of Richard Nixon, the only art he owned. He missed his friends, who didn’t come ‘round anymore. And he missed his beloved wife Nettie, who died years ago. Floyd cried every day, and his tears smelled like cabbage. Approximately once every three to four months, when the loneliness grew as unbearable as an Olsen Twins movie, Floyd would walk out his back door and calmly set fire to his tool shed. Then he’d return to his house and begin preparin for visitors. He’d cut a big hunk of Velveeta and fill a bowl with somethin’ crunchy, usually saltines or pudding. And when he was sure that the shed wasn’t goin’ out, he’d call the fire department and wait for his company to arrive. The fire department and most of the town knew of Floyd’s questionable way of invitin’ company over. While they didn’t exactly approve, they didn’t take steps to stop it neither. Most had a deep-seated pity for Ol’ Floyd and could tolerate his actions. Besides, by allowin’ him to pull such stunts, it erased some of the guilt they felt for lettin’ him suffer up on that hill all alone.

I get it. You don’t love the behavior, but you love the person. The firefighters wouldn’t call it love, of course. They’re too manly for all that. Call it love. Call it fondness. Call it bein’ a good neighbor. The point is, the fire fighters would put out the blaze in the tool shed and then spend a couple hours chattin’ away with Floyd, careful not to let on they knew his secret. It’s ‘bout respect, and treatin’ people like you want to be treated. I’m talkin’ love, and forgiveness, and rememerin’ you don’t always have it all together. Nobody does.

There I go preachin’ again. Writin’ to you always gets me sermonizin’. By the way, The double cheeseburger pie at Big Molly’s was halfway decent. I just ate some of the leftovers. And you know what, I’m sittin’ here, two hours later, angry as a cut snake for no reason. Satan’s angry sauce got me again.

Much love,
Aunt Georgia

Sermon for January 30, 2011

Sorry for the hiatus -- you, my faithful reader. Here is the latest. --mbb

The Patience of a Great God

I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength to do his work. He considered me trustworthy and appointed me to serve him, even though I used to blaspheme the name of Christ. In my insolence, I persecuted his people. But God had mercy on me because I did it in ignorance and unbelief. Oh, how generous and gracious our Lord was! He filled me with the faith and love that come from Christ Jesus. This is a trustworthy saying, and everyone should accept it: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners”—and I am the worst of them all. But God had mercy on me so that Christ Jesus could use me as a prime example of his great patience with even the worst sinners. Then others will realize that they, too, can believe in him and receive eternal life. All honor and glory to God forever and ever! He is the eternal King, the unseen one who never dies; he alone is God. Amen. Timothy, my son, here are my instructions for you, based on the prophetic words spoken about you earlier. May they help you fight well in the Lord’s battles. 1 Timothy 1:12-18

Every day brings us an array of things that try our patience. Mom’s, you know what I’m talking about. You buy something that needs to be assembled and the instructions don’t make sense. You toss 16 socks into a clothes dryer and you get only 15 back. How about all those people who annoy us? Poky drivers in front of you when you are in a hurry. People who let their dogs bark all night. Or the person ahead of us in the 15-item express line at the supermarket who puts 19 items on the belt, chats with an incredibly slow checkout clerk, fishes for a checkbook only after everything has been rung up, and then wants to review the bill. Strangers try our patience in lots of little ways, but they’re no match for members of our own family. The prime cases of annoyance are domestic. “When two humans have lived together for a while,” says C. S. Lewis, “it usually happens that each has facial expressions and tones of voice that are almost unendurable to the other.” I think we understand. It’s not that your family member does anything wrong, exactly. It’s just that once in a while she lifts her eyebrows in a certain way that drives you nuts. It’s just that he whines even when he’s not complaining.

How about those people who do the same annoying thing over and over again. They know it bothers you. They might even ask your forgiveness. But they just keep making the same mistakes.

But wait a minute. That describes all of us, doesn’t it – doing the same things over and over and over again . . . making the same mistakes all the time. Do you ever wonder if God gets tired of us–if God ever loses patience? Here is God, patiently trying to correct our behavior and help us grow up into the people we were created to be – and here we are, going our own ways, doing our own things, messing up, asking forgiveness, and then repeating the same old sins. In my own life, I rarely need to invent new sins. I just keep repeating the same old sins. At times I feel clumsy and foolish and useless. And at times I convince myself that there’s no way God could possibly forgive me again for the same things for which I’ve already asked forgiveness -- that just doesn’t make sense. I mean, eventually God has got to lose patience with me and just go ahead and give me a good whack upside the head. Right?

The Apostle Paul says no -- that’s not the case. God has unlimited patience. And no matter how many times we blow it, if we seek God’s forgiveness, God promises to forgive us again, and again, and again -- it’s unlimited.

Now let’s be clear. I’m not saying that God doesn’t take our sin seriously. Sin is deadly serious. And I am not saying that God doesn’t have standards. God clearly calls us to live lives that conform to the values of the Kingdom. There are real consequences in our lives when we disobey the standards that God has set in place. Our sin matters to God and brings pain and brokenness to our lives. But our sins, no matter how often repeated, can never come between us and the forgiveness offered in Jesus Christ -- because God has unlimited patience for you and for me.

Maybe you think your sin is too great for God to forgive. Paul certainly could have thought that. Listen to how he describes himself, a blasphemer, a persecutor -- a violent man. And then, just to make sure you understand just what a really lousy person he is, he calls himself the “worst of sinners.”

I bet you could come up with a list of sins in your own mind.
• You’ve let emotions like anger or selfishness or a judgmental spirit enter into your relationships.
• Or, you’re trapped in a cycle of addiction that you can’t seem to overcome and you feel like a failure.
• Or, you’re involved in a relationship that you know is destructive to you and your family.
• Or, you’ve taken some shortcuts at work or at home that you know aren’t ethical.
• Or, you’ve drifted away from God and you really don’t have a whole lot of desire to find your way back.

You’ve got your list, I have mine. Maybe you are thinking, “Worst of sinners? -- yeah, I know something about being the worst of sinners, and there is just no way God could possibly forgive the worst of sinners. There is no way God could ever forgive me for the things I’ve done.”

Notice Paul doesn’t say I “was” the worst of sinners. He says, “I AM” the worst of sinners, -- present tense. I am the worst of sinners, but here’s the good news -- that’s why Jesus Christ came into the world. Jesus Christ came to save sinners like Paul and sinners like you and sinners like me. And there is no sin that you or I could possibly commit that would be so great that it would exceed God’s unlimited patience and capacity to forgive.

There are some of us who have trouble with this idea of God’s unlimited patience because we think that God’s capacity to forgive is too small. And maybe we do that because we compare God’s capacity to offer forgiveness with our own ... and again, that’s just wrong thinking. God isn’t reluctant to forgive us -- God delights in forgiving us. God forgives all our sins, no matter how little and no matter how big.

Despite our mistakes, despite our pride and self-sufficiency, despite the times we turn away from God -- our sins aren’t too big for God to handle. God doesn’t put conditions on forgiveness. When we make the same mistakes over and over again, it doesn’t max out God’s patience.

And so Paul writes to Timothy:
I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display His unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on Him and receive eternal life. (1 Timothy 1: 16) And here is where the story comes home to you and to me. It’s as if Paul is saying:
If you don’t believe anything else, believe this: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. I’m proof -- Public Sinner Number One. I never could have made it apart from the love and grace of Jesus. And now God shows me off -- as evidence of endless patience. I am an example for those who are right on the edge of trusting God forever.
And maybe that describes some of us here today. Maybe we are right on the edge of trusting Jesus Christ forever and all we need to do is receive the grace and forgiveness that He freely offers.

Some of us are sitting here today and we know that we really are the worst of sinners ... and maybe we believe our sins to be too big or God’s forgiveness too small -- and we’ve never received the unlimited gift of love He offers. God’s gift is ours. We only need to turn to God and accept it. I don’t know what you’ve brought here with you today -- what sins are on your list or on your mind and heart. But I do know this: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. And so let me invite you, as we close in prayer, to take a few moments of silence, and in those moments, I invite you to come to God -- to turn to Jesus Christ and lay all your failures and all your mistakes and all your sins before Him. God really does have unlimited patience. God delights in pouring out love and grace and forgiveness on the worst of sinners -- like you and like me.

Sermon for December 19, Advent 4

Doing the Right Thing

The birth of Jesus took place like this. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. Before they came to the marriage bed, Joseph discovered she was pregnant. (It was by the Holy Spirit, but he didn't know that.) Joseph, chagrined but noble, determined to take care of things quietly so Mary would not be disgraced.

While he was trying to figure a way out, he had a dream. God's angel spoke in the dream: "Joseph, son of David, don't hesitate to get married. Mary's pregnancy is Spirit-conceived. God's Holy Spirit has made her pregnant. She will bring a son to birth, and when she does, you, Joseph, will name him Jesus—'God saves'—because he will save his people from their sins." This would bring the prophet's embryonic sermon to full term:

Watch for this—a virgin will get pregnant and bear a son;
They will name him Immanuel (Hebrew for "God is with us").

Then Joseph woke up. He did exactly what God's angel commanded in the dream: He married Mary. But he did not consummate the marriage until she had the baby. He named the baby Jesus --Matthew 1:18-25 (The Message)

These reflections were part of a service based on a spiritual practice called Lectio Divina. We listened to Matthew 1:18-25 three different times, and I offered three various perspectives on the passage after periods of rest and silence.

--Part One--

It was a few days before Christmas. That morning, a woman woke up and told her husband, "I just dreamed that you gave me a diamond necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" Her husband replied, "Oh, you'll know the day after tomorrow."

The next morning, she turned to her husband again and said the same thing, "I just dreamed that you gave me a diamond necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" And her husband said, "You'll know tomorrow."

On the third morning, the woman woke up and smiled at her husband, "I just dreamed again that you gave me a diamond necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" And he smiled back, "You'll know tonight."

That evening, the man came home with a small package and presented it to his wife. She was delighted. She opened it gently. And when she did, she found-a book! And the book's title was How to Interpret Your Dreams.

Advent is a season of dreams. What have you been dreaming about lately? Some of us are dreaming about wonderful possibilities. We're dreaming new possibilities, new toys, and new beginnings. I hope all those dreams come true! During my regular sleep time, when I’m not on cough medicine, my I dreams fall into two major categories. The first I call worried dreams. In these dreams, I am stand in a pulpit, for instance, with nothing to say. Or I’m late and the service is running an hour over, and I can’t get the buttons to my robe together. In another dream I’m back in college and I show up to a college class unprepared, or I can’t register for the one class I need to graduate. Another form of this is the chase dream. Someone is out to get me – hunting me down. Sometimes there is aircraft involved, but I think that’s from the new furnace fan that drones all night long under our bedroom. These are nights that I spend wrestling with my spirit.

Sometimes my dreams are refreshing. I dream about reconciliation. I dream that my enemies and I are living at peace. I dream of flying through the air or swimming like a fish. I dream of new opportunities. These are nights where my hope is renewed.

What is the reason for dreams, those strange stories that bounce along our brain waves? We wake suddenly, and reality itself seems like a different world. Today's gospel lesson is about a dream -- the dream of Joseph. Not Mary's dream, but Joseph's dream. Today we get to consider his point of view. Joseph dreams something wonderful. God will enter the world. God will be born to his fiancée, as crazy is that was to understand. Joseph has some serious trusting Joseph has to trust that the voice of God is speaking to him. Joseph has to trust Mary is telling the truth. Joseph has to believe in dreams and then get out of the way.

I want us to consider a gift that we can give others this season. It’s the gift of believing in someone else's dreams. The greatest gift you can give is to have faith in someone else. Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in the dream of your husband. Believe in the dream of your wife. Believe in the dreams of your children. Believe in the dream of your hero, your leader, your friend. Believe in their dreams! Believe in dreams this Christmas, and Jesus will be born again. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and God will appear.

-- Part Two--

A young boy was in big trouble with his Dad. The boy was sent to his room, where he stayed for an hour. When the Dad came in and found the boy packing some of his clothes, his teddy bear and his piggy bank. The boy said indignantly, “I’m running away from home!”
“What if you get hungry?” the father asked.
“Then I’ll come home and eat and then leave again!” said the child.
“And what if you run out of money?”
“I will come home, get some money and then leave again!” replied the child.
“What if your clothes get dirty?”
“Then I’ll come home and let mommy wash them and then leave again,” he said.
The Dad shook his head and exclaimed, “This kid is not running away from home; he’s going to college.”

Christmas can be a time that brings the worst out of us. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the stress of maintaining traditions. Maybe its all the added stress we put on ourselves to shop, and bake, and entertain, and party. Maybe it’s time with family or the in-your-face consumerism that stands in stark contrast with global suffering. Something about Christmas brings the realities of life into new focus. Some of us would like to run away from Christmas. So let me ask a question: What are you looking to get from the Christmas story? Are you looking for a Disney style story that helps you run away from the realities of life or are you looking for an affirmation that life is tough and God is with us? Are you looking for the romantic myth of a virgin birth or the stark reality of a young couple trying to make the best of a confusing situation? Are you looking for the sugar-coated story of angels with golden wings floating in from outer space with divine messages, or the reality of a frightened couple trying to follow their instincts and discern some meaning in their struggle?

Most of us don’t live sugar-coated lives. The sickly sweet fairytale Christmas story that is often presented offers little to the harsh reality of our lives: teenage pregnancies, loveless relationships, global poverty, religious rivalry, family betrayals, personal demons and workplace anguish.

The historical context which paints a more accurate backdrop to the beginnings of Jesus’ life says something profound to the realities of life. From the time Mary became pregnant, to the decisions of a family struggling to make ends meet, to the life of a struggling revolutionary, the Christmas a story is the beginning of a tale about survival against the odds. The real-world Christmas story names the struggles of your life and the horrors of our world. In the raw, the real, the radical, earthy struggles of the family of Jesus, we hear echoes of life as you know it to be. You don’t need to run away. You have all you need right here and now to live fully and survive against any odds, and to be an angel of compassion in the world.

-- Part Three --

Joseph. A decent man. A righteous man. A good man facing an impossible choice. A man wanting to do the right thing. A man caught on the horns of a dilemma—torn between his love for Mary and his lifelong habit of living by the law of God. When he hears that Mary is pregnant, Joseph does the best he can. He resolves to let her go quietly so she doesn’t have to face the law’s punishments for pregnant unmarried women. And then, in the midst of a restless sleep, an angel of God comes to Joseph and asks him to take Mary as his wife and to name her child, claiming that child as his own. We know the story. Joseph says “yes”—yes to God. That’s often where the story ends.

But there’s so much more to Joseph’s yes to God. In naming Jesus, Joseph claims him as his own and raises Jesus as his own son. Joseph will watch over Jesus. He will listening in the night. He will worrying about him. He will do all he can to keep that baby safe. Joseph will love Jesus and teach him his trade. Think of it. Think of the role Joseph played in Jesus’ life. Imagine what Jesus learned from Joseph.

Imagine the two of them at the carpenter’s bench . . . Joseph teaching Jesus how to use tools . . . Joseph telling stories from the Bible, sharing the parables of old . . . singing the psalms . . . singing of a father’s love.Imagine Jesus watching Joseph . . . seeing how Joseph treats the people others ignore . . . noting Joseph’s kindness . . . how Joseph goes out of his way to make others feel welcome . . . seeing the tenderness Joseph shows to Mary.

Imagine Joseph telling Jesus stories about the Romans. We can almost hear him muttering about the way the Romans treated the Israelites — the heavy taxes, the hillsides crowded with crosses, the arrogance of power. Imagine Joseph instilling in Jesus a passion for justice. Imagine him sharing his longing for peace with Jesus. Think of it. Think of the role Joseph played in Jesus’ life. After all they were together almost thirty years.

And think of the role Jesus played in Joseph’s life. Think of how Joseph’s yes to God rearranged his life; think of the richness it brought him; think of how that yes to God stretched Joseph into new possibilities, new relationships, new ways of being in the world. God comes to us as God’s angel came to Joseph, inviting us to take God’s child into our homes and into our hearts. Inviting us to claim that child as our own and to live as Joseph did into the fullness of God’s dream for us. God gives each of us an opportunity to say “yes”—to say yes to God.

Maybe we can live a little more like Joseph did. We do our best to live our faith out, in word and deed—in the little things we do, in the way we lead our daily lives.

Sources:
Thanks to the following pastors and thinkers who inspire my thoughts and lead me to think about Scripture in different ways:
http://day1.org/1070-believe_in_the_dreams_of_the_person_you_love
http://www.c3exchange.org/archive/running-away-from-christmas/
http://www.trinitysonoma.org/Sermons/Sermon-Dec23-2007.pdf

Sermon for December 12, 2010

Choosing Life

Advent is a time of waiting. Preparing. But what are we waiting for? For what are we preparing? For happier times? A better world? For our longing for peace and justice to be stilled? Advent is a time of waiting and wondering, looking back and looking forward. Advent is a time of hoping and searching. Advent is the time of light shining in the darkness, peace overcoming conflict and war, and warmth entering the cold of the world we live in. Advent is a chance of new beginnings – often small, but almost always significant. Keep this in mind as we hear today’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel.

John the Baptist, who was in prison, heard about all the things the Messiah was doing. So he sent his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?” Jesus told them, “Go back to John and tell him what you have heard and seen— the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor. And tell him, ‘God blesses those who do not turn away because of me.’” As John’s disciples were leaving, Jesus began talking about him to the crowds. “What kind of man did you go into the wilderness to see? Was he a weak reed, swayed by every breath of wind? Or were you expecting to see a man dressed in expensive clothes? No, people with expensive clothes live in palaces. Were you looking for a prophet? Yes, and he is more than a prophet. John is the man to whom the Scriptures refer when they say,

‘Look, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
and he will prepare your way before you.’

“I tell you the truth, of all who have ever lived, none is greater than John the Baptist. Yet even the least person in the Kingdom of Heaven is greater than he is! -- Matthew 11: 2-11

Christmas excitement is building up in the Braddock house. Two more weeks to go and it is Christmas again. Two more weeks to get everything done. We make plans with friends and family. We decorate the house. I look for strange gifts for my family and friends. We do all this because we are supposed to remember what this season is about: joy, peace, light and happiness. These are God’s gifts to us. But they don’t come to us easily. We all know that this time of the year is not necessarily a happy one for everyone. This can be one of the loneliest times of the year for some. It can be awful and cruel and painful. Memories of deaths, of hurt, of broken relationships and lonely journeys through times of darkness ask to be taken seriously, as we start this journey through Advent.

We prepare. We wait. We are get ready. And we don’t want to miss it… the joy that is promised and the joy available, when we eventually grasp that Jesus comes in a different way than the one we’d expected.

Our Gospel lesson today leads us right in the middle of all that: waiting, hoping, working for God’s purposes in this world. We hear this story about John the Baptist. It’s a lot different than last weeks story. Last week, John the Baptist burst on the scene with fire and vengeance, full of confidence and certainty. He announced the coming of Jesus with great hope and expectation. But, today, John reminds us about another side of Advent. In today’ story, John is tired. He is discouraged. John the Baptist is like us. He has questions. He even has doubts. He even has doubts about Jesus. He isn’t sure Jesus is the one he prepared the way for. He needs to find out. As he sits in prison, he struggles. He questions. He doubts. He wonders.

He might have been thinking, "Lord, where did I go wrong? I did what I thought you wanted. I said what I thought you wanted me to say. You told me that the Messiah was coming. But where is he? Where’s the fire? Where’s the judgment he’s supposed to bring? And why, if he’s here, would he let me stay in this dungeon? I’ve heard rumours about Jesus. I thought I knew him well. I remember that glorious day in the Jordan when I baptized him. I knew it was all beginning then. God’s whole plan was being put into play. But, where is he now? Why isn’t he doing what I said he would do? Is he really the one or should I look for another?”

Questions. Wondering. Doubts. Is that all okay? Are we afraid to doubt? Who of us have not cried out with John,” Are you the Christ, or shall we look for another?”

…when life gets tough and we see innocent people suffer.

…when the bad so often succeed while the good fail.

…when we face a world locked in the death grip of one meaningless war after another;

…when we witness the destruction of nature as greed and desire for comforts drain the earth of her natural resources;

…when we choke on pollution and stumble over wrecked lives of people struck down by drugs and alcohol?
Is it not tempting to cry out, “If you are the Messiah, why this? Are you the one who can change all this, or shall we, look for another?”

No, John is not so far away from us, is he? Sometimes we wake up and realize that faith does not have all the answers. Faith is a risk. Faith is a life of trust, not of certainty and security. God never promises answers to all our questions. God never promises life without stress. God only promises to give God’s self to us, with all the dangers and risks and blessings that come with it. I can speak from experience and say that when I am in those times of doubt, when I am journeying in those dark nights of the soul, when it seems that God has moved or that the box I was trying to trap God in was disintegrating, those are the times I grew the most.

In so many ways, doubt can be good for us. It can motivate us to study and learn. It can purify false beliefs that have crept into our faith. It can humble our arrogance. It can give us patience and compassion with other doubters. It can remind us of how much truth matters.

John had his doubts. He questions. He wonders. But, he does not stay with those doubts. He seeks answers. He sends his disciples to ask Jesus if he was the one. Listen again to the answer Jesus gives. He says:

Go back to John and tell him what you have heard and seen— the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor.

Jesus did not come with just the grim news of repentance, fire and judgment. Jesus responds with a love that says you are forgiven, you are to be made whole, you are good just as you are. Jesus says, "Look around, see what happens, and decide for yourselves. What does the evidence show? What do you think? Is Jesus the one?”

Jesus does not fit John’s expectations. In his actions, Jesus shows that he ‘s the Messiah …that the world is changing, that God’s great plan of salvation unfolds. Only John did not really understand. John’s whole life had been focused on his belief that he was the herald, preparing the way for the one who was to come to fulfil the promises and affirm the faith of the people. Now he sits in prison. He must know that his chances of getting out alive are slim.

Behind John’s question was nothing less than the search for the meaning of his whole life. I hope John, just shortly before his beliefs cost him his life, could see and understand that his life was not in vain, that Jesus was the one he’d been preparing the way for. I hope John could see that Jesus fulfills the highest expectations of human values,. I hope John could accept the outstanding, and the wholeness Jesus brought to people, the healing of body and soul, the forgiveness and the new self-respect to the sinner, the dignity and acceptance to the outcast… All that and so much more.

I hope that John could hear the voice of Jesus inviting him and claiming him and all of us as God’s beloved children. I hope that John could hear what Jesus did not express in straight forward words: I am he… I am the one to whom your unrest points. I am he – the one to come. I am the one for whom you and so many have hoped. I am the fulfillment of the promises given to generations of people living in fear and dark, holding fast to the dream of salvation.

I hope we all rise from our questions and doubts and believe this good news. Jesus Christ comes to release people. He releases us from our inner prisons of fear and meaninglessness, and shows us where to go!

May he come to each one of us on our journey through Advent, through this season. May this be the time when we transform the way we live. May this be the time when we transform the world into a place where power is shared, and all have what they need, a world in which people can live in relationship, in celebration, in joy and in peace.

As we see the brokenness of our world, may we also see the unexpected chances of change and healing. May this allow us to continue to work for justice and peace in our world – bearing John’s questions in mind and affirming Jesus’ answers by the way we choose to live: waiting and wondering, hoping and searching, and making a difference.

Sermon for November 28, 2010

Reflections

Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again -- rejoice! Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon. Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. If you do this, you will experience God's peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus. And now, dear brothers and sisters, let me say one more thing as I close this letter. Fix your thoughts on what is true and honorable and right. Think about things that are pure and lovely and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. Keep putting into practice all you learned from me and heard from me and saw me doing, and the God of peace will be with you. Philippians 4:4-9

I’ve been struggling this week to find the right words for today. I have a lot I want to tell you before I leave TCC, and I have also dreaded having to stand in front of you all to say my goodbyes. Instead, let me tell you some stories. I want to tell you about two of my grandparents.

My grandfather was named James Elton Hudson, and he was born in Jerico Springs, MO to a farming family. Sick of the country life, he enlisted into the Navy and fought in the submarine service in WWII. He left MO at 18 years old and vowed that if he lived through the war, he would not return until he had made a success of himself. After the war, he and one of his Navy buddies moved to CT and started their own contracting business. By the time I came along, their business was quite successful. He built condos and office complexes. After he made a success of himself, he did return to MO. He actually got his pilot’s license and flew out there in his own plane, landing in the bumpy cattle fields with his new bride beside him. The new bride didn’t know that while my grandfather was visiting, she would have to stay inside with his mother and learn how to cook big farm dinners in the sweltering Summer heat. She made meat, ‘taters, and pies while James Elton was out in the fields doing “man stuff” with his father.

My grandfather was a mysterious man to me. He never said too much, but when he did speak, we listened. I’ll never forget the time he caught my cousin and me on the roof of his barn. When we finally came down, he was ready for us. He told us that if he ever caught us up there again he would kick and blister our behinds. I believed him. His care could be ferocious. But he could also be tender. In the face of family tragedy, he would stop and listen to his kids. He was also a stubborn man. Every carpet and blanket in the house had cigarette burns, which attest to his bad habit of falling asleep while smoking in bed. Mostly, I remember him sitting at the head of the dinner table for hours, listening to the chatter and laughter of his family, smoking cartons of cigarettes (True Blues), drinking coffee with two saccharine tablets, eating Velveeta and smoked sausage, and looking impassive.

He never took care of himself, and when his health deteriorated, we all took turns begging him to do something. He waved us off with shake of his head and a pass of his hand – always with the lit cigarette that made long wisps of smoke curl around his head. He said he was fine. So, in 1993, when Grandpa died of a sudden heart attack on the front steps of his house, we realized that he wasn’t as fine as he thought. In the pain-filled weeks after his funeral we realized that his business wasn’t as fine as we thought, either. He left the family a half a million dollars in debt. Banks started foreclosing on all his properties, including the house. To make it worse, it was discovered that some of the debt was from the financial support he gave to the family of a woman with whom he was having an affair.

All these years later, there is still so much I don’t know about Grandpa’s life. I do know that I had many chances to try to make it right with him while he was still alive, but it never happened. Maybe it was his nonchalance. Perhaps it was my fear of him. It doesn’t matter. The moment is gone. He died when we weren’t ready for him to go, and I never really took the chance to say goodbye.

My grandmother was named Lorraine Teresa LaRose Hudson, the daughter of French Canadian immigrants. She never enjoyed robust health. She and her siblings faced cancer and other health problems throughout their lives. But that never stopped them from enjoying their weekly poker games. She grew up near the tobacco fields of northeastern CT to a poor, stern parents. Her mother was a fierce lady who was always old to me. We called her Meme. I’ve confessed before, everyone was terrified of Meme. I still remember meme beating my cousin for making a runny bowl of tuna salad. Meme died at 103 years old. Despite her meanness, she lived with my grandparents for as long as I can remember. Even though Meme could make life difficult, my grandmother still managed to find some joy in it all. My grandmother was a nurturer. In fact, I never called her grandma. I called her Mom. We all did. There was my mother, and then there was Mom–my grandmother. Mom just seemed to understand me. Sometimes she was sympathetic. Sometimes we disagreed, especially on politics. The wonderful things about Mom was that she always welcomed people into her home. She functioned as a Mom to all of us. Her kids, grandkids, neighbors, family friends. Her house was always busy, and always full.

Mom died on October 31, 2002. With congestive heart failure at 72 years old, she was told that she needed surgery or her heart would eventually shut down. She elected for the open heart surgery. Her heart pumped fine after the operation, but other organs began closing down and she was eventually put on life support. By the time I got there she was unresponsive. In a drug-induced coma, she laid on the hospital bed, swollen beyond recognition, surrounded by machines and tubes and weeping relatives. With her children and grandchildren standing by her hospital bed, Mom was taken off life support. 15 of us were there in her room, holding her and each other, crying, and praying as she died.

And yet, at her death I felt some peace. I had been with her two weeks earlier, and I extended my stay because I just knew that this was my last time with her. As I drove her to doctor appointments, we talked about her family and her memories of her sisters and brother who had died before her. I asked her if she had the choice between dying on a hospital table or dying at home surrounded by her family, which would she choose. She chose surgery and she knew the risks. We shared our appreciation for one another, and found some strength in one another. So when she died, as sad as I was, I knew that I could let go. I new she was going to die, and I had a chance to prepare. And I said what I needed to say. I made peace with her death because I can look back on Mom’s life and see all that was good, and beautiful, and praiseworthy. I am thankful that we were part of each other’s lives. I still think about her a lot, and I hope that all the good and wonderful parts of her life live on in me.

I guess I’ve been getting in touch with my own grief as I begin to say goodbye to you all. I’ve been allowing myself to experience sadness and anxiety over my decision to resign. And I’ve been thinking about Mom and Grandpa – my grandparents. I think about death. Letting go. Saying goodbye. In a sense, my departure feels like a kind of death to me. Not a sudden death where a loved one is suddenly snatched away, but the kind where you’re told how much time is left before the end arrives. And knowing that, I want to make sure that I say what I need to say before I go.

I have been changed by knowing you. I have been transformed by a church family that has been warm, generous, and loving. I have been changed because we took the risk of being vulnerable with each other. At least I know I did. There was a point in my ministry – a number of years ago – when I thought to myself, “Matt, you can keep professional distance and be effective but aloof, or you can invest yourself in relationships.” I chose the second option. I chose to get to know you and let you know me. I did it because I think that’s how we allow ourselves to be transformed by God. We give each other all the respect and love it takes until we can see the image of Christ in one another. Vulnerability is about sharing our woundedness with one another. That’s what Jesus did for us. Of course, when you share such love and vulnerability it makes it harder to say goodbye. But I would rather leave knowing that we shared significant relationships rather than having treated you as my professional clients and you have treated me as a figurehead.

You have let me into your lives – to mourn with you, to party with you – just to live life together with all that life throw at us. Thanks for laughing with me – or at me – when I forget to let the choir sing or skip something in the bulletin. Thanks for putting up with my scatterbrained forgetfulness. Thanks for not taking it personally when I’ve done something that you didn’t like. Thanks for helping me learn – and for learning with me along the way.

I am thankful to our God, and I will continue to reflect on all that is good, lovely, excellent and praiseworthy about you all. In some of my sadness over leaving, I am learning to make peace. I can look back on our life together and see all that was true, honorable, and right. I am thankful that we were part of one another’s lives. I think about you all a lot, and I hope that all the good and wonderful parts of you will live on in me.

I will miss this sanctuary. In this sanctuary I have wrestled with God and wept and laughed. I have preached and listened. I found solace and have felt my heart break. I have been filled with joy. I have felt scared and stretched and ill at ease. I have been welcomed. I have been blessed. I have met God here, so many times and in so many ways. I have sat in silence in here. I have blessed marriages and said many final goodbyes. I have taken — and offered — the bread and the wine here I have felt the presence of Jesus here.

I will miss the people who make this place special. II have made mistakes and said the wrong thing and hurt people. I have been forgiven. I have felt stretched to my maximum. a times I’ve felt frustrated, misunderstood, and attacked. Other times I’ve felt nurtured, supported and encouraged. No matter what, I’ve found that my heart has grown bigger.

One of the reasons we’re leaving TCC is because Chris and know that we need a different kind of community in which to raise our family. There is another reason. Over the past few months, I’ve become convinced that there is something especially sacred for me to do in Silver Spring, MD. I have some more learning and growing to do as a pastor, and I need to be responsive and responsible to that calling.

I think the sadness of leaving is worse when we become afraid of saying goodbye. I know that’s how it is in my life. I think life takes on a new quality when we are able to let go of our fears. I would rather have a place for us to be able to continue to share our wounds. I think when we do, we begin an important process together. As we do, I think God’s presence and peace with come.

If you have things you need to say to me, give me a call or come visit. I want to know what you are thinking and what you’ve observed. If you are sad or angry and you want to tell me, please do. If you are overjoyed you can tell me that, too. Say what you need to me. Ask questions. And I promise I will just listen without judging or getting angry or hurt. I’ll give you honest answers and be a friend.

Sermon for November 14, 2010

Habits of Healthy Churches: Boundaries

Would you ever eat a snake? There’s a story in the Bible about the apostle Peter and a snake. God shows Peter a vision of a banquet coming down out of heaven. In the vision there’s a snake and a bunch of reptiles on a picnic blanket and God tells Pete to kill himself some and have a bite. I don’t know if anyone here has ever eaten snake before. Some people say it tastes like chicken. In case you’re interested, I scoured the Internet and found a recipe for an East Texas fried rattlesnake dinner that contains all four food groups.

1. Bake a chocolate cake. This is the 1st food group.

2. Fry two pounds of bacon in a cast iron skillet. Bacon is the second food group. Leave ½ pound on the drainboard to munch on while you’re cooking, and put the rest in the fridge.

3. Go outside and find a big rattlesnake. Kill the snake. Nail its head to a tree.

4. Go in the house, skin and boil six large potatoes. Go back outside and cut the snake down the middle being careful to not ruin the rattles. Cut the skin away from the head. Pull down hard and steady. Lay the skin in the sun to dry and instruct the dog to leave the snakeskin alone. Slice the snake meat into half-inch thick patties. Pour a lot of flour onto two plates, and scramble three eggs in a bowl.

5. Put black pepper and some cayenne pepper into the plates. When you think you have enough pepper, add some more. After all, you’re about to eat a rattlesnake. Dip the meat into the plates of flour and then gently lay the battered meat into the hot grease. If done correctly you’ll not get burned. If done wrong, you’ll learn.

6. Leave the meat in the grease until it’s brown on the bottom, then turn it over. Meanwhile, fork-test the potatoes. If they’re done, drain off the water, add a stick of butter (3rd food group) and some milk.

7. Put two cans of peas in a big bowl with a half stick of butter. Put the bowl in the microwave and nuke them.


8. Leaving the fire low, slowly sprinkle the left over flour into the left over grease and scratch it around until the flour is cooked. Slowly add whole milk, while squishing out the lumps. Don’t add too much milk. The final consistency resembles grayish-brown wallpaper paste. This process takes some practice, but eventually you will scratch through the lumps and have the fourth food group: gravy.

9. Take the peas out of the microwave and the bread out of the oven. Put everything on the table. Call everybody to eat. Feed them fried rattlesnake while you eat mashed potatoes, gravy, peas and chocolate cake.

The outdoorsmen of the world tell us that snakes, alligators, racoons, possum, squirrels -- all that stuff is tasty when it’s prepared correctly. I’ve only had the raccoon, and I wasn’t a fan. Kind of slimy. Apparently, Peter was disgusted by it all. Maybe Peter just didn’t have a good recipe.

In the first century, the great question facing the church was about boundaries. Who could be in and who must stay out? Where would the lines be drawn that would determine who should hear the gospel and who would not? Believers assumed that God’s recipe was limited to those who followed the commandments and rituals of Judaism. The first great learning of the early church was that God’s recipe had more ingredients in mind -- it was more inclusive than even the most devout believer could imagine

The church started out as a Jewish sect. Its members were men and women who called themselves Jews. They worshiped like Jews, and they had an encounter with a Jew named Jesus Christ who expanded their ideas of who God was. The early followers of Jesus didn’t hang out with anyone who was not Jewish. It was against the law to be in contact with Gentiles. A Jew considered it unclean and idolatrous to eat a gentile’s food. The early Christians kept kosher homes and obeyed the Jewish laws, and the law said that no Jew was allowed to eat things like pigs, or reptiles, or certain species of birds or shellfish. So, you can imagine how horrified Peter must be when he receives a series of messages from God. First he is told to eat unclean animals. Then he’s told in a vision to go to the home of a man named Cornelius who is a gentile AND a Roman army officer. Cornelius is doubly defiled. Peter goes to this man’s house and tells him the story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. Cornelius and his entire household are immediately filled with the Holy Spirit and they convert to Christianity. This blows the minds of the good Jewish followers of Christ. It is unbelievable to them that God’s love would actually reach out to unclean, heathen gentiles. Peter is called to task before the other Apostles; and this is what he says. His speech comes from Acts 11.

“I was in the town of Joppa, and while I was praying, I went into a trance and saw a vision. Something like a large sheet was let down by its four corners from the sky. And it came right down to me. When I looked inside the sheet, I saw all sorts of small animals, wild animals, reptiles, and birds. And I heard a voice say, ‘Get up, Peter; kill and eat them.’

“‘No, Lord,’ I replied. ‘I have never eaten anything that our Jewish laws have declared impure or unclean”’

“But the voice from heaven spoke again: ‘Do not call something unclean if God has made it clean.’ This happened three times before the sheet and all it contained was pulled back up to heaven.
“Just then three men who had been sent from Caesarea arrived at the house where we were staying. The Holy Spirit told me to go with them and not to worry that they were Gentiles. These six brothers here accompanied me, and we soon entered the home of the man who had sent for us. He told us how an angel had appeared to him in his home and had told him, ‘Send messengers to Joppa, and summon a man named Simon Peter. He will tell you how you and everyone in your household can be saved!’

“As I began to speak,” Peter continued, “the Holy Spirit fell on them, just as he fell on us at the beginning. Then I thought of the Lord’s words when he said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ And since God gave these Gentiles the same gift he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I to stand in God’s way?”
When the others heard this, they stopped objecting and began praising God. They said, “We can see that God has also given the Gentiles the privilege of repenting of their sins and receiving eternal life.”

This episode changes the course of history. The church is no longer for Jews only, but for all people. God reminds people that the boundaries of the Kingdom reach farther than they could ever dream. This is why we can sit here and call ourselves Christians today. Sometimes, though, I feel that we’ve gotten into the habit of excluding others from the work and ministry of the church. Sometimes our anger towards others gets in the way, or people come into the church who make us uncomfortable or afraid. I think we all need a reminder of who the church is, and what we are called to do.

Healthy churches learn to expand their boundaries in order to include people in what God is doing. People need to know that they are loved, even when they are unlovable. One way to do this is to tell people the simple truth that God loves everyone. This doesn’t mean that God just loves those who are popular, or good looking, or the ones who have it all together. It means that God loves those whom the world labels as ugly or incompetent. For the early church, God’s love was extended to those who were seen as low-lifes; the poor and oppressed, the lame, and even the Gentiles. You see, the church is not supposed to be a club for people who have it all together. The church is for “rejects.” It is a place where people who have been isolated from God can come and hear life-saving news. The church is a place for people with real pain to hear words of healing and hope. This place is here because all of us have been unfaithful, unworthy, undesirable and unsure, but because of Christ we have never been unloved.

An inclusive vision of the church means that we commit ourselves to preaching and teaching the message of God’s love restlessly. We don’t do it out of pride. We don’t do it to swell our membership roles or bank accounts. The message that people both inside and outside this church need to hear is that God loves you and every person with equal passion and devotion -- that God has made the immensity of divine love known in Jesus Christ. People will never hear this life-saving message if we don’t tell them, and we can’t tell them if they are not welcome among us. Who will invite others in and tell them just how much God loves them? It can’t be just me, or just a few individual random people. If we want to see the church have an impact in our families and in our community, it can begin with each of us being personally committed to telling others about how God changed our lives, and how God longs to include all people in transforming love.

God needs us not only to tell, but to show God’s love. Francis of Assisi once said, “Preach the gospel to all the world, and if necessary, use words.” Words alone can be empty and meaningless, unless they are backed with actions. For instance, what does a visitor see when he or she attends worship here? Do we look bored and fidgety, or do we show that we are engaged in actively worshiping our Savior? If we look like we can’t wait to get out of here, then our actions might show that we are here just out of mere routine. If we act like we love God and enjoy the presence of God and one another, we confirm that our faith has actually had an impact on our lives. The truth is that our neighbors, our families, our children, and even complete strangers are watching you, and they want to know if all this talk about Jesus and church really makes a difference in your life. The church can become an inclusive community when we back up our words with integrity-filled actions.

In 1999 a little church in Decatur called Oakhurst Baptist Church was ejected by the Georgia Baptist Convention for a variety of issues having to do with Biblical interpretation and inclusiveness. In the 1960's this congregation had taken a stand against segregation and had lost two-thirds of its members. In the 1980's the church opened its doors to the homeless, who have been welcomed and have worshiped there ever since. In fact, the pastor tells of the time when he and his young son were visiting another church facility and his son asked, “Dad, where do the homeless live here?” He assumed that you could not have a church without a place for your homeless friends. One day, when the congregation was much in the news, a member of the church, a developmentally disabled young man named John, saw a TV camera and hurried over to offer to be on television. The reporter extended his microphone and asked, “Tell me, John, what do you like about this church?” John grinned and answered, “They love everybody here.”

I have visited similar churches. I think of a church I know that regularly opens its doors to the homeless and developmentally disabled. On any given Sunday you may have business professionals, professors, group-home residents, and homeless people all worshiping together, praying for one another and celebrating each other’s lives. Another church I know sends out what it calls its “Worship Wagon” to drive to the homes of elderly people and others who can’t get to church. They are driven to the worship service and returned home afterwards. Churches like these realize that we are not fully the body of Christ until everyone is included.

Don’t you want to be part of a church that changes the lives of others by modeling love and devotion? Who will invite others in and show them the love of Christ? Who will seek out those who are different from us, those who are disabled or lonely, or hurting, or socially diverse, and show them that we care, that we love, and that we believe in them, because God cares, loves and believes in them?

Do we want to see the church to have an impact on the culture around us? Do we want to see people’s lives touched by God? If so, it means being committed to living God’s vision of an inclusive church. It means more than mere friendliness or hospitality. It means being personally responsible for telling all people about God’s love, and showing them love in action, even if it stretches our comfort zones . . . even if it challenges our faith.