Sermon for April 6, 2014

Lent: Giving Up Hopelessness

John 11:1-45

Can you remember a time when you gave up hope? A time when you thought that life cannot get better — will not get better? A time when you chose to run rather than weep because you did not want to get involved?

As a minister, I get to attend the bedsides of those die slowly of debilitating illnesses. Sometimes I am in and out of homes or hospital rooms daily. Although my visits are brief, I listen to family members who live in the presence of gradual death, day in and day out, with little or no breathing space of their own. Over time and many visits, I can see different reactions to those who are dying.

Some caretakers use protective emotional strategies to shield themselves from overwhelming sorrow. Sometimes they joke. Sometimes they clean. Sometimes they do things that do not necessarily need to be done for the patient, but which gave the caregiver the sense of helping. Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, you can sense that a sorrow-soaked family member is not really there in the moment. The caretaker has just shut it all out.

Some people will limit hope by becoming emotionally militant. There is a mock-Latin aphorism:  Illegitimi non carborundum. The phrase came about in World War II: Illegitimi — the tame translation is “illegitimate ones.” The phrase means something like, “Don’t let the illegitimate ones grind you down.” It was picked up by Barry Goldwater in the 1960s, and reportedly sits prominently on the desk the current Speaker of the House. At first glance, Illegitimi non carborundum has its appeal. It is macho and assertive. “I’m going to be tough in the face of despair. I’m not going to let those who suffer pull me down. I will resist.”  It may sound hard-hitting and muscular, but I wonder if it’s true, because in my experience, when we deny suffering we may actually take on even more suffering.

So, if denial doesn’t work, if protective emotional strategies don’t always help us, if anger and stoicism cause more suffering, what are we to do?

How about this: weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn? We could try emotional honesty. Author Frederick Buechner suggests that we keep track of the times and events in our lives that bring tears to our eyes. They may be happy or sad moments. It may be a funeral, or a wedding, or a patriotic event; when veterans march by in a parade or "Taps" is played. It could be something that triggers a sense of loss, like hearing a loved-one’s favorite song unexpectedly played at a restaurant. It could be something inconsequential.  Some men need to go to a dark movie theater to cry. There’s that scene in Rocky II when Rocky’s wife Adrian is in a coma, but her hair is perfect with that little ribbon pinned to the side, and her lipstick is on, and she comes out of the coma just to tell Rocky to win his second fight against the Apollo Creed. The dramatic music builds and the scene cuts to Rocky doing one-armed push-ups with the dawning sun behind him. That scene can bring on the tears.

  

I’ve had moments when I get choked up during a truck commercial. I don’t understand it. I just go with it. 

For some of us, tears may come at an unexpected time or place. Whenever we are stirred to such depths, these may be times God is working in our lives. The Spirit breaks through the craggy veneer of hardness behind which we tend to entomb ourselves.  Check the times and places where you weep and you might feel the places where God wants to get through to you.

Jesus weeps. We read it in today’s gospel account from John. Jesus weeps over the death of his friend, Lazarus. Jesus weeps because God cares. When we wonder if anybody cares, the tears of Jesus remind us that God cares. God understands.

One day a child was running down the hall at church on the last day of Church School. He had a little ceramic plaque in his hand that he had made for his mother. He had worked on it all month. As he ran down the hall to give it to her, he dropped the plaque and broke it into a thousand pieces. The child began to cry. The grown-ups tried to comfort him. They said, "Don’t worry, it was just a little piece of clay." The child was inconsolable. Finally, his mother came on the scene. She said, "Let's pick up all of the pieces, and we will take them home and put it together and see what we can make out of it." That is what God is like! God is like a good parent. God understands when and how it hurts. When life shatters, go ahead and weep with sadness. God helps us pick up the pieces and make something out of what is left. God cares about you. Weep with hope. Weep for joy.

When denial doesn’t work, when protective emotional strategies don’t help us, when anger and stoicism cause more suffering, what are we to do?

We let go of hopelessness and remember God cares. Weeping does not mean all is lost. It does not equate to hopelessness. Weeping means that we are opening ourselves up to God’s care.  We remember God can bring life from death. God pieces together something-ness out of nothingness.

For me that’s the story of Lazarus. Lazarus was dead, dead dead. Three nights dead. Buried in a tomb. When Jesus arrives on the scene, it’s too late. By the fourth day, everyone’s given up. The mourners have resented and resigned. There’s no happy ending. No beautiful finale. It’s too late. It’s finished. Lazarus is dead. I’m sure there is some denial. Some anger. Some emotional protective strategies to shield mourners from overwhelming sorrow.  And then Jesus calls out a name. He issues a command. “Lazarus, come forth!” Through tears of sadness and the torment of hopelessness, Jesus calls his name. Lazarus. Get up! In the face of anger and denial and stoicism, in the face of skepticism and lament, Lazarus walks out of the craggy façade of a garden tomb. Finally, everyone understands the meaning of Lazarus’ name. Lazarus means, “God has helped.” No one else could help, but God has helped. On the fourth hopeless day, God has helped.

Clutching a picture of his pregnant wife, a 25-year-old Marine was flown into a military hospital in Afghanistan. Doctors immediately begin working on him, attaching IV’s and cutting his clothing off. As blood spilled out over the photo, he begged the doctors buzzing around him to get him back to his wife. From pale lips and a raspy murmur, he managed to say, “I promised…I promised I’d meet my son.” Then darkness fell around him. The medical staff noticed the Marine had lost liters of blood, his lower torso was completely gone. One doctor asked, “Will this kid even want to survive?” Silently and grimly, they wheeled him into the operating room, uncertain he could sustain the hours and hours of surgery ahead. A nurse tenderly removed the photo of his wife from his stiff hands and propped it by the OR table.

It’s said, after surgery, when soldiers come to after days of powerful pain medications, amputee soldiers are often sent home emotionally broken, spiritually empty, and unable to move beyond their traumatic losses. Doctors and nurses try to save a  physical life, knowing many of the soldiers’ spirits die before they ever get to the OR table. Hope is hard to find among their hospital beds.

When this young Marine awoke after days of recovery, his first words were to thank all the staff for saving his life. Then he paused to thank God for guiding their hands in his healing. The startled staff carefully repeated the severity of his injuries and the extent of his loss, thinking the Marine had not understood. He replied that he already knew how bad he was hurt when he was put in the helicopter. He knew this might happen. “God was with me and got me this far,” he explained. The nurses wondered when the news would really hit him. Instead of the blank stare and overwhelming grief, this soldier grinned at them saying, “I’m still living and that’s something, isn’t it?” Gratitude poured out of him. Not sorrow or lament or despair. Gratitude. Gratitude for the staff for keeping him alive. Gratitude for the ability to keep his promise to his wife to meet his unborn child. The staff marveled at his positive outlook and his determination. Perhaps everyone finally understood the meaning of hope.  “God has helped.”

This Lenten season, maybe you need to give up some hopelessness. In the darkness of ruined relationships, in the frustration of unsuccessful attempts to make your life better, in failed dreams of beauty and happy endings, in the entombed hopeless reality of life’s shadows, there is a voice – a special, singular voice – and it calls your name. Through the tears and the torment of hopelessness, the voice says, “God has helped! No one else could have helped, but God has helped. On even the most hopeless of days, God has helped. Now rise.”

Sources:

http://day1.org/908-weeping_with_one_eye

http://thelisteninghermit.com/2011/04/05/its-never-too-soon-to-give-up-hope/\http://www.chreader.org/contentPage.aspx?resource_id=694

http://www.fpcknox.org/site/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/Sermon-3-9-2014-Pender.pdf

Sermon for March 23, 2014 / Lent 3

“Lent: Giving Up Expectations”
John 3:1-17

Do we take the Bible literally, or do we take the Bible seriously? You can do both, of course. But what about those who choose not to read the Bible as the literal, word-for-word voice of God? What about those of us who struggle to understand it in its context – those who doubt and ask tough questions and seek to live faithful lives? Can we still take the Bible seriously?

Biblical literalism goes something like this: “In this text, the Bible says X, therefore we must believe and/or do Y." It’s usually selective literalism with clobber verses. Clobber verses are the preferred scriptures some people use as the raw material to fashion weapons. Those in the majority pick a set of verses that least affect them and then “clobber” those on the margins. Some people brandish today’s scripture reading as a clobber verse. John 3:16 has provided motivation for some of the most destructive impulses of those who take the name Christian. "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish, but have eternal life." Taken literally and out of context, John 3:16 suggests that those who do not believe in the Son will never die. By extension, those who do not believe in the Son will perish. Forever. It is difficult to overestimate the harm and abuse that comes from this literal rendering of John's Gospel. I think part of the problem is that we make these words a new creed – a test of faith –an absolute statement about whom God loves and whom God rejects, who is in and who is out.

The irony is that out of the four Gospel writers, John is the least literal of them all. The author takes great freedom in retelling the story of Jesus. It is particularly ironic that in today's Gospel story, Jesus rejects the very literalism that has so often dominated the reading of this text. Jesus offers the metaphor of birth to speak about spiritual growth. Jesus says that followers must be born a second time. Nicodemus, the teacher and elder statesman, takes a literal approach to Jesus’ words: "How can one be born a second time from your mother's womb?" I can just picture Nicodemus sitting there, scratching his head. He can’t figure it out. It’s almost as if Nicodemus parks himself in a worldview from which he cannot feel any other options. Jesus talks about being born of the Spirit. Born of the Breath. Born of the Wind. In both Hebrew and Greek, the words for wind and breath are the same words for spirit. Jesus says, “The Wind will give you second birth.” Nicodemus wants facts.  Jesus gives him some poetry.

Amazed at Nicodemus' literal understanding of this evocative image, Jesus says, "How are you, a teacher of the faith, unable to understand what I am saying?" Jesus might be equally amazed at how an invitation to deepen our encounter with God is still used today as a basis for exclusion, rejection, dominance, and judgment. I used to be the person who assumed my personal values and interpretations of Scripture were tests of faith for others. I know I’m not alone. The reasoning went something like this: “If you believe what I believe, think like I think, and live as I tell you to live, you are acceptable.” This is not who we are at Christ Congregational Church. Our congregation affirms that all people are free to make choices regarding their own personal and spiritual journeys.

Jesus was not interested in making a person’s personal faith the cornerstone for acceptance or rejection by God. He was very interested in the question: “How does one come to have faith?” Do we have faith because someone tells us what to believe? Do we have faith because we are scared that if we don’t say the right words and show up at the right church, and live approved lifestyles, and associate with the best people, that God will punish us? Do we have faith that can tolerate doubt? Faith that can grow and change? Faith that relies on the work of the Spirit moving through the gathered people of God?

Congregationalists have always struggled with these questions. The United Church of Christ, in its original Constitution, affirmed:

“the responsibility of the church in each generation to make this faith its own in reality of worship, in honesty of thought and expression, and in purity of heart before God.”

Uh oh. We are not so great at this. Faith calls each new generation to listen to God and follow God’s breath. We have continuing opportunities to allow the wind the give us second birth. This means we need to be willing to let go of the tethers that can keep us from being pliable, versatile people of faith. You see, most of us are not great risk-takers. We want our lives to be comfortable, and safe, and predictable. And we turn to Christian faith to provide us that comfortable, safe, and predictable life. So we take something unexplainable like faith and cement it into certainty in order to fill a need for security.

To me, that’s not faith. Faith is not certain. Faith is a risk with no guarantee of anything!

Sometimes people are with UCCers because we are not willing to use scripture, or creeds, or church teaching as tests of faith. We choose not to tell people what they should believe. We want to be born of the Wind. We have no centralized authority or hierarchy that can impose a doctrine or a form of worship on its members. We seek a balance between freedom of conscience and accountability to the faith. We take the Bible seriously. We listen to the historic creeds and confessions of our ancestors as testimonies, but not tests of the faith. In other words, our faith is founded on the Bible, and informed by the Church of the past. But it can never stay frozen in the past. We must continue to grow and evolve: to receive new insights, and, when necessary, to reject past ideas when they have been disproved.

In the UCC, we are like the Tree that the Board of Stewardship created. They took our hopes and visions and remind us that we are a glorious mix of the old and the new. There are parts of our faith that bring comfort and happiness. We send down deep roots and are nourished by tradition. There are also some areas of growth and challenge. We send our branches into the air, allowing them to be ticked by the Wind, moved by the Breath, swayed in the Spirit. Deep roots and new heights. Our roots grow down into God’s love and keep us you strong so we may have the power to understand how wide, how long, how high, and how deep God’s love is, as Christ makes a home in us (Ephesians 3:17-18).

Faith is a risk. If we’re going to take the risk of faith, we have to reckon with the fact that when the Wind and Breath of God blows, it may be safe and predictable. It might shake up our beliefs. It might make us redefine ourselves. It might take us to places where we never thought we’d go. When the Wind and Breath blows, we will find ourselves exposed and vulnerable. In that moment, we may want to try to hang on to our routines and keep all the pieces manageable and predictable and safe. If we are going to take the risk of faith, we can respond by opening ourselves to the new beginnings God brings. We can respond by allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. Changeable. We can respond by saying, “Here we are. Use us.” I think that’s what the Bible calls faith.

And faith is not safe.

During this season of Lent, I encouraging myself and others to give up on expectations.

I’m giving up the expectation that God guarantees us prosperity. I’m learning to trust in a God who is with us through whatever circumstances we face. I’m learning to have hope that God will work with us to make the best result out of even the most hopeless of places.

I’m giving up the expectation that a church like CCC has to root-bound. You gardeners out there, you know what I mean. A root-bound plant has been in its pot for too long. It doesn’t get the nutrition it needs. It’s roots start growing in circles inside the pot. The roots don’t spread out. Eventually, the plant will die.  There is a solution, but it take some strength and courage. You have to rip or cut the roots. But don’t worry, plants are pretty tough. Though some don't like you messing with their roots, most will be just fine and will grow better after their constricted roots have been untangled or cut.

Yes, sometimes we in the church get root-bound. We hold on to ideas to long. It’s comfortable. It’s safe. It might even be good. But sometimes we don’t sense when God is doing something new. We might be so busy laying roots, we can’t sense that God has moved on and is calling us to follow. What might happen if we give up expectations that God’s word is fixed? What might happen if we give up expectations that church programs are meant to last forever? What might happen if we give up expectations that faith has to be easy? We might remember God doesn’t call us to do things we aren’t capable of doing. God calls us to participate in God-sized tasks that we can’t do on our own. See the Wind. Feel the Breath. Be born of wind and water and become one with its flow. Listening for the Wind in the trees as it makes a melody of love across the hills. Be willing to go where others might not want to go. God always sends wind. It is our challenge to catch the Wind and ride it.

Sources:
http://thewakingdreamer.blogspot.com/2011/03/question-to-myself-john-31-17-1-it.html
http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=2713
http://transformingsermons.blogspot.com/2011/07/john-35-born-of-water-wind.html
https://www.stphilipscathedral.org/sermons/newsView.asp?NewsId=40968652&CategoryID=1
http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/literalist-gluttony

Sermon for March 16, 2014 / Lent 2

Lent: Giving Up Control
Listen to audio here

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. The tempter came and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread." But he answered, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.'" Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'" Jesus said to him, "Again it is written, 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'" Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; and he said to him, "All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me." Jesus said to him, "Away with you, Satan! for it is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'" Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him. Matthew 4:1-11

In almost every area of modern life there comes an examination of some sort – a test. The results of the test determine whether or not you can continue along the path you are following. Obsession about passing tests begins early in life. Our Elementary and Middle School students have recently gotten stressed over MSAs – the Maryland State Assessments as part of the federal No Child Left Behind Act. Students must pass proficiency exams in school before they can proceed to higher levels of learning. You cannot drive a car legally until you pass a written and a road test. You cannot participate in high school or college athletics unless you can pass a physical exam and a skills test. If you want to get authorized to fix air conditioners, or give manicures, or be an electrician, or fly an airplane, or sell stocks and bonds and other financial securities you first have to take a test.

Whether you want to be a plumber, a barber, a scientist, a lawyer, a teacher, or a minister there comes a moment when you must take and pass the test before you can reach your goals.

There are other tests beyond career and academics. One of the most important tests I passed was when met Chris’s mother and sisters as Chris’ boyfriend. Did I have the potential to be a good husband to their daughter and baby sister? Did I have good values? Did I have potential to be a good parent? I think I did OK.

So, there are some tests that measure the content of one’s knowledge. Other tests measure the content of one’s character.

Life gives us a series of tests that can identify type of persons we are. We are tested on what the lengths we will go to bring fulfillment to our lives. We are tested on how we use or abuse our influence and privilege. We are tested on the limits of care and respect. Fulfillment. Power. Autonomy. These are the same kinds of tests that Jesus faces in the wilderness in today’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel.

The story is not so much about temptation as it is about passing the test. Imagine the devil as a prosecutor, not a demon. The devil is an accuser who appears to see if Jesus has true character. He gives three oral examinations to test three key areas of integrity: fulfillment, power, and autonomy. Wait a minute . . . those words also sound like American idealism to me. They are part of the pillars of American exceptionalism. The American Creed can be described in five terms: liberty, egalitarianism, individualism, populism, and laissez-faire.

In other words; power, fulfillment and autonomy. Are these tests to be passed, or ideals to be embraced?

This year, perhaps more than any other, many of the movies that contended for the Oscar’s Best Film ask the same question. The Wolf of Wall Street tells the story of whether money can bring fulfillment. Jonah Hill, nominated for Best Supporting Actor, said he wanted his role because he knew men he had grown up with who worshipped wealth exclusively, who could not see anything in life as alluring, as enticing, as money.  Leonardo DiCaprio’s character has everything money can buy:  drugs, sex, financial corruption. Will it bring happiness?

Blue Jasmine won Cate Blanchette an Oscar for her performance as a woman who sacrifices everything for a privileged lifestyle of wealth, living happily among people who, like her, have no other real attachments. Ill fortune plunges her into the misery of a blue collar life, from which she tries to escape by going it alone, and fails.

American Hustle preaches a sermon on greed for power and its destructive effects.

Philomena, Nebraska, and Dallas Buyers Club turn the camera toward the meek and the persecuted, showing how suffering comes to them by the greed and cruelty of the powerful around them. The young Philomena is persecuted by nuns who sell babies for money and who enjoy lording it over penniless pregnant young women. Nebraska depicts the wonder of a family that never had much love for one another, rediscovering their abiding affection and declining the temptation to pull apart in the name of individualism. Dallas Buyers Club follows a hate-filled Texan from his discovery that he has AIDS to his creation of a group of mostly gay men who buy powerful drugs from other countries and smuggle them in to keep themselves alive. To what lengths will people go for survival? Fulfillment. Power. Autonomy.

Matthew’s gospel wants us to know that Jesus faced these things, too. He wants readers to know that Jesus has the credentials to be the Messiah. He’s vetted for the job, because any Messiah worth anything will remain faithful under fire. So the Devil appears and says, “Jesus, turn these loaves into bread.” Jesus is now tested to use power to create self-sufficiency. Jesus knows if he can make bread out of a stone once, he can do it twice. Then he can do it a hundred times more. Then he can store it. Then he can feel less afraid when hunger pangs make his stomach grumble. Then he can sell the surplus to others and make a profit out of suffering. But that’s not part of Jesus’ economy. He’d rather rely on God’s daily bread.

The Devil says, “If you really want to show everyone you are Messiah, you need a dramatic, high risk stunt. Throw yourself off the top of the Temple and show us you can fly with the angels. Scripture says any good Messiah would be able to do it.” Jesus is now tested on whether he will manipulate authority for his own purposes. Stunts create spectacle and buzz; oohs and ahhs. In God’s economy, the gold standard is love and its value grows one heart at a time.

Finally, the Devil gives a melodramatic ultimatum. “I will give you everything your heart desires if you worship me!” Jesus can become like the other political rulers of the day who become power hungry and join Rome to get a slice of the Empire’s power. Jesus says no. In God’s economy, the oppressed are set free by the power of sacrificial love.

In this sense, Jesus is more like Solomon Northrup in this year’s Oscar-winning best picture, 12 Years a Slave. In the movie, Christian slave masters wear a devilish mask for horror, shown to us through the unflinching eyes of a kidnapped slave. Solomon Northrup hangs on fiercely to his sense of Belovedness. Similarly, in the wilderness, Jesus refuses to endorse an economy of slavery that ensnares and enslaves God’s beloved.

Jesus will emerge from this and make his way through thickets of conversation, angry mobs, and stumbling friends, until he comes to a brooding capital city, as tense as Kiev is today.  The shadows will lengthen, and he will once again wrestle with these fearful temptations in the Garden, his closest friends asleep by his side.

On one hand, none of these Jesus stories are not about us, unless someone here is trying out for the role of Messiah and didn’t tell us yet. On another hand, these stories are all about us. We need these stories to remind us that life can become a wilderness, whether it’s family life, the car pool, the office, small towns, large cities, the church, even a zealous vision for peace. Tests of character abound.

For me, these tests are all about weighing costs and demands. Making priorities. Living out our values with our lives. Tests are about being true. Staying faithful. Being grateful. It’s about stewardship. Lent is actually a great time to relearn stewardship. Lent invites us to a spiritual practice Italians call distacco. It means giving up a lesser value or goal to achieve something better, like an athlete who stays home Saturday night and doesn’t party before a big game, so as to be in great shape. This kind of detachment is a healthy spiritual way to help us regain control over our instincts and desires.

Think back to the American Creed I mentioned before: liberty, egalitarianism, individualism, populism, and laissez-faire. Are they tests to pass or essential principles for survival? We can only answer that when we become aware of times we have accepted and follow the Creed without thinking about it. It’s true of any creed or doctrine. Have we made a wide-awake, character-driven choice to follow a creed, or are we living out someone else’s ideals uncritically? Once we become intentional, once we become awake, only then can we decide if something helps us or harms us.

That’s what Lent is for. Lent is a season of intentionality. It’s a time to give up control. We give up fear-driven control that makes us grasp for security. We let go of the ways others control us. We ask, “What are the ideas and behaviors that, if I were to lose them, would actually enhance my quality of life?” We ask, “What are the ideas and behaviors that, if I were to take them on, might help me to feel closer to God and others?”

Since it is our Stewardship Season, what if we were to accept the idea of giving just 5% of our waking hours for prayer, reflection, and works compassionate justice – a half-tithe of our time? How would our lives look? During a 168 hour week, average American s work 50 hours, sleep 45 hours, eat 15hours , watch TV 12hours, socialize 6 hours, shop 5hours, read/watch movies 4 hours, do hobbies 3 hours, exercise 2 hours, and do religious activity 1hour -- .6% of our weekly time. 5 % of our time for prayer and service is 8 hours a week – just about one hour a day. When it comes to how we spend our time and talents, I encourage us to ask, “What are the ideas and behaviors that, if we were to lose them, would actually enhance our quality of life? What are the ideas and behaviors that, if we were to take them on, might help us to feel closer to God and others, and can we give up a little control of some of these other things to nurture our spirits?”

And since it is our Stewardship Season, let’s think critically about how we spend money. This is good for us as we live in a culture of consumerism that entices us to purchase pleasure as a way to find power, fulfillment and autonomy. We are bombarded by appeals to buy things we do not need and often do not even use. We are told the economy depends upon it. During a total year, Americans spend $44 billion on soft drinks, $35 billion on sports, $29 billion on diets, $12 billion on candy, $8 billion on pets, $5.5 billion on video games, $3.4 billion on cut flowers, $2.7 billion on skin care, and $1.7 billion on religious ministry, or about 1.3% of our total expenses. When we think we are giving of our treasure, what are the ideas and behaviors that, if we were to lose them, would actually enhance our quality of life? What are the ideas and behaviors that might help us to feel closer to God and others? Can we give up a little control of some of our wealth in order to nurture our spirits?” Let’s not judge, yet. Let’s just be aware.

The question Lent raises is this: When the time of testing comes, what I am willing to let go of in order to make my character reflect the character of Christ? How can my community be better loved and better served? If we’re giving up something for Lent and we’re really not missing it, maybe we don’t need it at all or as much as we think. If we are adding a new practice at Lent and it’s not making an impact, perhaps we have more time, more talent, and more treasure that we could give for the good of others!

Sources:
http://www.the-american-interest.com/articles/2014/02/15/the-end-of-american-exceptionalism/
http://biteintheapple.com/the-tempters-snare/
http://www.questionthetext.org/2014/03/03/questions-questions-and-more-questions/
http://www.patheos.com/Resources/Additional-Resources/Devil-Debriefs-Alyce-McKenzie-03-07-2011.html
http://www.umoi.org/enewsletterarchives/detail/613
http://www.stpeterslinger.com/StPeterChurch/NEW-CHURCH/Mass%20Schedule/Homily%20For%20March%2003-04.pdf
http://www.preaching.com/sermons/11549852/
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/melissa-browning-phd/dare-to-sit-with-suffering_b_4948392.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000051

Sermon for Sunday, March 9 / Lent 1

Lent: Giving Up Superiority
John 4:5-42

Jai Stone is a blogger and entrepreneur who has a passion for creating paths to authentic joy and healthy relationships, especially in the Black Community. Jai also writes about her decision to leave her parents church, along with the disappointment of her Southern-bred, church-going parents. She writes, “I don’t have a problem with the institution of church itself; it’s primarily the people at church that have always given me the Georgia Blues. That, coupled with the fact that I’ve never truly found healing in church environments, has led me to seek a relationship with God in other ways. I suppose I should slingshot back a few years to give you some background here. Initially when I distanced myself from church, it was because I had been plagued by emotional duress and other mistreatments by people affiliated with ‘the church.’ It didn’t matter what city I lived in or what denomination of church I attended, it always ended the same way—with me heartbroken and disappointed by members of the congregation. But as my spiritual intelligence evolved, I came to understand that there are broken, damaged people everywhere – especially in the church. The people became less of a factor, but the damage lingered. Eventually, what I came to understand was that I was in immense emotional pain, and I had no idea how to even begin to heal myself. I just knew that going to church didn’t seem to make the pain any less. I had survived a series of catastrophic events, and although I was physically intact, my spirit and emotions were damaged.” Jai went on to found her own organization that helps women move through emotional pain without fear, guilt or apologies.

I meet a lot of people like Jai Stone -- people who could be called "church-damaged," people who have had some of their most painful experiences of shame and humiliation in churches, often in God's name. I've also met a lot of Christians who call themselves evangelists, whose major concern is to make sure that sinners know just how shameful their behavior is and disgrace people into accepting the Reign of God.

Some people, including a few in churches, are skilled at tapping into another person’s sense of shame. We humans have developed a number of responses to shame. Some people deal with shame through avoidance or withdrawal: “I will stay away from the people who trigger these feelings in me. If I can create physical distance, I can at least protect my emotions and not open myself up to the judgmental remarks of another.” Withdrawal and avoidance can be accompanied by feelings of depression and self-centered protectiveness. This is Jai Stone’s story, right? Even if she did not feel shamed by the church, the church did not make her pain any less. So she left.

Some people feel shame and attack the Self, either psychologically or physically: “I will put up with it and bear the marks of shame in my soul and on my body because I don’t want to live without you.”

The most primal and destructive shame response is to attack the other: “You hurt me, so now I’m going to hurt you back. I feel so endangered by you, my self-esteem feels so reduced when you are around, I need to respond in a drastic way to get you to stop looking at me.” In this scenario, the victim becomes the victimizer and can start a cycle of escalating revenge.

I imagine most of us can think of times when we have felt ashamed. Today, as part of our Lenten journey, I want us to turn our attention to the other side of shame – the times we have acted as “the shamer” – the times we have been inappropriately judgmental, smugly self-righteous, and snobbily superior. It can be satisfying to sit in judgment on others.  In a penetrating essay on the “put-down,” Joseph Epstein says that judging others is “malice formulated in tranquility.”

If you are willing to go there with me, I want to be honest about the times when we, as a religious community, have contributed to heartbreak and disappointment of others. Have we ever failed to be a place of healing because of a sense of superiority? If so, can we get to a place where church-damaged people –  life-damaged people – can feel the welcome embrace of equal faith partnership when they come to CCC? To use the words of another Joseph Epstein essay, “Is there a snob-free zone, a place where one is outside all snobbish concerns, neither wanting to get in anywhere one isn't, nor needing to keep anyone else out for fear that one's own position will somehow seem eroded or otherwise devalued?” Although Epstein’s path to the snob-free zone is different than what I would suggest, the idea is the same: Can we come to a place where we can all value one another, outside of the madness of superiority?

Today we heard a Gospel story about the ability to give up and get over superiority.  It’s a story about a woman at a well. A Samaritan woman. Tens of thousands of Christians are going to hear sermons about her this lent, and they are likely to hear their preacher describe her as a prostitute. 

Here’s what you need to know about this story. First, Jews and Samaritans don't get along. Second, women and men in this culture generally keep a safe social distance from each other. Third, the woman is at the well at noon, in the heat of the day. It is not the time of the day for drawing water or making long travels. So the Samaritan woman at the well is quite surprised when Jesus, a Jewish man walking around in Samaritan territory at noon, asks her for a drink. When she makes a remark to that effect, he offers her living water. She is confused. And intrigued. She asks about the miraculous water. At this point, Jesus has all kinds of opportunities to act superior to this woman. He’s a Jew, one of God’s chosen people. She is a half-breed Samaritan. Jesus is a male and therefore has more privilege than she has as a woman. He is God’s only-begotten, and she is a wayward worshipper.

Jesus knows her past and could take the opportunity to judge her. Did you get that part where Jesus invites the woman to call her husband?  When she replies that she has no husband, he agrees: "You have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband" (4:18). And there it is – that one sentence has branded her as a prostitute.

Conservative preacher John Piper describes the woman as "a worldly, sensually-minded, unspiritual harlot from Samaria." At another point in a sermon he calls her a "whore." Talk about “church-damaged”! Talk about shame! The Samaritan woman has been trash-talked by preachers for centuries.

Let’s just get something straight. There are a number of ways that we might imagine this woman's story as tragic rather than scandalous. Is she a prostitute, or has her family had a sorrowful string of terrible deaths? Jesus never calls her a woman of loose morals. Male theologians did that later on.  Jesus never lords his status over her or manipulates her. Centuries of sexist biblical interpretation have done that. Jesus rises above misogyny and moralism. The woman has been shamed in the past. She has been shamed by centuries of chauvinist sermons. Scripture doesn’t even give her a name, for goodness sake. I wonder if she ever withdrew. I wonder if she ever took the same to heart. I wonder if she ever lashed out and tried to deflect the gaze of those who were shaming her.

Today, the woman from Samaria gets love and understanding. She looks at Jesus and she sees good news.  Jesus receives the Samaritan woman with so much love and grace, she transforms. She hears God’s love. She gets a taste of living water. Soon, she's rushing into the very center of the village, demanding to be heard by those who were once her tormentors. And she IS heard; many believe in Jesus because of the woman's bold testimony. In the process, she finds the path to authentic joy and healthy relationships.

Giving up superiority is transformative. It’s something I’m working on during this season of preparation, especially as I focus on spiritual practices. Jesus warns us even our prayers and fasting can be used to draw attention to how wonderful we are, instead of the goodness of God. What if, this Lent, we gave up superiority?!

I want to expose self- superior prejudices that keep me from encountering others with genuine joy.

I want to say goodbye to self- superior prayer that seeks my wellbeing without also seeking the wellbeing of others.

I’m skeptical about self-superior silence that does not include deep listening to others.

I’m doubtful about self- superior solitude that doesn’t make me crave immersion back into my community.

I’m questioning self- superior charity that keeps me at arm’s length from the poor.

I’m done with self-superior meditation that doesn’t make me one with my neighbor.

I’m through with self-superior simplicity that does not lead to more complexity in my relationships.

I’m tired of self-superior worship that encourages me to consume God rather than being consumed by God.

Here’s what I think: God doesn't care about any of the artificial lines we draw to make ourselves feel superior to others. If we let go of our status symbols and judgmental attitudes, we too can hear Jesus’ call more clearly and respond more faithfully. What transformed this woman could transform our world.  God spreads Good News through those who are considered “damaged goods.” If you are on the judgdy side of the question, it is time for us to get over it and learn some new behaviors. If you are on the “damaged goods” side of the equation, please know that your pain can be used to spread the Gospel.

Sources:
http://thecrookedmouth.com/saying-goodbye-spiritual-formation/
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/intense-emotions-and-strong-feelings/201212/violence-and-shame-the-attack-other-response
http://www.sarahlaughed.net/lectionary/2005/02/third_sunday_in.html
http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=3194
http://emotionalnudity.com/enl-founder-jai-stone/#sthash.J5mUN1P7.dpuf I
http://www.essence.com/2013/06/27/emotional-nudity-church-isnt-me-god/
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-lose/misogyny-moralism-and-the_b_836753.html
http://www.washingtonmonthly.com/features/2001/0206.epstein.html

Sermon for February 23, 2014

What is Perfection?

“Be perfect, as God in Heaven is perfect.” Matthew 5:48

Many years ago, there was a full-page ad in USA Today sponsored by the sportswear company FILA. It featured NBA All-star, Grant Hill. There was a picture of Hill surrounded by copy that stated: “This year Grant Hill led his team in scoring, rebounding, assists, and steals, led his team back into the playoffs, and led the league in triple doubles.” The ad continued to declare that Hill, “didn’t punch an official; didn’t demand a contract extension; didn’t dump his high school friends; listened to his mother; made his bed daily.” Moreover, he “promised to take shorter showers in an effort to conserve water; didn’t hurt a fly; chose paper over plastic; rewound tapes before returning them; put coins into other people’s parking meters.” In addition, Hill “kept his thermostat at 68; practiced what he preached; actually paid attention to the flight attendant’s instructions; donated a kidney; and vowed to do better next year.” According to this ad, Grant Hill was perfect

I suspect that, if we were totally honest, most of us would admit that we have a desire to look that good to others. We want people to think we’ve got our lives together; that we’re successful, that our kids are the best and brightest and our relationships ideal. We want others to think that we’re on top of our game; that we would never make an error in judgment. If we were totally honest, many of us would have to admit that we have a driving desire to be perfect.

Perfection means having no flaws or shortcomings; complete excellence. A perfectionist sees life as if it were one of those little pictures at the back of Saturday’s Washington Post Magazine that says “What’s wrong with this picture?” If you look at the picture carefully you will see that the table only had three legs or the front door has no door knob. Perfection is like taking delight in finding what’s wrong – only looking for what is missing, or broken instead of what is working.

Why would we want to find such satisfaction in only seeing what is missing, in what is wrong, or in what is broken?

Perfection is one of the most important characteristics of our culture. Some have said the pursuit of perfection has become a major addiction of our time. While we strive to make our lives look flawless, we also fall short of some sort of imaginary and unattainable standard. At one time, Martha Stewart might have been seen as the high priestess of perfection: one dare not let the mask slip, even in one’s home, where all is perfect, right down the last hand-stenciled napkin ring. Of course, now we know that even Martha Stewart can make mistakes. As hard as we might try to convince other people that we have the perfect life, something usually trips us up.

Even so, many of us keep at it. We strive for a flawless life. I think we do it because we’re searching for something. We want approval and love.  We start to believe that the only way we can earn love is by never ever making a mistake or falling short. In her book Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Remen talks about this very thing. In fact, she goes so far as to admit that she is a recovering perfectionist. Remen is a physician who was trained by her father in the art of being perfect long before she entered medical school. She wrote,

“As a child, when I brought home a 98 on an exam, he invariably responded, ‘What happened to the other two points?’” 

Remen goes on to say,

“I adored my Dad and my whole childhood was focused on the pursuit of the other two points. By the time I was in my twenties, I had become as much a perfectionist as he. It was no longer necessary for him to ask me about those two points. I had taken that over for myself. It was many years before I found out that those points don’t matter. That they are not the secret to living a life worth remembering. That they don’t make you loveable. Or whole.”

I read a story about the National Spelling Bee contest where the best school-aged spellers compete for lexocutionary glory (yes, I think I made that word up). The article said that the organizers of the event set up a “comfort room” for contestants after they misspell a word. There the children can go to cry in private and vent their frustration on a punching bag. It’s supposed to help them cope with the feelings of shame and the sense of failure that come with having gotten one word wrong,  even though they’ve already spelled hundreds of words correctly.

Expecting ourselves or others to be flawless can lead to a miserable existence. Sometimes we create incredible stress in our lives when we try so hard to prove that we’re perfect people. We live in constant fear of messing up or being humiliated or embarrassed when we fail or make a mistake.

The way in which we interpret God’s Word doesn’t help our situation, either. What do we do with a passage where Jesus tells us to be perfect as our God in heaven is perfect? When God gives the divine mandate for us to be perfect, isn’t that just supporting our neurotic quest to reach the unattainable grail of flawlessness? Are we called to be perfect, like God, but simultaneously fated to always fall short of the goal? Or, is it possible that we have a skewed reading of this text?

In Matthew 5:48 the word translated “perfect” is the Greek word telios. It actually means “whole or complete.” That which is telios fully realizes the purpose for which it is designed. A person is perfect when he or she realizes the purpose for which we are created and sent into the world. “Perfection” does not mean to set forth an impossible goal, or that which must be attained at any cost. We get our English word “perfection” from a Latin word meaning “complete, entire, full-grown.” To be perfect, in this sense, is to make room for growth, to allow for the changes that help us fulfill the purpose of our lives.

And what is that purpose?

I can tell you what’s it’s not. We were not created for superiority over others.  Our purpose in life is not flawlessness. It’s not a moral self-righteousness that cares little for those around us. No, perfection is found in love. Perfection is found in relationship with those who seek to help us or seek to hurt us. Jesus calls us to resist manipulation and guilt and substitute it with radical love.

Perfection, as our culture defines it, is simply not intended to be part of the human condition. Being human, by its very nature, means that we are imperfect flawed creatures.

The Apostle Paul also has something to say about this. In 2 Corinthians, the author talks about having a God-given thorn in the flesh that keeps him from becoming too proud. He writes,

“Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.” 

Paul says,

“That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 

Paul does not boast about being flawless. Quite the opposite. He embraces weakness so that the perfection of Jesus Christ might be known.

An understanding of radical love begins with the knowledge that we are all flawed. We all have times of weakness. We all have moments we make mistakes and miss the mark. We unite in our shortcomings, our woundedness, our brokenness and our greatest needs.

Shel Silverstein, wrote a story entitled The Missing Piece. It’s about a circle that has a large triangular wedge cut out of it. The circle wants to be whole, with no lost parts, so it starts looking for its missing piece. Because it is incomplete, however, it can only roll very slowly as it moves through the world. Kerthump. Kerthump.  As it rolls slowly along, it has a chance to admire the flowers (kerthump) and butterflies (kerthump) and sunshine (kerthump)and other miracles of nature. Along the way, the circle finds lots of pieces, but none of them fit. Then one day it finds a triangular wedge that fits perfectly. The circle is very happy. It is finally whole! It is a perfect circle. It can roll very fast. In fact, it now rolls so fast it no longer has time to talk to the butterflies or notice the flowers. When it realizes how different the world is when it rolls through it so quickly, the circle stops, drops the triangular missing piece by the side of the road, and rolls slowly away. Kerthump. Kerthump. 

In some strange way, we are more whole when we are incomplete. We roll toward perfection only when we kerthump along and connect with our limitations.

Master psychologist Carl Rogers put it this way: “I let myself know that I am enough. Not perfect. Perfect wouldn’t be enough. But that I am human, that is enough.” I hear God saying the very same thing God would say to us. No masks, no pretenses needed. To be ourselves, to be human—that is enough.

Sources:
William Barclay, Matthew vol. 1 (176-178).
Linda McCoy, “Mask of Perfection,” http://www.the garden.org/Sermon%20Archives/08 26 01.htm
 Kathleen Norris, Amazing Grace: a Vocabulary of Faith (55-57).
“How to be Perfect, “ http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-dr-eric-d-barreto/how-to-be-perfect_b_4808200.html?utm_hp_ref=tw
“Beyond Perfection,” http://www.rachelremen.com/beyond-perfection/

Sermon for February 9, 2014

“Πληρόω”

 “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven. “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 5: 13-20

Sermon Audio - Click HERE

In the second century, a hundred years or so after the death of Jesus, lived a man named Marcion. Marcion was a Christian. Well . . . that actually depends who you ask. Marcion called himself a Christian, but he had his own perspective about what that meant, a viewpoint that was not shared by prevailing Christian orthodoxy at the time.

Marcion read the Hebrew Scriptures and concluded that the God described there  was tyrannical and judging -- not at all like the loving, gracious God described by Jesus. So far you may be thinking, “Marcion  is right. I think the same thing. The Old Testament God is cruel. The New Testament God is love.” Hold on to that thought for a few minutes while I tell you more. Marcion wanted to account for the differences between cruel OT God and Loving NT God. He decided that these were two different gods. With the coming of Jesus, the merciful redeemer god defeated the cruel creator god. Anything to do with the mean god, he got rid of. He rejected Hebrew Scripture and a good chunk of the New Testament, too. Gospel texts, like Matthew, that frequently quote the Hebrew prophets, were thrown out by Marcion. You might see how this was threatening to the accepted view of the early church.


Here’s one of the problems. If you are an early church theologian, you believe that the Hebrew Prophets predict the coming of Jesus as Messiah. Those proof texts are important. Without the Old Testament, there is no case for Jesus as the Christ who comes to fulfill the law and the prophets. Along comes Marcion, throwing away the law over here, ignoring the prophets over there. For Marcion, Jesus can’t be the fulfillment of the law and prophets because that would make Jesus the spawn of the tyrannical deity of the Old Testament. Marcion said Jesus was the son of the unnamable good god who came to refute the god of the Jews, the law and the prophets.

Marcion was excommunicated from the Catholic Church because he threatened to make divisions. Church leaders denounced him as a heretic, and the Catholic Church gave back large donation he previously made. Marcion used his personal wealth to fund his own church organization, which continued in the West for 300 years. Pretty soon, there were schisms in Marcionism, and the official movement fizzled out.

Marcion was not the first person to find themes of judgment in the Old Testament that seemed at odds with the message of grace in the New Testament. And he was not the last person, either. Take a random survey of Western Christians and ask them about what God is like and you will get all kinds of answers. One person will tell you God is a strict, punitive authority figure: a creator and enforcer of rules who has harsh punishments for those who don’t toe the line.

Ask another Christian, and you get a picture of a loving parent, occasionally firm but mostly gentle and supportive, who only wants you to be happy and to be your own best self while  giving lots of latitude to find your own path.

Others see God as a hands-off manager who mostly sits back and lets creation run itself. Still others see God as an impersonal abstraction, an intellectual ideal, the encapsulation of ideals such as love, justice and compassion. So, is one of them right? Or, do people shape their image of God to fit what seems right to them?

Christian theology has always insisted that there is one God. At times, God seems vindictive, vengeful and just plain mean. But there are plenty of times when God is kind and tender, showing forgiveness and compassion to all. Love, mercy, redemption, and judgment are all attributes of God’s character, and they always have been.

Today’s passage from Matthew makes Christianity’s case. Jesus preaches the beatitudes – this poetic and memorable list of blessings. Then he says, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” Paraphrase: “Do not suppose that I came to loosen the law or the prophets.  I have not come to loosen, but to make full.” Matthew uses a Greek verb here for fullness: πληρόω. It means to fill up or make whole. In this case, it means to complete an incomplete thing. Jesus does not come to negate or undo the law. The law remains very much intact. Jesus comes to make it whole – to not only complete, but to exceed the law and the prophets.

The author of Matthew’s gospel wants us to know that Jesus always one-ups the law. Jesus delivers five major speeches, which parallel the five great books of Moses known as the Pentateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy). The first and most important of Jesus' speeches is the Sermon on the Mount (the text from which we are reading today). One of the characteristics of his sermon is the repetition of the words, "You have heard it said . . . But I say to you . . ." For instance, Jesus says “You have heard it said do not murder, but I am saying if you even think angry thoughts you are guilty.” Jesus gives a updated interpretation of the Law. It’s as if he is saying, “Moses said to you ____, but I’m saying you can do even better. When Moses said, ‘Do not murder,’ he didn't only mean, ‘Try to make it through the day without killing anyone.’  He also meant, ‘Don't devalue others by thinking yourself superior to them or harboring anger toward them.’” For Jesus, devaluing others is ultimately the source of murder. Jesus reclaims the heart of Jewish religious law as it is interpreted through the prophets and made flesh in lives of justice, mercy, and faith.

So, why go through all this legal reinterpretation? One word: Pharisees. Matthew sets Jesus up against the Pharisees. He will continue the theme throughout the entire Gospel.

By the second century before Jesus, Pharisees had become known as "the Separated Ones." They were not priests, but lay-theologians, lay-teachers. A Pharisee invested his life in an all-out effort to keep the Law of Moses down to the smallest detail. They not only followed the Law, they also had rules about how to follow the rules. Determined not to break any of God’s laws, they devised an intricate system of oral tradition to keep them straying. One would think with such a desire to obey God, they might have recognized Jesus as an ally. Yet they were His most bitter and relentless opponents. For the Pharisees, God made demands. For them, the law and prophets provided a set of guidelines that had to be kept at all costs. For Jesus, God was primarily gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. Matthew writes Jesus stories for a predominately Jewish community who sees Jesus, not the Pharisees, as the rightful interpreter of the Law. We think what’s really going on is that there are two Jewish communities who are at odds over the future of Judaism. The Pharisees see Moses as the steward of God’s law. Matthew’s community of Jewish Christians sees Jesus as the fulfillment of God’s law. Matthew wants to undermine the legitimacy and authority of the Pharisees who criticize Jesus. Matthew uses Jesus to insists that the newly-forming Christian community needs to be better. He says, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”  There are some politics and polemics going on here.

So back to the question: How do we understand the πλήρωμα (pleroma) the fullness of God? How do we know God when even our sacred texts are filled with conflict and questions? The UCC tradition doesn’t excommunicate heretics who disagree with us, like the Catholic Church did with Marcion. We don’t want to use our sacred texts as weapons to bludgeon those who follow the law and the prophets differently. How do we understand the fullness of God when there may not be a clear set of directions?

Here is my personal challenge. What if discomfort with the God of the law and prophets is a projective – a Rorschach test?  If we believe that what makes someone good is kindness, we construct a God who takes care of people. If we believe that what makes someone good is justice, we construct a God who rewards goodness and punishes evil. If we believe that what makes someone good is mercy, we construct a God who’s forgiving. If we believe that what makes someone good is intellect, we construct a God who’s a complex theological abstraction. If we believe that what makes someone good is respect for authority, we construct a God who issues clear rules and expects them to be obeyed. Here’s the point: What if my beliefs and hang ups have nothing to do with God, but say way too much about me?

Here’s the deal; I have, at times, hidden behind the veneer of respectable, righteous religiosity. I can be vengeful. I can be envious. I can be insular. I can be tempted to descend into inactivity in order to perpetuate the status quo. I can be more in tune with the letter of the law than the spirit of the law. Sometimes I put question marks around the prospect of radical change in human beings. In other words, my behavior mirrors that troublesome tyrant of an Old Testament God whom I want to ignore or dismiss. I am more like that God than I want to admit. I want it to be different, but the journey of change needs to begin with the elimination of self-deception.

What might happen if I begin to take responsibility for my own values and not try to put it on God? If I value kindness and justice, I should own it and not try to use God as a way to justify it. If someone else values intellect or mercy, then just own it. We don’t need to invent and follow one image of God that fits our own values. We don’t need to twist our holy texts to fit a certain worldview, and then persuade ourselves that our values really come from the Divine. I’m looking for a different model. For me, it’s about πληρόω – wholeness, fullness, completeness. The journey to fullness begins with honesty; honesty with ourselves that we do not have all the answers; honesty with those whom we disagree; honesty that says you don’t have to be wrong for me to be right; honesty that admits we do not have all the answers; honesty that knows we fail and need our faith and our scriptures to hold us accountable; honesty that faces the times when we are scared and unsure with an awareness of God’s presence; honesty that remembers Christ can complete something that is loosened and unfinished in you. In me. It’s about πληρόω – fullness – complete and overflowing grace.

Sources:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/religion/story/mmmatthew.html
http://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/five-short-stories-of-grace-chris-tiller-sermon-on-gods-forgiveness-85277.asp?Page=4
http://www.preaching.com/sermons/11549713/page-5/
http://mysticpolitics.com/psychology-of-belief-is-religion-a-rorschach-test/

Sermon for February 2, 2014

The Life of Justice
February 2, 2014

What can we bring to the Lord?
    What kind of offerings should we give?
Should we bow before God
    with offerings of yearling calves?
Should we offer thousands of rams
    and ten thousand rivers of olive oil?
Should we sacrifice our firstborn children
    to pay for our sins?
No, O people, the Lord has told you what is good,
    This is what is required of you:
to do what is right, to love mercy,
    and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:6-8

Audio version - click HERE

Have you ever heard someone say something like this: “There’s so much pain in the world. I suppose someone’s got to address it, but why should I have to do it? My hands are quite full right now, what with working 60 hours a week and my family commitments and all. Besides, I’ve worked hard to get what I have. Why shouldn’t be able to enjoy it?” That’s what might be called the “I’ve Got Mine” theory of social justice: I’ve got mine; let someone else take care of the world’s problems. It’s not much of a social justice theory, but I hear it a lot.

How about this one as an alternative? “Yes, I know. The world is full of injustice and all. It needs to be corrected, but that will take a better person than I. It will take a Martin Luther King, Jr., a Gandhi, a Mother Theresa. Maybe all three rolled into one. I can’t to that; I’m just an ordinary sort of person” That’s the Great Healer Theory of social justice: It takes a few great people to make a difference, and since I’m not a great person, I’ll wait for one to come along and follow that one. In the meantime, there’s not much I can do. Again, not much of a social justice theory. But I’ve heard it.

A variation on this theory is this: “There’s so much to do I wouldn’t know where to begin. I need someone to tell me. In the meantime, all I can do is wring my hands.” That one at least has the merit that it does not pretend to be anything but an excuse for not getting involved. Still, it has little to do with social justice. And it won’t heal any of the pain the world.

Of course, we can always use guilt as a way to motivate people into action. Churches are good at this. “How can you possibly just stand there and do nothing? The world is falling to pieces all round you, from famine to racism. And if you don’t do anything about it, you are as guilty as those who perpetuate the pain, because your inaction allows the pain to continue and grow.” I know you’ve all heard some version of this. I’ve even preached it on occasion. It Guilt really can motivate people. But there has to be something better, something that really will motivate people to get involved and touch the world with the loving compassion that Jesus demonstrated. This morning we will think about this as we listen to a word from a Hebrew Prophet.

We just heard from the prophet Micah. Here’s what’s going on. Micah imagines God and the people of Israel in the middle of a lawsuit. They have come to court to see who is at fault in their fractured relationship. God charges that the people of Israel have ignored the covenant. They have forgotten how God saved them from the land of Egypt and brought them to the Promised Land. In choosing not to remember their own history of bondage and the struggles leading up to liberation, the people grow indifferent. Israel comes up with a defense. “What can we bring before the Lord to make up for what we’ve done? Maybe God would be happy if we took a valuable yearling calf and sacrificed it. No, God, you will want more. Maybe we should raise the value by sacrificing not one, but a thousand rams, and then smother it with rivers of precious olive oil. Then will you be pleased, God? What if we sacrificed our firstborn children to pay for the sins of our souls? Then would God forgive? Tell us the cost, and we will pay.”

The urgent cries of Israel don’t sound very different than our own laments today. We mess something up and we have a compulsion to clear our consciences. We want a sign that God still loves us. We cry, “God, what do you want from me. What can I do to make up for what I’ve done? Will you be happy if I promise to go to church every Sunday for a month? How about a year? What if I make good on my stewardship pledge? I’ll even put a little extra in? Then would you be pleased, God? How much do I need to give in order to secure your love? Do I need to find the people and things that are most valuable to me and offer them to you, Lord? Then would you forgive? Tell me the cost, and I will pay.”

So, what does the Lord require?

Micah gives a surprise answer. God doesn’t want stuff. God wants you. God doesn’t require sacrifice of physical objects. God wants your heart. Micah says that if you want to make it right then do justice, love mercy, and walk in humility with your God. Let’s think about this for a minute.

First God says do justice or do what is right. In Micah’s day, most of the county’s leaders were caught up in their own comfort and prosperity. But Micah saw the suffering of the general population. He knew that justice would not come from the state or the power structure. Justice rises from people who dare to envision dynamic alternatives to their current unjust conditions. To do justice is not a romantic ideal nor an abstract concept. Rather, justice means hard work. A life of justice asks us to work together, to analyze the present unjust system and to find ways to change the system. Justice is able to disrupt, dismantle, break down, disarm, and transform the world when we dare to see what is really happening without growing cynical. Living a life of justice means being willing to risk seeing another person’s suffering as our own.

Doing justice is hard because it means that life has to change. And many of us have a strong allergic reaction to change of any kind. Many also have a strong revulsion to the church getting involved in politics. I want to address this for a moment. The important decisions in our time – whether there will be peace or war, safety from terrorism and random shootings in public spaces, racial equality or discrimination, homophilia or homophobia, food or famine, economy parity or disparity – all these are, in part, political decisions. Not every political issue of the day demands a stand from the churches. I don’t think churches should pursue political goals that are self-serving. I hate to see Christians try to legislate their convictions into state and federal law. I love to see Christians speak up and act up on behalf of the poor and disadvantaged, to fight for housing for low-income families, for decent health care for the aging, for fair treatment of all people. In these times that are neither safe nor sane, I love to see Christens put it all on the line, knowing that we can expect minimal support from the culture around us. Anyone can love the healthy, the successful, and the glamorous. There’s little dignity or courage in that. God calls us to a higher standard—to love and serve the world with compassion; to understand that when one suffers, we all suffer. When one person is given dignity, we are all brought a little higher. So, we DO justice. Think of those two words together -- justice as a verb. We don’t think justice. We don’t hope justice. We don’t pray justice. We DO justice. We DO.

Micah also mentions kindness. Showing kindness means choosing to recognize and respond to the needy among us. In his book, The Power of the Powerless, Chris deVinck writes about his brother Oliver who was severely handicapped, blind, and bedridden. No one was sure whether Oliver was aware of the world around him, although he did eat when he was fed. Though he lived to be over 30, feeding him was like feeding an eight-month-old child. He required 24-hour care, which his mother gave him until the day he died. Chris remembers it like this:

When I was in my early 20s, I met a girl, and I fell in love. After a few months I brought her home for dinner to meet my family. After the introductions and some small talk, my mother went to the kitchen to check the meal, and I asked the girl, “Would you like to see Oliver?” for I had, of course, told her about my brother. “No,” she answered. She did not want to see him. It was as if she slapped me in the face. In response I mumbled something polite and walked to the dining room. Soon after, I met Rosemary—a dark-haired, dark-eyed, lovely girl. She asked me the names of my brothers and sisters. She bought me a copy of The Little Prince. She loved children. I thought she was wonderful. I brought her home after a few months to meet my family. The introductions. The small talk. We ate dinner; then it was time for me to feed Oliver. I walked into the kitchen … and prepared Oliver’s meal. Then, I sheepishly asked Roe if she’d like to come upstairs and see Oliver. “Sure,” she said, and up the stairs we went. I sat on Oliver’s bed as Roe stood and watched over my shoulder. I gave him his first spoonful, then his second. “Can I do that?” she asked with ease, with freedom, with compassion. So I gave her the bowl, and she fed Oliver one spoonful at a time. Which girl would you marry? Today Roe and I have three children.

If we want to live in God’s forgiving grace, then we walk in kindness, meeting the needs around us with the ease, freedom and compassion of God.

Micah also mentions humility.  Humility means recognizing that the universe doesn’t revolve around us. In fact, it means serving others in a way that doesn’t even draw attention to the good deeds we do. It means that we do acts of justice and kindness with quiet simplicity.

As we think about the life of Pete Seeger and mark his passing, I’m reminded of humility. Pete Seeger’s death leaves a void that must be filled with new voices. Clear voices. Committed voices. Determined voices. I wonder who will take up the guitar, the banjo, or the microphone; camera, pen and tablet to speak, sing, write, shout in a clear humble voice – who will remind us about love, and peace, and justice, and freedom. Who will be the new leaders? One of the tributes I read recalled Pete Seeger leading a march with the Occupy Movement in 2010. He was quoted as saying: "Be wary of great leaders. Hope that there are many, many small leaders." That’s humility, right? It’s not about the big grand scheme, as much as the long obedience in the same direction.

Justice. Kindness. Humility. Honestly, it would be a lot easier to buy God off.  The life of justice is risky and uncomfortable. It refuses to back down in the face of evil. It never relents shining the light of grace into the worst places in the world.

In the spirit of starting with small leaders, and for those whom this is new, let me suggest some first steps in living a life of justice, kindness and humility:

Write a kind or encouraging letter, perhaps to someone who is struggling with a decision, or a failure, or disappointment. Or write notes of encouragement to those who are fighting the good fight in our area, against all odds.

Volunteer to help at a food bank or Shepherd’s Table.

Guard the reputation of another person. Refuse to take part in discussions that focus on fault-finding or gossip, or discriminatory joking.

Ask yourself, “Am I doing something that oppresses someone else? Have I taken advantage of another person?" By examining yourself, you will be able to see the injustice around you.

Take a stand. All around is there is racism, sexism, and other forms of discrimination. You have the power to make a difference in Christ’s name. Even a small one. Come join us on Lawyers Mall in Annapolis aon Feb. 17 to lobby for Transgender Equality. Learn about mass incarceration with us next week. Join one of our Peace in the Middle East events. We have lots of opportunities for eduction and service!

And remember, God doesn’t want stuff. God wants you. God has shown us what is good, and what is require of us. DO justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly with God.