A Belated and Heartfelt Word of Thanks

After over a decade at war, U.S. veterans are still often met with deafening and ambiguous silence. Especially in a non-election year, months can go by in the news without mention of the fact that service men and women are still dying in Afghanistan (to  give credit to the Washington Post, the paper does occasionally run pictures of soldiers who have died in service). For the military men and women who have recently returned, silence makes clear that for some, America’s wars are not a subject to be talked about. Military service is not always shared comfortably with the communities that ultimately sent our soldiers out in our nation’s name.

I confess my own ambivalence. As one who has very high requirements for a “just war” and as a proponent of “just peace,” I don’t like to talk about America’s wars. It’s not something I live with. It’s not a subject that affects me on a personal level. So, last Sunday, I was silent about Veteran’s Day. It wasn’t an intentional omission or a form of passive protest. It was a careless omission.

When some people brought this to my attention, I was embarrassed. As we grow together as a minister and congregation, I hope you are learning something about me: I do not think our congregation is supposed to be silent, solitary, and stoic. Silence in the face of injustice is never an option.  And sending people to war without thanking them for their service is an injustice that calls for a response.

Please accept belated and heartfelt words of thanks. A thousand thanks to the veterans, military workers and families who offer great service to the common good. A thousand thanks to the soldiers who reflect the heights of human charity and to those who have stood in the line of fire for one another, risking their lives for civilians and comrades alike. A thousand thanks to people like my father, a Vietnam veteran, who continues to show me the strength of calm resilience. A thousand thanks to those who are working to make the world a better place. A thousand thanks to soldiers who remind us of the words of Christ: the greatest love that we can have for one another is to lay down our lives for our friends.

We have an ongoing list of service women and men in our CCC Pastoral Prayer and Care booklet, available outside the office each week. We continue to hold them and their families in our thoughts and prayers. If you have any names to add, please let me know.

Yours on the journey,

Pastor Matt

Sermon for November 10, 2013

ἀνάστασις

Some Sadducees came up. This is the Jewish party that denies any possibility of resurrection. They asked, “Teacher, Moses wrote us that if a man dies and leaves a wife but no child, his brother is obligated to take the widow to wife and get her with child. Well, there once were seven brothers. The first took a wife. He died childless. The second married her and died, then the third, and eventually all seven had their turn, but no child. After all that, the wife died. That wife, now—in the resurrection whose wife is she? All seven married her.”

Jesus said, “Marriage is a major preoccupation here, but not there. Those who are included in the resurrection of the dead will no longer be concerned with marriage nor, of course, with death. They will have better things to think about, if you can believe it. All ecstasies and intimacies then will be with God. Even Moses exclaimed about resurrection at the burning bush, saying, ‘God: God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob!’ God isn’t the God of dead men, but of the living. To him all are alive.” Luke 20:27-38, The Message

A preacher, newly called to a small country town, needed to mail a letter. Passing a young boy on the street, the pastor asked where he could find the post office. After getting his answer, the minister thanked the boy and said, “If you’ll come to the community church this evening, you can hear me tell everyone how to get to heaven.”

The boy replied. “I don’t know, sir. You don’t even know how to get to the post office!”

There’s a life lesson here – don’t take directions from someone who hasn’t been there. They are only guessing, right? Sometimes even your GPS will steer you wrong. It’s using data, not experience. The same holds true for heaven. There is no consistent map. We have the experiences of some who say they’ve been and come back. We have sacred data, otherwise known as Scripture. But to my ears, it begins to sound like informed guesses.

Today we read about a group of religious officials who confront Jesus. They are called Sadducees and they are a faction within first century Judaism that is quite traditional in their reading of the Torah. They also tend to be cozy with the Romans. They come to Jesus with a question about resurrection that is couched in the ritual of something called levirate marriage.  In levirate marriage, if a man dies, leaving his widow without a child, then a male relative, usually a younger brother, marries the widow.  So the Sadducees pose this question: suppose a man dies, leaving no child.  According to tradition, seven brothers in all marry this woman, but none of them father a child with her before she dies.  Therefore, in the resurrection to whom will she be married?

Understand, the Sadducees are the worst kind of Biblical literalists. They have not accepted a new idea in hundreds of years. They believe scriptural inspiration died with Moses. They take no risks. Their form of Judaism is decent and respectable. It is also a cold, indelectable, anemic version of Judaism. They hunt scripture to find a tricky way to back Jesus into a corner. They want him to say something that will offend their honor. They find an insignificant thread of the tradition and try to tie Jesus up with it.

Have you ever gotten one of those questions (or maybe you’ve done it yourself )? Have you ever had someone ask you a question and it sounds like they are open to your answer, but they really want to test you out, to categorize you, to see whether your beliefs are right or wrong? They want to be offended so they can feel justified and safe in their own beliefs.
“I was just wondering . . . where in the Bible does it say same sex marriage is OK?” 
“If you were to die today and stand before a Holy God, and He asked you, ‘Why should I let you into my heaven,’ what would you say?”
 “If someone asked you who Jesus is, what would you say?”

I used to try to explain my answers, you know, reason with Christians who don’t like my ideas:
    “If someone asked you who Jesus is, what would you say?”
    “Jesus is my Lord and Savior? What do you say?”
Not good enough. Next question:
    “For you, where is the hope in that story if you don't believe the basic Gospel     message?”
Each answer leads to more gate-keeping questions. Then I start feeling defensive. Or l feel like I’m trying to convince someone who just wants to be right by making me wrong. That’s what happens in those conversations. A lot of times, we think they are leading to understanding, when in reality they create division and misunderstanding.

Jesus does it differently than me. In the reading from Luke, Jesus changes the conversation. Instead of a dialogue about content, he promotes awareness of a different context. In other words, don’t try to trip Jesus up with questions about how many angels can dance on the tip of a needle or how many husbands a woman will have in heaven. This is not about being right. It’s about living with joy. This is not about arguing obscure theological details to feed your ego. It’s about realizing the possibility that all ecstasies and intimacies will be ours. There are better things to think about.

I get you, Jesus. At least sometimes. I think that for most people, 90% of life feels like hell. People are not at ease with their selves and their world. Most of us are only at ease when we are distracted. That’s why the world is so busy. If we stay on the move, if we keep occupied, if we eliminate our downtime by checking emails and Facebook statuses on our phones, then we don’t have to face the feeling that we are not at ease with ourselves and we feel uncomfortable and scared in our world. For most people, 90% of life feels like hell. That may be a generous margin.

Some religious traditions developed an idea of heaven to distract people from suffering. For Christians, it gives us a goal. A reason for right living. A reward. It also gives us an escape.  We are left with an image of some bright place tucked behind a galaxy where birds chirp and organs play with heavy tremolo and angels bounce from cloud to cloud. For some this may be a remarkable vision of things to come. For me, it’s remarkably boring. Visions like these come from Madison Avenue, Hollywood, bad poetry and willful ignoring of astrophysics.

By the way, recent research poses an idea that the earliest church considered itself to be paradise restored on earth. The earliest Christians did not think of heaven or paradise as a reward beyond this life. Heaven was first and foremost in this world, made possible by the Spirit. They showed this by painting scenes of lush abundance in which humanity is liberated from oppression beneath domes of stars in the night sky.

In a world where people died, starved and killed each other, the early church offered a new reality. In a world where people faced alienation, loneliness, fear, anxiety, and grief on a daily basis, the earliest Christians had a word of restoration.

So here’s what I really want to know. Today. Here and now. Is it really heaven that we need? Is a vision of future glory going to make you more at ease? Does heaven help those who feel like 90% of their life is hell?

What do you really want from this one life, precious, short life that you have?

Happiness? We all want some happiness, right? Why do you want to go to heaven for that? If you want happiness, why not address it directly? Don’t talk about God, or self-realization, or heaven if what you really want is happiness, because heaven is not going to make you happy. Don’t believe me? What if I told you that heaven is a place of eternal misery? Once you get there, you will be completely bored. You would not want to go there. So it’s not heaven you want. It’s happiness. Let’s be honest about what we really need.

The same is true about pain. We want relief from suffering, don’t we? The dominant emotion in most people is fear. Almost everything we do in our lives is in search of some kind of security. Fear is always in the background. So, let’s not use heaven as a way to escape suffering. Let’s stop focusing on eternal security.  Let’s talk about why you are suffering and how you can find some joy.

All I’m saying is this: Don’t use God, or heaven, or hell, or anything else as a way to avoid the discomforts of life. Otherwise there can be no transformation.

Of course, we can always go to the old fallback plan – avoidance.  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I once got a call from a funeral home to do the service for a woman I never met. The family wanted a Protestant minister to do the funeral. I get this a lot – called in as a minister-for-hire for families that want religious services but who have no church home.

I was introduced to the son, Mr. Cooper. I shook his hand and said, “Hi Mr. Cooper. I am so sorry about the loss of your mother. Is there anything you would like said today? Is there anyone who would like to speak on your mother’s behalf?”

Mr. Cooper was a tall, middle-aged man, white hair with a tanned, active appearance. He shifted on his feet, and smiled and said, “No, just do you thing. Just do a simple service. You can even talk fast if you want to get it done quicker.” A small group of mourners began to arrive at the funeral home. At first, people seemed emotionally disinterested and uncaring.  But after a while, I realized they were lost. They did not know how to cope with their pain. They did not have the skills needed to bear this burden. It was easier to avoid the pain. “Just do your thing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

The funeral was done in 15 minutes. I read out of a book. Got in and out. And I’ve always regretted it.

Because life is pain. And fear. Because 90% of life can feel like hell. And our good news says, “Don’t avoid pain. Embrace it. Transformation awaits.” Mr. Cooper got what he said he wanted. I said, “Everything will be all right.  You will meet your mother again in paradise.” And I’ve always wondered if he got what he needed. I’ve wondered if, instead of having someone water down the pain, Mr. Cooper really needed someone to light a path out of the darkness.

Henri Nouwen talked about this in his classic book The Wounded Healer. He wrote to ministers. But In this case, let’s not think about professional clergy. Let’s imagine we are all ministers. We are all called to do healing, relationship-nurturing work. Nouwen says that the primary task of ministers it not to take away pain. Ministry does not allow people to live with the illusions of immortality and wholeness. Ministry reminds others that they are mortal and broken. When we get that, liberation starts.

There is a Greek word we use to describe this process of liberating transformation: ἀνάστασις. We read about it in today’s text. We translate it “resurrection” and it has LOTS of theological, emotional, and spiritual baggage. It’s fodder for one of those questions that ancient or modern Sadducees might ask: Do you believe in a literal bodily resurrection from the dead?

In this way of thinking, resurrection is passive. It is something given to believers so they can get to heaven and be with God. Resurrection is something done to you.

Let’s make it simpler than that: ἀνάστασις literally means, “to stand up.”

This is not a passive understanding. It is active. It is imperative. In my mind, the word is always followed with an urgent exclamation point. Stand Up! Arise!

What if you are one of those people who feel like 90% of life feels like hell? What if I told you that it can be different? What if you could move from 90% – 89%? It might not seem like a lot, but that’s one percent less pain and once percent more at ease with yourself and your world. In that one percent, you’ve gained an infinite amount of happiness. Imagine a reverse Richter Scale where one percent represents an exponential decrease in suffering and an exponential increase in happiness. That’s where the moment of transformation happens. That’s a moment of resurrection.

And it’s not going to happen with some outside source doing it for you. It happens when you stand up! Resurrection is defiance of death. Resurrection is the forerunner of gladness.
Resurrection is a newness. Resurrection is our reminder that we are mortal and broken. When we get that, liberation starts.

Don’t worry about heaven. I can’t guide you there. Here’s what I can do. Here’s what Pastor Gloria can help you with: Be like Jesus, and focus on the context, not the content. Seek what you really need.
If you want happiness, stand up.

In the face of all that wants to steal your joy, stand up.

If you want less pain, stand up. In a world where people die, starve and kill each other, offer yourself a new reality. Stand up!

In a world where we faced depression, loneliness, fear, anxiety, and grief on a daily basis, hear a word of restoration. Stand up!

Stand up to that which stifles your hope.
Stand up to those who want to hamstring you with their expectations
Stand up to that which pokes holes in the clay jar of your joy.
Stand up in grief.
Stand up to hatred.
Stand up to injustice.
Stand up to fear.
Stand up!
Stand!

And when you stand, join hands with others who are struggling do the same thing as you.
Aid
Assist
Cure
Heal
Help
Mend
Mobilize
Strengthen
Repair

And  that . . . that is a resurrection.

Sermon for October 27, 2013

ἔλεος

Although our iniquities testify against us, act, O LORD, for your name's sake; our apostasies indeed are many, and we have sinned against you. O hope of Israel, its savior in time of trouble, why should you be like a stranger in the land, like a traveler turning aside for the night? Why should you be like someone confused, like a mighty warrior who cannot give help? Yet you, O LORD, are in the midst of us, and we are called by your name; do not forsake us! Thus says the LORD concerning this people: Truly they have loved to wander, they have not restrained their feet; therefore the LORD does not accept them, now he will remember their iniquity and punish their sins. Have you completely rejected Judah? Does your heart loathe Zion? Why have you struck us down so that there is no healing for us? We look for peace, but find no good; for a time of healing, but there is terror instead. We acknowledge our wickedness, O LORD, the iniquity of our ancestors, for we have sinned against you. Do not spurn us, for your name's sake; do not dishonor your glorious throne; remember and do not break your covenant with us. Can any idols of the nations bring rain? Or can the heavens give showers? Is it not you, O LORD our God? We set our hope on you, for it is you who do all this. Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, 'God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.' But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted." Luke 18:9-14

Many years ago, executives of the Time-Life publishing organization discovered that the company’s profit margin had shrunk to an alarmingly low level. Efficiency experts suggested that substantial savings could be made in the renewal department. So, 350 full-time employees began sending heartbreaking pleas to readers whose subscriptions were about to expire.  For example, the letters said things like, "Will you dare face your children without "Time" magazine on your coffee table?" Enormous batches of these letters were prepared by hand. The company thought if there was a machine to replace the manual labor, millions of dollars in overhead would be saved. IBM came to the rescue with an enormous computer, delivered to Time-Life in a blaze of lights and fanfare.

The name of each subscriber was put on a little plate and run through the vast machine. Whenever a nameplate came along that was within six weeks of expiration, a series of dots and dashes at the top of the tab triggered an electronic impulse that caused it to drop into a slot. The name was then printed to one of the "heartbreak" letters which was then folded, stuffed into an envelope, labeled, stamped, and dropped down a chute to the basement where a United States Branch Post Office was set up--all without a single human hand touching the operation.

The system worked flawlessly, until that fateful, hot, humid, sticky day in New York City when one of the nameplates stuck in the machine. A few days later a lone sheepherder in Montana received 12,634 tear jerking letters asking him to subscribe to "Life" magazine. The sheepherder, who hadn’t received a letter in years, took his knife, carefully slit open one of the mailbags and began reading his mail. Three weeks later, red-eyed, weary and up to his hips in 12,634 opened pieces of mail, he made out a check for $6.00, filled out a subscription coupon and sent it to the President of Time-Life personally, with the following note: "I give up!"

I think about that story when I begin to wonder about whether there are limits to God’s mercy. Do we have to ask 12,634 or 1,000 or 100 times for it? Do we have to ask even once for it. Is God’s mercy is always there for us, no matter what.

Today we read two biblical texts about mercy, and they seem to answer the question differently.

In Jeremiah, the people make a confession of sin that seems thorough enough: "O God, our iniquities testify against us . . . our apostasies are many . . . we have sinned against you.” They know they’ve blown it. They fail to live up to the covenant. They fail to take care of the poor. They fail to be the people God called them to be. You’d think God would hear their sincere apology and respond with some mercy. God’s response, however, is not the expected announcement of forgiveness. At least not yet. The relationship between God and people is not restored. At least not yet. God’s speech highlights the growing distance between God and God’s people.  God levels an indictment: My people have loved to wander, without restraint. The people cry for mercy, but God turns away. The time for pleas is over. Judgment has begun. There will be exile and agony before there is mercy.

In Luke 18, Jesus tells the story about someone asking for mercy. It’s a tax collector. Understand, the tax collector is the worst of the worst. Tax collectors would often add their own, “administrative fees” to the already exorbitant tax revenues they were gathering. They had reputations as corrupt and despised people known for their graft. Tax collectors were so distrusted that they were prohibited from testifying in a court of law. Banks turned away their business. Even their charitable gifts were refused. So Jesus tells a story about a tax collector who has put himself on the periphery of respectable society – a tax collector who, in a moment of clarity says, “God, have mercy on me.” And does he get it? All Jesus says is, “The humble will be lifted up, and those who lift themselves up will be humbled.” In other words, the tax collector was justified in asking.

So, what is this mercy he’s asking for? Where do you hear this word being used today? "Mercy” is the one expletives I hear from polite Southern women. – one of those all-purpose exclamations for times when people was too awestruck, befuddled or exasperated to say anything else. “Mercy me!” It works when you don’t have the right words to say.

Or, it’s what criminals do in sentencing: throwing themselves on the mercy of the court.

The Jewish scholars who translated the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek all those centuries ago had a hard time finding the right word for what we call mercy. For Hebrew and Arabic speakers, the idea of mercy is represented by the the root word םחַרַ֫, raham. Raham is a womb-like state of love. So five times a day, a devout Muslim falls to the ground and prays, “Bismillah hir rahman nirahim” The root word, םחַרַ֫, is used twice: In the name of Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful. It’s one of God’s names in Islam: Ar-rahman nir-raheem. Most Gracious, Most Merciful. 

Mercy is kindness or good will toward the miserable and afflicted, joined with a desire to relieve them. It has to do with sacred nurture and loving care. Mercy is not a feeling. It’s not the same as pity, really. One can feel pity as one weeps on behalf of someone who is pathetic. Mercy is not a feeling. It’s a moral quality. Mercy is a reciprocal relationship -- a pay-it-forward relationship. 

Greek speakers used the word ἔλεος to represent the idea of mercy. ἔλεος comes from a root word meaning oil that is poured out. So, when the Church sings the words Kyrie Eleison and Christie Eleison, we translate the phrases as, “ Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy.” It’s a prayer asking for the merciful love of God to be poured out upon people, like holy oil from above. Mercy has to do with healing and restoration.  When the tax collector Jesus parable says, “Have mercy on me, a sinner,” I hear him saying, “God, pour the oil of our love on me. Restore our relationship. Don’t just give to me because you feel sorry for me. Give to me because I need to know that you have me covered.” The Biblical concept of mercy is to show the same kindness towards “the other” that God has shown us in our own “otherness.” It means having a pain in your heart for the pains of others, and taking pains to do something about their pain.

And let’s be honest. At one time or another, we have all made ourselves outsiders. We’ve all done things we regret. We’ve all had times when we wish we could go back in time and do something over again. We’ve all had to make amends. We’ve all been broken. Getting in touch with our own brokenness helps us understand the agony of other people and the pressures they experience. When we do that, all of the sudden it’s not as hard to show some mercy.

The truth is, we all want mercy.  And it’s there for us. God extends mercy and comfort to all. But mercy is not given just so we can feel better. It’s not pity. God offers mercy as a way for us to restore our relationships. God offers mercy so we can extend mercy to others.  It is not only for ourselves. Mercy focuses our attention outward. Mercy is a continual outpouring to others.

Do you remember what Jesus said about mercy? Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. You know what he did not say? Jesus did not say “Blessed are those who are shown mercy, for they will be merciful.” In other words, Jesus does not say you get mercy and then you give it. Just the opposite. Mercy is the primary intentional act. You are blessed for being a person who commits compassion. You are get mercy once you give mercy. 

I think that’s part of what churches are supposed to be -- communities of faith that give mercy before receiving mercy. Sometimes we get it wrong. Last week I read news story about a luxury-loving German Bishop who has just been suspended by Pope Francis.  The Bishop has become known as “The Bishop of Bling.” At the center of the controversy is a $42 million price tag for the construction of a new bishop's residence. Many German churchgoers are outraged that their offerings were used to fund sleek black leather furniture, satin bed sheets and fine Italian bathroom sinks. By suspending this bishop, Pope Francis is sending a strong signal about a change direction for the Roman Catholic Church. The Pope really want his Bishops to put greater emphasis on helping the poor and marginalized peoples of the world. He wants them to show mercy.

At one time, churches were known as The Defender of the Poor. The church was defined by the quality of its mercy – its ability to restore and humanize those who need to know kindness. I don’t know if we could say that much anymore. It’s not that we don’t show mercy. But I don’t know if it defines us. In America, churches have turned the job over to the government and other non-profits. We have professionalized, specialized, institutionalized, and even secularized caring for the needy. The result . . . we have churches filled with people who look, smell, and think all the same — the so-called “normal” people, while the most vulnerable and destitute remain separate and alone. This seems to be the exact opposite of how Jesus taught us church-life should be! The local church is seen as a place of worship, prayer, Bible study, reflection, and political action. Is it time for the local church to become relevant in “mercy ministries” once again? Is it time for us to be known in the community as “Defenders of the Poor?” Hospitals of Healing? Refuges of Rescue? Will we receive and share mercy – the womb of compassion, the reciprocal restoration of right relationships?

It is time. As people of faith, we must be people of mercy, pouring the healing oil of kindness, nurturing others in the womb of love. We must lessen our judgment and increase our compassion, just as our God so often does with us. We give mercy. Then we receive mercy. God, help us make it so.

Sermon for October 20, 2013

What is a Covenant?

“Be ready. The time’s coming when I will plant people and animals in Israel and Judah, just as a farmer plants seed. And in the same way that earlier I relentlessly pulled up and tore down, took apart and demolished, so now I am sticking with them as they start over, building and planting. When that time comes you won’t hear the old proverb anymore, 

‘Parents ate the green apples,
their children got the stomachache.’ 

"No, each person will pay for his own sin. You eat green apples, you’re the one who gets sick. That’s right. The time is coming when I will make a brand-new covenant with Israel and Judah. It won’t be a repeat of the covenant I made with their ancestors when I took their hand to lead them out of the land of Egypt. They broke that covenant even though I did my part as their Master. This is the brand-new covenant that I will make with Israel when the time comes. I will put my law within them—write it on their hearts!—and be their God. And they will be my people. They will no longer go around setting up schools to teach each other about GOD. They’ll know me firsthand, the dull and the bright, the smart and the slow. I’ll wipe the slate clean for each of them. I’ll forget they ever sinned!” Jeremiah 31:27-34

Today seems like a good day to talk with you a bit about a word that is central to our faith. We hear it a lot, and we use it a lot at CCC, but I think we need to take a moment and think together, as a community, about what it means. The word is covenant. It’s one of those religious jargon words – like creed, or catechism, or charism, or co-substantiation. Why do we use this churchy-sounding word when another word might do just as good? Why not just say contract or promise?

The Jewish and Christian understanding about how God relates to the world is embodied in the word covenant.  God isn’t a distant being who looks down from heaven with a benign but detached gaze, hoping to say at the end of the day, “A good time was had by all.” Nor does God lay down the law and force us into submission. Instead, we affirm a God who chooses to get mixed up with and engaged in the messiness of human life. God enters into a relationship with us based on mutual faithfulness, mutual responsibility, give-and-take, in other words, a covenant. A covenant is a set of enduring and deeply held assurances made between two parties.

The only way we can really grow up and mature as human beings is through engagement with others: relationship with God and relationship with other people. That’s how we learn what it means to be human. That’s the way that we progress beyond self-interest and self-centeredness. Covenant is a way of living life that is invested in the welfare and well-being of a community, and not just self.

But here’s the thing about covenants. The promises are often so intense that it’s impossible to consistently live up to them. We will always falling short of our promises. So, what happens when the covenant is broken? It’s a little different than a contract. In a contract, if one party breaks the agreement, it can be voided. Both sides can be released from obligations. Sometimes the offending party is penalized, but still people are released from their contractual obligations.  Think of the early termination on your mobile phone contract. You can get out of it. You are going to pay big bucks, but once you pay, the contract terms are over. A covenant is different. Covenants go on even when we fail to meet the terms.  With each failure, there is an expectation that the parties will renter the agreement with hope. Covenants are re-established with the intention of living up to them.

This is part of the story behind the reading from Jeremiah this morning. The people of Israel are people of the Covenant. Remember the 10 commandments? The 10 commandments are the summary of the law—the promises and expectations between God and the people. By Jeremiah’s day, the people have not kept their end of the agreement. Jeremiah accuses the religious and political elites of watering down and corrupting the conditions of the covenant. The people of the covenant forget that they have been set apart to fulfill God’s aims. They ignore the fact that God wants them to be an instrument of blessing to the whole earth. They have turned away from their Creator and followed other gods. They ignore justice and mercy. Humility and compassion are gone. Faced with an invasion from the hungry, nation-devouring Babylonian armies, the elite of Judah place their faith in military strategy and political alliances. The people have failed. They have abandoned the covenant. And God will not let it go unnoticed. The people are about to face days of exile. Days of agony. Days where they will wonder why they’ve been abandoned by God.

But that’s not the end of the story.  Jeremiah looks at the people in exile, with all their doubts and discouragement and says to them, “The days are coming. . .” Days of restoration to their homeland and the lives they had left behind. Days of rebuilding homes and families and communities. Days of returning to hope and faith and joy. God will build them up again with a new covenant. “The days are coming” when God will make a whole new arrangement—one that depends upon God’s unfailing love and unshakeable faithfulness. “The days are coming” when all community members will stand on equal ground, in equal righteousness. “The days are coming” when God’s people will build faithful, just structures that help and honor all people.  “The days are coming” when a new covenant will be written on the heart.

Covenants are mutual agreements about ways of being together. Here at CCC, we live a covenantal faith. For those of you who are newer here, let me explain what that means. We do not live by creeds. When you become part of us, there is not a standard set of beliefs you have to sign on to. There is not a statement of faith you must obey. To be part of our church means to agree to a covenant. We don’t care so much about what you believe, but rather how we relate to one another. The most important question is not, “Do you believe what we believe?” but rather, “How do we treat our neighbor, that is, how do we show God’s love to others?” We make enduring, deeply held promises about how we want to treat each other and work together. Our covenants come from the hearts and minds of our people.

We have a church covenant as part of our constitution that explains how we agree to walk in the ways of God’s abiding love. Every Sunday morning, we open worship by reminding each other of our covenant. We affirm that all persons are created in the image of God, by honoring and celebrating people of all races, cultures, ages, abilities, sexual orientations, and gender identities. These words come from our church covenant. They guide our identity and behavior.

We also have three covenants that direct our spiritual activism. Our Just Peace Covenant reminds us of the mutual promises we have made to work for peace and seek justice for all peoples. Our Open and Affirming Covenant speaks to our promise to intentionally welcome and affirms gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender persons to participate in the full life of our congregation. Our Anti-Racism Covenant acknowledges our ongoing journey to develop and implement strategies that dismantle racism through our adult and children's education, our Sunday services, our mission giving, our business practices and our community action.
Just like any covenant, these represent our ideals. The reality is we don’t always do a great job at living out our promises. Sometimes we allow ourselves to get offended by someone’s behavior and we stop looking for the image of the Divine in the one with whom we disagree. Sometimes we fail to support peace. Sometimes we forget that a covenant, it’s not a policy statement, but a promise about inclusive, loving relationships. Sometimes we are afraid to face our biases and privileges and so we don’t walk in the truth of our anti-racism covenant. But failure doesn’t mean it’s over. God isn’t done with us. We reevaluate. We ask forgiveness, when necessary. We reconcile with each other – in other words, we make it right. We ask God to give us a new heart. And we recommit. We always recommit.

We recommit ourselves to sharing a common human journey, and we covenant to value what is common among us over what separates us.

We recommit ourselves to appreciating our unique dignity and gifts, and we covenant to recognize and celebrate the variety of gifts among us.

We recommit ourselves to creating a better world, and we covenant to support and encourage our individual and common efforts towards its fulfillment.

We recommit ourselves to remembering that our lives are worthy of love, and so we covenant to help each other engage one another with compassion.

In other words, we covenant to value our common journey, to recognize and respect our individual dignity and gifts, to support the attainment of a better world, to praise the mystery, and to engage in the practices of a faith.

My job is to hold you to it. Your job is to hold me to it. Our job, is to keep at it. May it be so.

Sermon for September 29, 2013

To Those who Abide in the Shadow of Grace

You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty,
will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust.”
For God will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence;
God will cover you with pinions, and under God’s wings you will find refuge;
God’s faithfulness will shield you. 

You will not fear the terror of the night, or the arrow that flies by day,
or the pestilence that stalks in darkness, or the destruction that wastes at noonday. Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name. When they call to me, I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble, I will rescue them and honor them.With long life I will satisfy them, and show them my salvation.

Psalm 91, selected verses

I thought this was going to be an easy sermon to prepare.  Select a well-known psalm about trusting in God, throw in an inspiring story or two, and off we go. And, as so often happens when we allow scripture to speak to us, that’s not what happened. I really struggled with the text from Psalm 91 this week.

Psalm 91 is a song of trust and protection. In one scenario, the song is written by a king who has prayed to God and found shelter from his enemies. The king enjoys the protection of his god, from every kind of danger. No one will be able to sneak up and attack him at night; the archer’s arrows won’t reach him during the day. Thousands will die around him, but he will be just fine. The notion of a god that is on side of a particular political power does not give me any comfort or reassurance. In fact, it gives me theological hives.

So, let’s just ignore that scenario and imagine Psalm 91 is a song of personal trust.  The psalm has an insistent declaration that if we trust God then no harm will come. Unfortunately, experience teaches something quite different. People of faith do get cancer, or heart disease and die from any number of illnesses. People of faith are crushed in spirit by acrid verbal attacks, broken in body and mind by physical and emotional abuse. People of faith find themselves a hospital or die as a result of all forms of violence. People who trust in God are living with poverty, lack of food and clothing, and experience starvation.  What about little children who are afflicted with terminal cancer at age three? What about faithful Christians, Jews, Muslims, or others who lose their jobs in a bad economy and can’t find a decent job for decent pay anywhere? What about stalwarts of dedication to God who lose their homes in fires or floods or hurricanes or tornados? Where is God for people who dwell in the shadow of grace when and things like that happen?
Is the Psalmist correct here? How do any of us deal with the fierce curveballs which life hurls at us? Is it enough just to say, “God is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust”?

There’s another way to interpret Psalm 91. Ancient Rabbis encouraged the faithful to recite Psalm 91 over and over again in order to feel the presence of God. They called it an amulet psalm. Because we keep finding evil lurking around every corner, because diseases continue to plague those we love, because we can’t seem to stop stubbing our toes and tripping over the same problems and addictions, some people wrote the words of Psalm 91 on a tiny piece of parchment and  literally wore it around their necks like a protective charm. It’s almost as if the words became a magic talisman to ward off evil and bad luck.

Maybe these words do offer some “magic formula.” It’s clear that whoever wrote these words really did believe that no harm could come to those who called upon God’s name. And that’s nice. Sometimes I wish I had that kind of faith. I wish that I really believed that magic words were enough -- that these words expressed my own deepest faith. I wish they offered me the comfort I need each and every time I stumble, or every time I hear about another cancer diagnosis, or each time another young woman cradling a baby to the church office to ask for rent money. I wish that I could offer these magic words to protect them. I wish it were that easy.

I like to think that our religious thinking has evolved way past the faith of whoever wrote the words of Psalm 91. I don’t believe that God causes earthquakes, floods, diseases and whatever other evil might befall us. But here’s the downside -- we’re not really sure where to put our frustration. We haven’t found an adequate shelter for our anger and our fear. We don’t know how to make God our resting place. Most of us don’t really know what it means to believe that God is a resting place, a home, that protective shelter where our fear and anger become something else. We are too busy to put all of our trust in God. For some reason, we have convinced ourselves that we can do it on our own. We don’t need any help. We’ve got all we need.
Here is what I am learning. In a world of random violence and deep pain, I don’t blame God for the bad things, but I do want God to keep protect from them. I want a refuge.

There are all kinds of other refuges out there that lure us with promises of safety and security.  They look promising and secure. Remember the FEMA trailer debacle after Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast? After the storm surge, residents of New Orleans and Mississippi had been living in their cars, tents, and partially gutted homes. FEMA came to the rescue with trailers. A shelter in times of trouble. Deliverance. After some time, residents of FEMA trailers began reporting breathing difficulties, persistent flu-like symptoms, eye irritation, and nosebleeds. Tests on a number of FEMA trailers by the Sierra Club showed some 83% had levels of formaldehyde in the indoor air at levels above the EPA recommended limit. Later, a federally-funded analysis reported that the toxic levels of formaldehyde in the trailers probably resulted from faulty construction practices and the use of substandard building materials.

It turns out some shelters don’t end up protecting us. It’s true of physical shelters, and it’s true of spiritual shelters as well. They might look good, but they are deadly refuges. Think of the places where we look for protection and security. The theologian Walter Breuggemann reminds us that the church in the U.S. exists in a market-driven, war-hungering, empire-thirsting environment. These are deadly refuges, and we in the church are tempted to turn to them all the time as ways to solve our need to feel safe.

What’s the alternative? God is our refuge, our true home, our best portion, our deep desire. The author of Psalm 91 wanted to convey something about how the life of faith works. To seek refuge in God is to place one's trust fully in God rather than self-procured means of security.  Living in the shadow of grace is not about asking God to warrant a particular political agenda. It’s not about asking God for personal blessing as the world around us unravels. It’s not about finding the magic words that will make everything better. Finding refuge in God means accepting the Divine Spirit’s offer to be an emotional and spiritual safe place that cannot be broken by the stresses and strains of life. We do not have to trust in ourselves.

We all listen God’s promise: I will deliver. I will protect. I will answer. I will show. I will rescue. These are the words of a love song, sung by God to a battered yet hopeful people. 

This week, I found some shelter in the poetic words of Hilary F. Marckx who has rewritten Psalm 91 for today. I close with this – let it be our prayer . . .

We have no concept
of the many dangers
from which we have been delivered.
We complain and whine
when things go wrong for us,
but have we ever thought of the
assortment of attacks,
onslaughts, crazy situations,
dumb choices, fool-hardy ideas
we have been delivered from
through God’s ongoing,
ever-present, steadfast grace?
We think we know troubles,
but I shudder to think about
the bullets I have unknowingly dodged,
the harm that I,
in blissful ignorance, walked through,
safe and secure, held and protected by God.
Oblivious, we constantly drink of God’s Salvation!
This is something to consider
the next time
we think that God
is slacking:
Maybe there are a few things
we need to experience for ourselves
to know the fullness
of the grace God gives us.
Otherwise, how will we know gratitude?

Sources
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/RefugeInAudacity
http://www.academia.edu/3151715/Psalm_91_Refuge_Protection_and_its_Use_in_the_New_Testament#1
http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1543
http://www.theunitedchurches.org/bruised-feet
http://revdocmarckx.wordpress.com/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FEMA_trailer

Sermon for September 22, 2013

Is There No Balm in Gilead?
Listen Here

My grief is beyond healing;
    my heart is broken.
Listen to the weeping of my people;
    it can be heard all across the land.
“Has the Lord abandoned Jerusalem?” the people ask.
    “Is her King no longer there?
Oh, why have they provoked my anger with their carved idols
    and their worthless foreign gods?” says the Lord.

“The harvest is finished,
    and the summer is gone,” the people cry,
    “yet we are not saved!”
I hurt with the hurt of my people.
    I mourn and am overcome with grief.
Is there no balm in Gilead?
    Is there no physician there?
Why is there no healing
    for the wounds of my people?
If only my head were a pool of water
    and my eyes a fountain of tears,
I would weep day and night
    for all my people who have been slaughtered.  – Jeremiah 8:18-9:1

Thomas Wiggins, known as "Blind Tom," was born in 1849 in Columbus, GA.  Even though he was born blind, at the age of seven this enslaved African could flawlessly play spirituals and European classical music. He made his way into the plantation “Big House” where he listened to Beethoven and, it is alleged, he memorized over 8,000 compositions. One person stated he had never heard a person play with such skill and beauty. People said anytime Blind Tom played, his tears would begin to flow. Some could not understand how an untrained, blind black man could play this beautiful music. Others said Blind Tom had the Blues flowing in his spirit and it would touch the souls of people who did not see Blind Tom as a full person.

Black liberation theologian James Cone talks about being black in the South during the lynching era. How did southern rural blacks survive the terrors of this era? Violent self-defense was equivalent to suicide. Protest was out of the question. Cone says, African Americans learned to sing the Blues to express both despair and hope. Despair asks the questions, “Why this? Why me? Why now?” Despair asks, “What do you do when there’s nothing left but to grieve? What do we do?” African Americans played and sang the blues. As long as they could sing and play the blues, they had some hope that one day their humanity would be acknowledged. Sorrow will turn to joy. Despair will lead to hope. Violence will end and justice will reign. Those who are last will someday become the first.

How about you? What do you do when there’s nothing left but to grieve? What do you do? In today’s second reading, the prophet Jeremiah sings the blues. The prophecies in Jeremiah cover a few decades of Israel’s history. His words chronicle the nation’s movement from national hubris to national destruction.  From Jeremiah’s point of view, the devastating fall of Jerusalem in 587 BCE is the result a gradual and accumulating failure at all levels of national life. It is a foreign policy failure. It is a failure of values and faith.  Jeremiah sees Israel like a tree rotting in its core.  From the outside the nation still looked like a strong oak, with branches spreading upwards and leaves providing a canopy of shade.  But when the armies of Babylon came like a storm, Israel turned out to be hollowed out and ready to be blown over.  Jeremiah knows that no matter what he says or does, the people of Jerusalem will not listen. They will not own up to their rotting condition. They will not seek healing. Jeremiah is sick about it. Sick with grief. Read Jeremiah’s words and it’s hard to know who is hurting more; Jeremiah or God.  It’s as if they ask, “What do we do when there’s nothing left but to grieve? What do we do?” Jeremiah puts it another way: Is there no balm in Gilead?

The phrase “balm in Gilead” probably refers to a balsam wood resin used in medicine and perfumes.  Jeremiah uses this phrase twice in his prophetic writings. Both times the prophet says Israel looks for some soothing medicine to help with their problems, but in each case the cure lacks the power to bring about healing.  We might say Israel is trying to put a band aid on their problems. It’s like trying to rub lotion on the chest of a patient who needs a heart transplant.  We sing the old spiritual, “There is a Balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole.” Jeremiah’s says just the opposite: Beware of the balm in Gilead. It is not enough.  Don’t settle for snake-oil solutions when a radical transformation is needed.  There are no easy and painless answers to big problems. 

Lanford Wilson was a young playwright who had come to New York City from the Ozarks. He was fascinated by the people he overheard in all-night coffee shop on Manhattan's Upper West Side: dealers, junkies, hustlers, prostitutes, dreamers and runaways. He wrote a play based on these conversations and called it “Balm in Gilead: An Underworld Adventure.” The plot loosely centers on Joe and Darlene. Joe is a cynical drug dealer and Darlene is a naïve, simplistic and irritating new arrival to the big city. Darlene leaves the Midwest after a divorce and finds herself completely ill-equipped to handle life in New York’s underworld. She becomes increasingly vulnerable to the attentions of the various low-rent men who hang around the café looking for an easy target. Joe the drug dealer seduces Darlene hours after they meet.  When Joe looks at Darlene, he sees a chance for a fresh start. He considers giving up dealing, but he has a huge debt to a loan shark named Chuckles to take care of first.  Just as he is about to return Chuckles' money, Joe is killed by one of the dealer's thugs. The play ends with all the principal characters droning their lines from the first scene over and over again in a circle, suggesting that their lives are stuck in a demoralizing rut. I can just hear the prophet Jeremiah. “Is there no balm in Gilead?”

What do we do when there’s nothing left but to grieve? What do we do? A lot of us seek solutions that really don’t solve our problems.  In Wilson’s play, drugs and alcohol become the most dangerous form of comfort.  There is no balm in Gilead when, 45 years after than play was written, America spends billions of dollars combating terrorism while drunk drivers create more than four 9/11 scale tragedies per year. 

There is no balm in Gilead when hurting Americans take on punishing debt in the hopes of getting out of our financial problems.

There no balm in Gilead in the face of craven violence.  A majority of Americans can’t get our congress to pass basic gun owner background check legislation – even after the murder of 26 first graders and teachers at Sandy Hook. There is no comfort for thousands of Syrians killed in chemical weapon attacks, not to mention millions of refugees in that country’s civil war. There is no balm in Gilead for the despicable bloodshed we have seen just this past week – from killings of office workers in D.C., to gang warfare in a Chicago park, to terror in a mall in Nairobi.

And how about our current national political system? There is no balm in Gilead for food insecure families who are afraid of being taken off of food stamps because their future has been sequestered by rich obstructionists. Sometime I wonder, can God thrive in this kind of brokenness? We say, with the prophet Jeremiah,

“I hurt with the hurt of my people.
I mourn and am overcome with grief.”

We ask with Jeremiah,

“Is there no balm in Gilead?
Is there no physician there?
Why is there no healing
for the wounds of my people?”

What do we do when there’s nothing left but to grieve? Like Jeremiah, we speak truth to power. We speak truth to suffering. We speak truth to weakness. We speak truth to the laziness that imposes ineffective solutions that exploit the weakest, most compromised among us. We speak truth to those who fail to take responsibility.  When there is nothing left but to grieve, what do we do? We love those who are suffering; we keep vigil with them. And we pray for their complete healing. It is a healing that comes from beyond exile, from beyond the grave.

What do we do when there’s nothing left but to grieve?  What do we do? We remember that we, as Christians, do actually offer a Balm in Gilead that can actually heal and transform of the world and ourselves. We offer the words of Jesus who says, “Come to me all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest.” I believe the resurrected Christ is the answer for the wounds of the world and for my own wounds.  In my own life, I know of no other way, no other healing balm that helps me meet the daily challenges I face. And I have nothing else to offer except the One who heals me and calls me to love in return with all my heart, soul and mind, to extend love to my neighbor in gratitude.  So I listen to the words of that old spiritual and try to remember: Sometimes I feel discouraged and think my work's in vain; but then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again.

Sources:
http://bloomingcactus.typepad.com/bloomingcactus/2010/09/jeremiah-8-is-there-a-balm-in-gilead.html#sthash.cm2pByR2.dpuf
http://www.pulpitfiction.us/2/post/2013/09/episode-29.html
http://www.sermonsuite.com/free.php?i=788032957&key=evrfd71ngwMnfLkm
James Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree

A Wedding Sermon

In honor of the Wedding of Tim Carrigan and Brian Frye

September 14, 2013

A reading from the first book of Samuel

Excerpted from 1 Samuel chapters 18 and 20 (NRSV)

When David had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Saul took him that day and would not let him return to his father’s house. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul. Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that he was wearing, and gave it to David, and his armor, and even his sword and his bow and his belt. David went out and was successful wherever Saul sent him; as a result, Saul set him over the army. And all the people, even the servants of Saul, approved. Thus Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, “May the Lord seek out the enemies of David.” Jonathan made David swear again by his love for him; for he loved him as he loved his own life.  Jonathan said to him . . . “The Lord is witness between you and me forever.” Then Jonathan said to David, “Go in peace, since both of us have sworn in the name of the Lord, saying, ‘The Lord shall be between me and you, and between my descendants and your descendants, forever.’”

Jonathan met David and loved him. We are talking about King David, of David and Goliath fame – the celebrated king and warlord of Hebrew Scripture. Jonathan is the Son of David’s predecessor – King Saul. Jonathan met David and loved him.  And David loved him back. Scripture says their souls were knit together. It was not simply a spiritual thing; it was physical as well. Jonathan loved David with body and spirit. The ancient Hebrews did not distinguish between body and soul like we do. Jonathan and David loved each other completely.

The scripture reading Tim and Brian picked tells us that that Jonathan and David make a covenant. As a sign of his commitment, Jonathan takes off everything he’s wearing and gives it all to David. He takes off his sword and bow and offers them to David, signifying that he intends to protect David. But it goes further than that. Jonathan takes off all of his clothes, which honors a much deeper and more intense relationship. It’s a sign of vulnerability. A signal of trust. A symbol of intimacy. A covenant of union. Jonathan met David and loved him. Completely.

Weddings are all about symbols of complete union and love. We know, however, that this has not always been an equal opportunity celebration. The silencing of gay and lesbian Christians has been the norm in church worship and civil law for most of our history. To silence others, to call someone unworthy of God’s love and grace is a breach of the baptismal covenant. As one author has said, the Church, in silencing gay and lesbian children of God makes the waters of baptism a whirlpool of death because it sends gays and lesbians out of the Church believing they are less than children of God.

We are about something else here today. We are claiming for Tim and Brian, and anyone and everyone who comes through these doors, that there is wholeness, belonging, and honor for all God’s people. Baptism is a sacrament of equality and a mark of acceptance. Baptism is a means of grace, hope, and justice that starts our journeys of faith. We are co-creating a safe place for all people to celebrate their love, their vulnerability, their intimacy . . . their union. Our church is not offering a patronizing kindness. It’s a commitment made on mutuality and equality, humility and respect, the desire for truth telling and justice seeking. We celebrate a baptismal vision of radical equality.

Baptism is a declaration. In this congregation’s baptism liturgy, I ask that parents teach their children to follow the ways of Christ in concert with an appreciation for religious diversity. In baptism, we declare that God loves you. We declare that because of God’s love, we want to express love in return. In baptism, we share life together in Christ. In some ways, marriage is an extension of the promises made at one’s baptism. Today, Tim and Brian declare that, before all the people, they celebrate a covenant of love and union with each other. Today we are reminded that God’s love is seen in the love Tim and Brian share. Their union with Christ is witnessed in their union with one another. The care God promises is seen in the care that Tim and Brian show to each other.

Like Jonathan and David in days of old, Tim and Brian will share symbols of their covenant. In the sacred tradition of marriage, they will exchange rings -- symbols of eternal love and endless union of body, of mind, and of the spirit. Tim and Brian, whenever you look at those rings, I hope that you remember that your souls are knit together with trust and protection; vulnerability and intimacy; love and union.

As Anna and Caitlyn Carrigan offer music, we will present Tim and Brian’s rings to the baptismal font. Mary Carrigan, Tim’s Mom, and Beverly Taylor, Brian’s Mom, will pour water into the baptismal font. Then Tim and Brian will then come forward and present their rings. The baptismal promises made by their parents when they were babies find new expression in the rings Tim and Brian will wear. They are symbols of justice and equality. Symbols of mutuality and respect. Symbols of union, love, and care.