Audience and Actors
Matthew 6:5-14
Have you ever heard The Yuppie’s Prayer? It goes like this. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray my e-mail to keep. I pray my stocks are on the rise and that my therapist is wise. That all the wine I sip is white and that my hot tub is water tight. That racket ball won’t get too tough and that my sushi’s fresh enough. I pray my cell phone always works, and that my career won’t lose its perks. That my microwave won’t radiate and my condo won’t depreciate. I pray my health club doesn’t close and that my Money Market always grows. And if I die before I wake, I pray my Lexus they won’t take.” It’s a trite, silly prayer, but I would guess that it’s prayed often enough in one form or another. The fact is that everyone prays. Listen to the people around you during the week. During routines of normal life, some people might not even tip their hat to God. But when crisis hits life, they will hit that “Spiritual 911” button. “Oh God, help me! I’ll do anything” Everyone prays. Jesus assumes that. Look at the first verse of today’s gospel reading. Jesus doesn’t say, “if you pray,” he says, “when you pray.” Everyone prays. The issue is whether our prayers are authentic or not.
This past week I was thinking about some people I’ve heard about who view prayer as the main business of their lives. Martin Luther, the great protestant reformer declared, “I have so much business I cannot go on without spending at least three hours a day in prayer.” John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist Church insisted, “God does nothing but in answer to prayer.” He backed it up by devoting two hours each day to his prayer time. Adonirum Judson, America’s first foreign missionary, withdrew from work seven times a day to pray. Then there’s Doris and Jim. I met them when I lived in Boston. Doris and Jim were elderly and I raked the mountains of oak leaves in their yard every fall. Doris and Jim were praying people. When they got up, they prayed. When they served me lunch, they prayed. When they went out to the grocery store, they prayed. When they needed a new car, they prayed. In fact, Doris’ burgundy Grand Marquis bit the dust. So instead of shopping for a new car, Doris prayed. She prayed for another burgundy Grand Marquis. She liked that color because it was easy to find in the parking lots. After two weeks of prayer, someone called her and offered her a car. “What color is it?” she asked. You already know the answer: it was another burgundy Grand Marquis. I could go on about men and women who wake up early and stay up into the late hours of the night in prayer
These people inspire me. I also get discouraged when I compare my prayer life to theirs. Those giants of the faith are so far beyond anything that many of us have experienced. It can be easy to fall into despair. But, instead of beating ourselves up, let’s explore a number of ideas that can enhance our prayer lives. Today we are going to think about how to put prayer into practice.
1. Private Prayer – Avoid Outward Displays of Piety
In Matthew’s gospel, some of the religious leaders have a problem. They like to stand on street corners and in public places while they pray. They want everyone to see how holy they can be. To Jesus, this seems more like a public concert. Their prayers have become the theater of performance and show, the theater of appearance and deceit. In this theater, prayer is a public parade and the theater of religion becomes a gaudy charade. Jesus redefines the theater. He calls his followers not to a theater of spectacle or display, but a secret theater. In the drama of salvation, the stage is a locked room, the actor is the disciple and the audience is God. The place of encounter between God and his people is not the temple, or a church. It is the locked room where the disciple meets God one on one. Jesus practiced what he preached. He was followed by crowds and surrounded by people who demanded his time and energy, and he still found chances to sneak away to spend periods of private prayer with God.
Behind these two theaters, the actors prepare their scripts and get ready for their performances. Do you know what the Greek word for actor is? Hypocrite! We are taught that hypocrisy is a terrible thing. But the way I see it, we are all hypocrites when it comes to prayer. We all prepare what we want to say for God and where we want our recital to take place. The question is not whether you are a hypocrite. The question is about what kind of hypocrite you want to be. As an actor, for whom do you perform?
Jesus suggests saving it for God – going to a secret place, appearing on stage before God alone, and acting as if heaven has touched earth.
I want us to be a church that prays – a group of people who find time to be alone to talk to God. I know that as soon as I say that, most of us can think of ten reasons why we can’t do it. We don’t have time. There are too many distractions. We’re too tired. Our minds wander. The truth is if prayer is important enough to us, we will find time to do it.
If you are not used to praying daily, then be prepared to be discouraged at first. You mind will wander. You will begin to pray and then think of what you are going to have for lunch, and then think of all things you have to do, and then think bout what’s on TV tonight. You may not be able to focus on praying for more than one minute. It will be easy to give up. This is the when you need to hang in there the most. God will meet you where you are and help you move deeper. But it takes practice.
Think of prayer in terms of training ourselves. When I get discouraged in prayer, I try to remember the Kenyan cross-country ski team. Did you know they had one? There is no snow in Kenya, yet the country sends a team of two athletes to the Olympics. They Kenyan Nordic team consistently score on the bottom of the standings. Even though they are last, they never give up. If I was on that team, I’d be tempted to find a new sport. But they always finish their race and keep competing. Prayer is a lot like that. We don’t become Olympians in prayer over night. We prepare and train ourselves over a period of time. We don’t give up when we are thinking of how good that leftover Chinese take out would taste when we meant to spend the time talking to God. Stick with it. After a few months, we will still be in the race. Don’t be satisfied with quitting. God has infinite treasure to give us. Ask God to help you and to teach you. God will answer.
2. Avoid babbling: Outlines in Prayer
Jesus talks about another group of people in today’s passage. These people think they can move God with their long-winded prayers. They heap up empty phrases. They believe that if their prayers are long and intricate enough, they will tire out the gods so that they will be granted divine favor. In traditional Roman and Greek prayer, the item sought after would be described as exactly and minutely as possible, just in case the gods granted the wrong favor. Jesus tells his followers that there’s no need to babble on in prayer. God isn’t like the deities of the age. God knows what you need before you even ask. The same goes for us as well. We can’t manipulate God with wordy prayers and repetitive words. God does not need to hear flowery phrases and grammatically correct sentences. Simplicity is always better. Brother Lawrence was a monk who lived in the 1600’s. In his classic book on prayer he writes, “It isn’t necessary to be too verbose in prayer because lengthy prayers encourage wandering thoughts. Simply present yourself to God as if you were a poor person knocking on the door of a rich person, and fix your attention on God’s presence.”
I find that people babble on when they don’t know what to say. People get uncomfortable. They don’t know how to begin or end. They either say nothing, or they say too much. Sometimes I find it helpful to pray with an outline. It keeps my mind focused and gives some structure to my thoughts. Here are a couple of suggestions.
The first comes from today’s gospel passage. When the disciples ask Jesus to teach them how to pray, Jesus offers the words of what we now call The Lord’s Prayer. The Lord’s Prayer is not a string of magical, comforting words we say together on Sunday mornings. It is a prayer outline. Take the Lord’s Prayer with you during your quiet time and pray through it line by line. Focus on the phrase, “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed by they name.” Stop and think of qualities that make God praise worthy. You may even want to write your ideas down in a journal. Then move on to the next phrase – “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.” Stop again and pray for ways in which the knowledge of God can be spread, in your life, in your family, in our community, in the world.” When you are ready, move on to the next phrase, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Pause again and pray for specific needs in you life and in the lives of your family and friends. Pray for healing and for God’s nurture. Keep going like this through the entire Lord’s Prayer, phrase by phrase. And remember, the goal is not to get through the outline. We are teaching ourselves how to sit alone in the presence of God.
Here is another outline. Use the word ACTS as an acrostic to help you remember some ways to pray. A stands for Adoration. Begin your prayer by praising and adoring God. C is for Confession. Let God know how sorry you are for the times you have fallen short of what you know God wants for your life. Allow God to cleanse you from sin and feel God’s forgiving touch. Also take time to forgive others. T is for Thanksgiving. Take some time to show gratitude to God for specific blessings in your life. Finally, end with the S, which stands for Supplication. This means asking God to answer your needs. Present your requests to God and wait patiently for God’s peace that passes all understanding.
Let me suggest one more way to pray. A man named Frank Laubach wanted to learn to pray in such a way that just seeing another person would be a prayer. Just hearing another person, like a child talking or a person crying, would be a prayer. This idea is simple yet powerful. When you see or hear a person, pray for him or her. Laubach talks about flashing hard, straight prayers at that person. In public places, silently invite the love of God through Christ to touch people. It’s as if you’re throwing a cloak of prayer around each person you contact. Imagine if thousands of people were praying short, direct prayers like this on behalf of others. The atmosphere of our families, towns, even our nation, would be changed. And YOUR own soul would change for sure. You would begin to live every moment with a sense of God’s presence.
There are many other ways to pray. I have offered a few suggestions. If you want more ideas or information, please come talk to me. When it comes right down to it, I don’t care how you do it -- I just want you to pray. The most important thing is that you devote some time to private prayer. I desire so much for each of you to be close to the heart of God. I want each and every one of us to know the joy of knowing the comfort, and power, and healing, and love that comes through prayer.
So pray. Don’t wait until you feel like it or else it will never happen. And may God give each of us the patience we need in order to become people of prayer.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Sermon for March 20, 2008
Enemy Love
Exodus 14; Matthew 5:43-48
Mandisa Hundley was a gospel singer and one of the 12 finalists on the TV show American Idol, season 5. She stood before judges Simon Cowell, Paula Abdul, and Randy Jackson to find out if she made it through to the next round of the competition. Mandisa, is a full-figured woman, and Simon had previously made a sarcastic remark about her weight saying, “Do we have a bigger stage this year?” When she entered the room to learn the judges’ verdict, Mandisa looked right at Simon and said to him, “Simon, a lot people want me to say a lot of things to you. But this is what I want to say…yes, you hurt me, and I cried, and it was painful. It really was, but I want you to know that I’ve forgiven you, and that you don’t need someone to apologize in order to forgive somebody. And I figure that if Jesus could die so that all of my wrongs could be forgiven, I can certainly extend that same grace to you. I just wanted you to know that.” Randy said, “Amen.” Simon apologized and hugged the singer, and Mandisa discovered she had been selected to advance into the next round of competition.
Simon Cowell, that straight talking, contemptuous Brit, is an example of total freedom without love. He thinks has free reign to say whatever he wants, but his honesty is never tempered with compassion. In fact, at times he seems to disdain the very contestants he is supposed to promote.
Can we have freedom without love? Let’s think about that question in the story of the Passover, since it’s being celebrated in the Jewish world this week. Passover is a story about liberation and love. For four hundred years, the iron hand of Egypt bore down on the backs of Israel, burdening them with the yoke of slavery. Moses brings Israel out of bondage and into liberation – into freedom. Imagine the scene where Moses and the tribes of Israel make it to the other side of the Sea of Reeds (by the way, they did not cross the Red Sea, home of the Suez Canal in Egypt. The Hebrew text only tells us that they crossed something called yam suph, the Sea of Reeds). As they look across the span of water, now behind them, they see Pharaoh’s horses and chariots sinking to their deaths. Israel’s distress lifts. Like a cry rising from a pierced heart, a song of redemption suddenly erupts from the mouths of the hundreds of thousands of people who had been released from the shackles of slavery.
There is a Jewish story that tells another side of the events. It goes like this: The song of Israel rises to the heavens. The angels in heaven are so enthralled with Israel’s rescue, their songs of rejoicing begin to fill the heavens. Suddenly, a voice cries out – the voice of God. “My children are drowning. How can you sing praises?” You wish to surrender yourselves to an unbridled joy and celebrate in splendor? How dare you do such a thing? The singing stops. Their joy falls silent. From that point on, Israel would have no share in joy while God’s creations drown. God reminds them that their fate is bound with the fate of all humanity. “My people, you are not free yet. You will not find true liberation until you remember that there is no freedom unless there is also love.”
How can we recognize the humanity of our enemy, even when they have been so cruel? It is not easy. But the Jews found a way. After WWII, Israel captured Adolph Eichmann, the architect of the Holocaust, and placed him on trial. The Israeli court would have been justified in treating him as he treated the Jews, gassing him or torturing him. Instead, they protected his human rights as they put Eichmann on trial. He was allowed defense counsel and even regular clergy visits. Justice was done and he was hanged, but only after 14 weeks of testimony with more than 1,500 documents, 100 prosecution witnesses, and one appeal. The worst enemy the Jewish people have ever known was treated like a human being.
“My children are drowning. How can you sing praises?” God’s words are a clarion call to us – a call to the human conscience to remember the humanity around us. The voice of mercy should become the second nature of Christian conscience. We, as people of God, cannot stay composed and indifferent in the face of inhumanity. Wherever poverty, sickness and disharmony are felt, wherever justice and freedom are impaired – this inner voice always calls out – “My children are drowning in the sea…” Can there be liberation without love? Without compassion? Without forgiveness? The message here is unmistakable. We may never celebrate when inhumanity wins the day. As Robert Burns wrote, “Man’s Inhumanity to Man, makes countless thousands mourn.”
“My children are drowning. How can you sing praises?” If anyone knew about freedom and love, it was Jesus. Today’s reading from the Sermon on the Mount calls people embrace humanity in others. Jesus says, “Love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer, for then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves. This is what God does. God gives God’s best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that.”
We will never be truly free in Christ until we learn to love. This means loving our enemies as well as our friends. It means loving the unlovable, the outcasts and sinners. It means that until we can look at the most revolting members of the human species and see the face of Christ, we are still imprisoned by prejudice and hatred. And that’s not the way Christ wants us to live. If your God tells you that hatred and exclusion is OK, then you do not worship the God revealed to us in Christ. As Author Anne Lamott once wrote, you can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.
I’ve been inspired by a few stories of those who have overcome their hatred and learned to love – and found true freedom. One of those stories is about Yonggi Cho, pastor of the largest church in the world -- 830,000 people. Several years ago, as his ministry was becoming international, Cho told God, “I will go anywhere to preach the gospel—except Japan.” He hated the Japanese with gut-deep loathing because of what Japanese troops had done to the Korean people and to members of Yonggi Cho’s own family during WWII. The Japanese were his enemies. After a prolonged inner struggle, Cho felt God calling him to preach in Japan. He went, but he went with bitterness. The first speaking engagement was to a conference of 1,000 Japanese Christian pastors. Cho stood up to speak, but all he could say was: “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” Then he broke down and wept, both brimming and desolate with hatred. At first one, then two, then all 1,000 pastors stood up. One by one they walked up to Cho, knelt at his feet and asked forgiveness for what their people had done to his people. As this went on, God changed Yonggi Cho. The Lord put a single message in his heart and mouth: “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
So, maybe you are not a spiritual powerhouse. How might enemy love work out in your own life? A father writes about his son Chase. One night after supper, Chase sat down in the living room to begin the task of signing and sealing the Valentine’s Day cards he had picked out for his second-grade classmates. Seeing him surrounded by mountains of cards, envelopes, and a list of names that filled an entire page, the dad decided to give him a hand. Chase said, “You can seal the cards and mark the names off the list,” as he shoved 15 or more cards and envelopes into his dad’s lap.
About halfway through the stack, dad noticed a bold red and pink Valentine inscribed with the words, “I am thankful for you.” What caught his eye was not what the card said, but the thick black lines that had been scrawled over the word thankful. Dad nudged Chase and said, “ I don’t think it would be very kind to give this card to one of your friends.” He was not prepared for the angry outburst that followed. Chase sat up straight and yelled, “Every day that girl calls me names, and I have asked her to stop, but she just laughs calls me names!” The dad’s heart felt a lurch of pain as he pictured his son standing undefended in the schoolyard with this unknown girl teasing him. He sat and took in the tears that were rolling down Chase’s face. He told his son how sorry he was and that he could understand the pain. Chase jerked himself loose from dad’s arm and with a fresh flow of tears choked out, “She embarrasses me! Do you want me to just stand there and let her call me names?” Here was a young son facing a moment of suffering that might seem small to some but was clearly a big deal to him. Dad put his arm around Chase, wiped his tears with a Kleenex, and said, “Yes, Chase, I do want you to let her call you names. I don’t want you to do anything that would hurt her.”
After a few moments, Chase slowly picked up a new card and addressed it neatly to this girl who so easily hurt his heart. His choice was to offer her forgiveness and grace in the form of a Valentine’s card.
19-year-old Ryan Cushing and his friends stole a credit card and then took off on a shopping spree… for no reason. They stole a 20-pound frozen turkey and proceeded to throw it from their speeding vehicle headlong into the windshield of the car driven by Victoria Ruvolo. The result: the victim underwent surgery for six hours as metal plates and other pieces of hardware were fitted together to rebuild her face. The prosecutor in Ruvolo’s case stated that for crimes such as this one, victims often “feel no punishment is harsh enough.Death doesn’t even satisfy them.”
How did Victoria react? She was concerned with “salvaging the life of her 19-year-old assailant.” She did not seek revenge in any way. She sought information about the youth and how he was raised. She insisting on offering a plea deal: second-degree assault, which carried six months in the county jail and one year’s probation. He could have been sent to prison for 25 years, returning to society middle-aged with no job skills or prospects.
This is only half the story. What happened in court is the truly remarkable part. After the verdict, Ryan carefully walked to where his victim was seated in the courtroom. With tears and in a whisper he said, “I’m so sorry for what I did to you.” He and Victoria embraced, both weeping. She stroked his head, patted him on the back, and comforted him. “It’s OK,” she said. “I just want you to make your life the best it can be.” It was reported that hardened prosecutors, and even reporters, were choking back tears.
The theologian and activist Thomas Merton once wrote these words. They come from the book entitled Seeds of Contemplation. I offer them for all of us to contemplate.
“Do not be too quick to assume that your enemy is a savage just because he is your enemy. Perhaps he is your enemy because he thinks you are a savage. Or perhaps he is afraid of you because he feels you are afraid of him. And perhaps if he believed you were capable of loving him he would no longer be your enemy.
“Do not be too quick to assume that your enemy is an enemy of God just because he is your enemy. Perhaps he is your enemy precisely because he can find nothing in you that gives glory to God. Perhaps he fears you because he can find nothing in you of God’s love and God’s kindness and God’s patience and mercy and understanding of the weakness of men.
“Do not be too quick to condemn the man who no longer believes in God. For it is perhaps your own coldness and avarice and mediocrity and materialism and sensuality and selfishness that have killed his faith”
God’s children are drowning. How can you sing praises? Love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you! In that way, you will be acting as true children of God.
http://web.israelinsider.com/Views/3500.htm
http://rhr.israel.net/pdf/ajewishvoice.pdf
Roots and Wings: adventures of a spirit on earth, by Jack Haas
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Sermon for March 20, 2007
Salt and Gospel; Law And Light
Matthew 5:13-20
Based on the Sermon“Following the Kiss” by William Carter. He said what I wanted to much better than I could have.
“You are the salt of the earth. But what good is salt if it has lost its flavor? Can you make it salty again? It will be thrown out and trampled underfoot as worthless. “You are the light of the world—like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.
“Don’t misunderstand why I have come. I did not come to abolish the law of Moses or the writings of the prophets. No, I came to accomplish their purpose. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not even the smallest detail of God’s law will disappear until its purpose is achieved. So if you ignore the least commandment and teach others to do the same, you will be called the least in the Kingdom of Heaven. But anyone who obeys God’s laws and teaches them will be called great in the Kingdom of Heaven.
“But I warn you—unless your righteousness is better than the righteousness of the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven!”
Fiorello LaGuardia was mayor of New York City during the worst days of the Great Depression and all of WWII. He called 'the Little Flower' by adoring New Yorkers because he was only five foot four and always wore a carnation in his lapel. He used to ride the New York City fire trucks, raid speakeasies with the police department, and take entire orphanages to baseball games. One bitterly cold night in January of 1935, the mayor turned up at a night court that served the poorest ward of the city. LaGuardia dismissed the judge for the evening and took over the bench himself.
Within a few minutes, the bailiff brought a tattered old woman before La Guardia, charged with stealing a loaf of bread. She told LaGuardia that her daughter’s husband had deserted her, her daughter was sick, and her two grandchildren were starving. But the shopkeeper, from whom the bread was stolen, refused to drop the charges. “It’s a real bad neighborhood, your Honor.” the man told the mayor. “She’s got to be punished to teach other people around here a lesson.” LaGuardia sighed. He turned to the woman and said, “I've got to punish you. The law makes no exceptions--ten dollars or ten days in jail.” But even as he pronounced sentence, the mayor was already reaching into his pocket. He took out a bill and said: “Here is the ten dollar fine which I now remit; and furthermore I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat. Mr. Baliff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant.”
The following day, the New York City newspapers reported that $47.50 was turned over to a bewildered old lady who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren, fifty cents of that amount being contributed by the red-faced grocery store owner, while some seventy petty criminals, people with traffic violations, and New York City policemen, each of whom had just paid fifty cents, gave the mayor a standing ovation.
I like that story. It reminds me of the tension between law and grace, between following the rules and finding forgiveness. In today’s gospel text, Jesus is preparing to give us a number of new rules. The issue is what is the place of God’s Law in the life of grace. Or to put it another way, how do we live with religious rules in light of a Savior who comes to help us when we break the rules?
The place to begin is by looking where today’s passage is located. Right after this passage, Jesus teaches a list of difficult rules: You have heard it said, ‘Don’t murder,’ but I say don’t you dare to insult anybody else. You have heard it said, ‘don’t commit adultery,’ but I say don’t even treat another person as an object to grab and possess. You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbors and hate your enemies.’ but I say, love your enemies and pray for your persecutors. Your love must be complete, perfect, as your heavenly Father is complete and perfect. What a tough list that is! The burden is even heavier when Jesus says, “If you break one of these commandments, you’re at the bottom of the kingdom’s heap.”
Look again where today’s passage is located. Right before this passage, Jesus speaks about the gracious embrace of God. “Blessed are those among whom God is working. Whoever is poor in spirit, pure in heart, hungry and thirsty for justice - - - blessed are you in the glory of God’s kingdom.” They are kissed by grace, even if they are denounced by the world. Then comes the text for today, with its two affectionate nicknames: “You are the salt of the earth, the light of the world.” All of us who hear Jesus speak are given a new identity. We are sent out to give the world a better flavor. We are lit up in order to enlighten. Once again, we are kissed by God. The rest of the text, however, lies between the kiss and the commandment.
In the Sermon on the Mount, after 14 verses of kindness, there are 93 verses of instruction. That’s a lot of do’s and don’ts, shoulds and shouldn’ts, and I-say-unto-yous. And in a general way, that’s the pattern of how laws are given in the Bible. Remember the Ten Commandments? Before God thunders down the commandments from the mountain, God says, “I brought you out of Egypt. You were slaves, and I saved you.” That’s the kiss. It comes first. It’s the same pattern as the Sermon on the Mount. First comes the kiss, the blessed sign of God’s love and grace. Then comes the commandment, the outer evidence that we are God’s distinctive people.
However, the church has always wrestled with a problem with the Sermon on the Mount. How do we hold the kiss and commandment together? Ever since the beginning, good religious people like us have tried to live with one and without the other. Some would say the kiss is enough, and nothing else is necessary. After all, the heart of the good news is that God cherishes us, particularly in a brutal, dangerous world. So why not bask in God’s eternal mercy, and do whatever we want?
I’ll never forget that fateful day as a fifth-grader when I closed my bedroom door and blurted out a few dirty words. I was fairly sure there wouldn’t be a thunderbolt, and there wasn’t. I got away with that awful crime, and felt good that I got away with it. In fact, I felt so free that a few of those words rolled off my tongue at the family supper table. I was exiled to spend the rest of that evening in my room. Never a quick learner, I tried out my newfound freedom again at Scout Camp. I remember trying to console my bunkmate who had been yelled at by the scoutmaster. I said ,”Yeah, the scoutmaster is such a ________” (fill in your favorite expletive). As I spoke, I saw a shadow looming over me. As I turned around, there stood my scoutmaster who heard every word I said. I took me a few embarrassing moments like that to realize that freedom comes with some awesome consequences.
On the other hand, you probably know someone who keeps all the commandments and ignores the kiss. “All that gushy grace?” they say. “It’s a distraction from our duty.” For some people, duty is what life is all about: do the right thing, live the right way, walk the right way. Living within those boundaries can be a great comfort. A man I know drove all night to visit a sick brother. It was a long trip. He was tired. It began to rain. About two o’clock in the morning, he drove through a small town. He slowed down to thirty miles an hour. Nobody was on the street, but he knew how small town cops can be. Suddenly he heard the siren and saw the flashing lights. He pulled over and rolled down the window. The police officer said, “Mister, did you see that sign back there?”
“What sign?”
“School zone - 15 miles an hour.”
“But officer, it’s 2 o’clock in the morning.”
“Did the sign say, ‘School zone except at 2 o’clock in the morning’?”
“But officer, it’s raining. My windshield wipers aren’t working very well.”
“Did the sign say, ‘School zone except at 2:00 when your windshield wipers aren’t working’? The law is the law.”
I can understand that. I don’t like it, but I can understand it. Legalism is the most comforting religion of all. Everything is certain and clear. Did you steal the loaf of bread? Cut off your hand. Did you lust over that Sports Illustrated swimsuit model? Pluck out your eye. Did you relax one iota of the Word of God? Go straight to hell. How can you argue with a religion like that?
It would be a wonderful way to live . . . if only it looked like living. When life is reduced to a checklist, the soul withers. It’s all duty, no delight. It’s all work, no sabbath. More to the point: it’s all commandment, no kiss. Now the Gospel of Matthew has its legalistic streak, to be sure. The writer loves to flash his teeth and frighten us into holy living. Why, you can hear it in the passage we heard this morning: “unless your righteousness is better than the righteousness of the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” That’s hard to hear, until you also hear how the opponents of Jesus lived by commandments without kisses. They went through the motions, like actors on a stage. They talked a good talk, but their speech was self-serving. Jesus said, “Your righteousness needs to exceed all of that.” And if we aren’t sure what he’s saying, Jesus went to great pains to show us. The law said, “Don’t touch anybody with a skin disease; it might rub off on you.” Jesus touched a leper and said, “I choose to make you clean.” (8:3) Some said, “That’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”
The rules said, “Don’t mingle with sinners; whatever they have might rub off on you.” Jesus ate with people of ill repute, saying, “God desires mercy, not sacrifice.” (9:13) His enemies said, “Don’t you think that’s going a bit too far?”
The traditions said, “Important people need important positions and important titles. Hang around people like that, and their prestige might rub off on you.” Jesus said, “Don’t get caught up in titles, pomp and circumstance; God alone is Teacher, and you all have a lot to learn. In fact, here’s lesson number one: the greatest among you will be your servant.” (23:1-12) The critics said, “Aren’t you stepping over the line?”
Well, maybe he was. He practiced what he preached, and somebody nailed him to a cross. He took upon himself all our failures, all our mistakes, all our broken commandments. When we could not be righteous, he showed us the deep righteousness of God. And he said, “Don’t think I came to throw away my Bible. I came to flesh it out and make it complete.” Keep the whole picture in view: Jesus said, “Blessed are you! You are salt. You are light. I have commandments for you to keep.” When we couldn’t keep the commandments, Jesus took up a cross and kissed us again. Ever since, we are under obligation to keep all the commandments. And when we can’t keep the commandments, Jesus kisses us again, and says, “I forgive you.” Then he requires us to keep his commandments. On and on it goes. Day in, and day out. We are continually loved, yet never off the hook. That’s what it means to belong to God. We know the kiss. And we are called upon to do the commandments. The true child of God is the person who holds both together. Have you ever met someone like that? It’s the person who begins each morning with the words, “Lord, you have claimed me as your own; so I’m going to live as if I belong to you.”
Matthew 5:13-20
Based on the Sermon“Following the Kiss” by William Carter. He said what I wanted to much better than I could have.
“You are the salt of the earth. But what good is salt if it has lost its flavor? Can you make it salty again? It will be thrown out and trampled underfoot as worthless. “You are the light of the world—like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.
“Don’t misunderstand why I have come. I did not come to abolish the law of Moses or the writings of the prophets. No, I came to accomplish their purpose. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not even the smallest detail of God’s law will disappear until its purpose is achieved. So if you ignore the least commandment and teach others to do the same, you will be called the least in the Kingdom of Heaven. But anyone who obeys God’s laws and teaches them will be called great in the Kingdom of Heaven.
“But I warn you—unless your righteousness is better than the righteousness of the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven!”
Fiorello LaGuardia was mayor of New York City during the worst days of the Great Depression and all of WWII. He called 'the Little Flower' by adoring New Yorkers because he was only five foot four and always wore a carnation in his lapel. He used to ride the New York City fire trucks, raid speakeasies with the police department, and take entire orphanages to baseball games. One bitterly cold night in January of 1935, the mayor turned up at a night court that served the poorest ward of the city. LaGuardia dismissed the judge for the evening and took over the bench himself.
Within a few minutes, the bailiff brought a tattered old woman before La Guardia, charged with stealing a loaf of bread. She told LaGuardia that her daughter’s husband had deserted her, her daughter was sick, and her two grandchildren were starving. But the shopkeeper, from whom the bread was stolen, refused to drop the charges. “It’s a real bad neighborhood, your Honor.” the man told the mayor. “She’s got to be punished to teach other people around here a lesson.” LaGuardia sighed. He turned to the woman and said, “I've got to punish you. The law makes no exceptions--ten dollars or ten days in jail.” But even as he pronounced sentence, the mayor was already reaching into his pocket. He took out a bill and said: “Here is the ten dollar fine which I now remit; and furthermore I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat. Mr. Baliff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant.”
The following day, the New York City newspapers reported that $47.50 was turned over to a bewildered old lady who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren, fifty cents of that amount being contributed by the red-faced grocery store owner, while some seventy petty criminals, people with traffic violations, and New York City policemen, each of whom had just paid fifty cents, gave the mayor a standing ovation.
I like that story. It reminds me of the tension between law and grace, between following the rules and finding forgiveness. In today’s gospel text, Jesus is preparing to give us a number of new rules. The issue is what is the place of God’s Law in the life of grace. Or to put it another way, how do we live with religious rules in light of a Savior who comes to help us when we break the rules?
The place to begin is by looking where today’s passage is located. Right after this passage, Jesus teaches a list of difficult rules: You have heard it said, ‘Don’t murder,’ but I say don’t you dare to insult anybody else. You have heard it said, ‘don’t commit adultery,’ but I say don’t even treat another person as an object to grab and possess. You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbors and hate your enemies.’ but I say, love your enemies and pray for your persecutors. Your love must be complete, perfect, as your heavenly Father is complete and perfect. What a tough list that is! The burden is even heavier when Jesus says, “If you break one of these commandments, you’re at the bottom of the kingdom’s heap.”
Look again where today’s passage is located. Right before this passage, Jesus speaks about the gracious embrace of God. “Blessed are those among whom God is working. Whoever is poor in spirit, pure in heart, hungry and thirsty for justice - - - blessed are you in the glory of God’s kingdom.” They are kissed by grace, even if they are denounced by the world. Then comes the text for today, with its two affectionate nicknames: “You are the salt of the earth, the light of the world.” All of us who hear Jesus speak are given a new identity. We are sent out to give the world a better flavor. We are lit up in order to enlighten. Once again, we are kissed by God. The rest of the text, however, lies between the kiss and the commandment.
In the Sermon on the Mount, after 14 verses of kindness, there are 93 verses of instruction. That’s a lot of do’s and don’ts, shoulds and shouldn’ts, and I-say-unto-yous. And in a general way, that’s the pattern of how laws are given in the Bible. Remember the Ten Commandments? Before God thunders down the commandments from the mountain, God says, “I brought you out of Egypt. You were slaves, and I saved you.” That’s the kiss. It comes first. It’s the same pattern as the Sermon on the Mount. First comes the kiss, the blessed sign of God’s love and grace. Then comes the commandment, the outer evidence that we are God’s distinctive people.
However, the church has always wrestled with a problem with the Sermon on the Mount. How do we hold the kiss and commandment together? Ever since the beginning, good religious people like us have tried to live with one and without the other. Some would say the kiss is enough, and nothing else is necessary. After all, the heart of the good news is that God cherishes us, particularly in a brutal, dangerous world. So why not bask in God’s eternal mercy, and do whatever we want?
I’ll never forget that fateful day as a fifth-grader when I closed my bedroom door and blurted out a few dirty words. I was fairly sure there wouldn’t be a thunderbolt, and there wasn’t. I got away with that awful crime, and felt good that I got away with it. In fact, I felt so free that a few of those words rolled off my tongue at the family supper table. I was exiled to spend the rest of that evening in my room. Never a quick learner, I tried out my newfound freedom again at Scout Camp. I remember trying to console my bunkmate who had been yelled at by the scoutmaster. I said ,”Yeah, the scoutmaster is such a ________” (fill in your favorite expletive). As I spoke, I saw a shadow looming over me. As I turned around, there stood my scoutmaster who heard every word I said. I took me a few embarrassing moments like that to realize that freedom comes with some awesome consequences.
On the other hand, you probably know someone who keeps all the commandments and ignores the kiss. “All that gushy grace?” they say. “It’s a distraction from our duty.” For some people, duty is what life is all about: do the right thing, live the right way, walk the right way. Living within those boundaries can be a great comfort. A man I know drove all night to visit a sick brother. It was a long trip. He was tired. It began to rain. About two o’clock in the morning, he drove through a small town. He slowed down to thirty miles an hour. Nobody was on the street, but he knew how small town cops can be. Suddenly he heard the siren and saw the flashing lights. He pulled over and rolled down the window. The police officer said, “Mister, did you see that sign back there?”
“What sign?”
“School zone - 15 miles an hour.”
“But officer, it’s 2 o’clock in the morning.”
“Did the sign say, ‘School zone except at 2 o’clock in the morning’?”
“But officer, it’s raining. My windshield wipers aren’t working very well.”
“Did the sign say, ‘School zone except at 2:00 when your windshield wipers aren’t working’? The law is the law.”
I can understand that. I don’t like it, but I can understand it. Legalism is the most comforting religion of all. Everything is certain and clear. Did you steal the loaf of bread? Cut off your hand. Did you lust over that Sports Illustrated swimsuit model? Pluck out your eye. Did you relax one iota of the Word of God? Go straight to hell. How can you argue with a religion like that?
It would be a wonderful way to live . . . if only it looked like living. When life is reduced to a checklist, the soul withers. It’s all duty, no delight. It’s all work, no sabbath. More to the point: it’s all commandment, no kiss. Now the Gospel of Matthew has its legalistic streak, to be sure. The writer loves to flash his teeth and frighten us into holy living. Why, you can hear it in the passage we heard this morning: “unless your righteousness is better than the righteousness of the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” That’s hard to hear, until you also hear how the opponents of Jesus lived by commandments without kisses. They went through the motions, like actors on a stage. They talked a good talk, but their speech was self-serving. Jesus said, “Your righteousness needs to exceed all of that.” And if we aren’t sure what he’s saying, Jesus went to great pains to show us. The law said, “Don’t touch anybody with a skin disease; it might rub off on you.” Jesus touched a leper and said, “I choose to make you clean.” (8:3) Some said, “That’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”
The rules said, “Don’t mingle with sinners; whatever they have might rub off on you.” Jesus ate with people of ill repute, saying, “God desires mercy, not sacrifice.” (9:13) His enemies said, “Don’t you think that’s going a bit too far?”
The traditions said, “Important people need important positions and important titles. Hang around people like that, and their prestige might rub off on you.” Jesus said, “Don’t get caught up in titles, pomp and circumstance; God alone is Teacher, and you all have a lot to learn. In fact, here’s lesson number one: the greatest among you will be your servant.” (23:1-12) The critics said, “Aren’t you stepping over the line?”
Well, maybe he was. He practiced what he preached, and somebody nailed him to a cross. He took upon himself all our failures, all our mistakes, all our broken commandments. When we could not be righteous, he showed us the deep righteousness of God. And he said, “Don’t think I came to throw away my Bible. I came to flesh it out and make it complete.” Keep the whole picture in view: Jesus said, “Blessed are you! You are salt. You are light. I have commandments for you to keep.” When we couldn’t keep the commandments, Jesus took up a cross and kissed us again. Ever since, we are under obligation to keep all the commandments. And when we can’t keep the commandments, Jesus kisses us again, and says, “I forgive you.” Then he requires us to keep his commandments. On and on it goes. Day in, and day out. We are continually loved, yet never off the hook. That’s what it means to belong to God. We know the kiss. And we are called upon to do the commandments. The true child of God is the person who holds both together. Have you ever met someone like that? It’s the person who begins each morning with the words, “Lord, you have claimed me as your own; so I’m going to live as if I belong to you.”
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sermon for March 30, 2008
The Best We Have to Offer
March 30, 2008
Philippians 4:6-8
You are God in a physical body. You are Spirit in the flesh. You are Eternal Life expressing itself as You. You are a cosmic being. You are all power. You are all wisdom. You are all intelligence. You are perfection. You are magnificence. You are the creator, and you are creating the creation of You on this planet. The earth turns on its orbit for You. The oceans ebb and flow for You. The birds sing for You. The sun rises and it sets for You. The stars come out for You. Every beautiful thing you see, every wondrous thing you experience, is all there for You. Take a look around. None of it can exist, without You. No matter who you thought you were, now you know the Truth of Who You Really Are. You are the perfection of Life. And now you know The Secret. At least that’s what author Rhoda Byre would want you to believe. Her bestselling book called The Secret finally reveals the hidden knowledge of the universe that we need in order to be happy, healthy, and prosperous. She calls it the law of attraction. It goes like this: Know what you want and ask the universe for it. Feel and behave as if the object of your desire is on its way. Be open to receiving it. Her book claims to give us everything we’ve ever wanted, just through the power of positive thinking. Your thoughts become things. You are the most powerful power in the universe simply because whatever you think about will come to be. You shape the world that exists around you. You shape your own life and destiny through the power of your mind.
Let’s put it to the test. Ms. Byrne makes the unbelievable claim that food can only make you fat if you think it can make you fat. If you determine that food is unable to make you gain weight, you can eat as much as you want and never gain wait or suffer any ill effects. And all this time, we’ve been told that the key to weight loss was exercise and calorie reduction.
You are what you think. Do you think that’s true? Some people claim that it was the core of what Jesus taught. Well, I think the Bible talks about positive thinking, but not in the way that the new age self-help gurus would want us to think. Today’s reading from Philippians is a case in point. Paul does not seem to be in a very good situation. We learn almost accidentally that he is in prison awaiting a trial that could result in his death. Yet in this little letter, the words joy and rejoice appear 14 times, concluding with the declaration, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!” These verses bear the marks of Paul’s own personal experience with God. Even in a place of distress, he can be calm because the Lord is near.
Paul had every reason to be depressed, but instead he wrote: “Rejoice in the Lord Always.” He had every reason to complain and plead with God about his dire circumstances, but instead he wrote: “...with THANKSGIVING let your requests be known to God.” He had every reason to look on the dark side of his circumstance, but instead he wrote: “...whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable... if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”
We are not always free to determine what happens to us, but we are relatively free to choose how we will respond to whatever happens. To me, this is the difference between optimisn and hope. Optimism tends to be based on the notion that things are going to be better. If you’ve ever watched Monty Python’s The Life of Brian, you may remember the scene at the end of the movie where Brian is crucified. Next to him hangs criminal who turns to Brian and sings, “Always look on the bright side of life.” That’s optimism!
Hope looks at the world around us and says, “It doesn’t look good at all but we will make a leap of faith.” Optimism always reframes bad situations as good. Hope wrestles with despair and creates new possibilities. Hope gives us visions in which we against the odds with no guarantee what so ever.” Paul does not drown in despair. He does not put on a happy face and sing, “Always look on the bright side of life.” Paul chooses to rejoice in hope. His attitude is a step of courageous action. Paul reminds me of Victor Frankel who said, “Everything can be taken from a man but ...the last of the human freedoms - to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” In an act of heroic defiance, Paul encourages others to think on that which brings out the best of who we can be.
Traditional organizational development begins with the assumption that something is not working. Something is broken, something is messed up, something is missing. I suspect you have been with groups that huddle around a set of discouraging facts: giving is down, loyalty is waning, morale is low. Something is not working. A consultant is called in to fix it. The traditional approach begins with the premise that our life together is a problem to solve. It’s not a very encouraging start; it’s not a very energizing beginning.
Well, in the midst of my study and reflection, I learned about a tool called Appreciative Inquiry. It begins with the assumption that something is working. More than that, something good is at work, even when we feel stuck – even in hard times – even when we think that there is no positive change around us. So, let’s pay attention to that good. As Paul would encourage us, “Whatever is good and excellent and praiseworthy, think on these things.” We are going to start using this approach here at Trumbull Congregational Church.
In Appreciative Inquiry, we tell stories about peak moments in our life together – moments when we felt most alive, moments when we felt most connected, moments when we felt deeply loved – and we excavate these moments for all their worth. Why? Because the stories are good news, because they are the Word of God dwelling among us. Our stories have the power to propel us into possibility. They invite us to participate in the new life already emerging in our midst.
In Appreciative Inquiry, we take time to think about how God delights in us. We remember the times when we experienced the abundance of God’s blessings.
Sometimes we forget that. We begin to tell different stories. Since I’ve been here, I’ve heard a dominant story told over and over again. It goes something like this: In order to be who God wants us to be, we need more members and more money. This story defines our reality here. It may have seemed true at one point in our life together, but let’s be honest – it’s not a life-giving story. When I hear those words, I don’t get excited about God’s future for us. These words do not inspire me to think on that which is beautiful and excellent. In fact, they sound like complaints to me.
And believe me, I know how easy it is to complain, -- to find dissatisfaction with a situation or circumstance. A monk joined a monastery and took a vow of silence. After the first 10 years his superior called him in and asked, “Do you have anything to say?” The monk replied, “Food bad.” After another 10 years the monk again had opportunity to voice his thoughts. He said, “Bed hard.” Another 10 years went by and again he was called in before his superior. When asked if he had anything to say, he responded, “I quit.” “It doesn’t surprise me a bit.” Replied the monk’s superior. “You’ve done nothing but complain ever since you got here.”
It is easy to go the way of our monk and take all our opportunities to complain. And sometimes I’m the monk in that story. On my better days, I try to live differently. I try to tell a different story.
I think we could all use to hear some new stories – not about blind optimism but about our hopes and dreams. Some stories about how God has used our church in the past. Some stories about our traditions can have a positive impact on our future. Some stories about what we think God is calling us to do and who God is calling us to be. We could use some new ways to talk about why our church is here and how we see ourselves fulfilling God’s aims for the world.
Today I’m inviting you to join us in the exciting discovery. I believe that God can work more powerfully in this congregation than we have seen in a long time. But we need your help. Not just the person next to you. We need you. In our congregational tradition, we believe that every single voice counts. Every person’s story is important. When more people participate, we get a fuller picture of who we are and who God calls us to be. So, here’s what I’m inviting you to do:
1. Attend the All-church Potluck Dinner on Saturday, April 5 at 6:00 PM. Everyone is invited. Long timer. Long-time friend of the church. Casual attendee, or first time visitor. We are going to begin the process of appreciative inquiry -- telling our life giving stories – thinking about who we are when we are at our best.
2. During the month of April, I urge you to attend our weekly Cottage Meetings led by a trained team of facilitators: Wendy Ferencz, Carolyn Kalahar, Kirsetn Nestro, Ruth Wakely, and Paul Buttress. These meetings will help us to listen to the stories about who we are as a church when we are at our best and give us an array of alternate ways to experience our church identity. All ages are welcome to attend. Childcare will be provided. Meetings will begin on Thursday, April 10 at 7:00 PM.
3. We will share our findings at a final congregational gathering on Saturday, May 3 at 6:30 PM. We will gather and ask ourselves, "What are some creative and caring behaviors that sustain who we are as a church when we are at our best?”
March 30, 2008
Philippians 4:6-8
You are God in a physical body. You are Spirit in the flesh. You are Eternal Life expressing itself as You. You are a cosmic being. You are all power. You are all wisdom. You are all intelligence. You are perfection. You are magnificence. You are the creator, and you are creating the creation of You on this planet. The earth turns on its orbit for You. The oceans ebb and flow for You. The birds sing for You. The sun rises and it sets for You. The stars come out for You. Every beautiful thing you see, every wondrous thing you experience, is all there for You. Take a look around. None of it can exist, without You. No matter who you thought you were, now you know the Truth of Who You Really Are. You are the perfection of Life. And now you know The Secret. At least that’s what author Rhoda Byre would want you to believe. Her bestselling book called The Secret finally reveals the hidden knowledge of the universe that we need in order to be happy, healthy, and prosperous. She calls it the law of attraction. It goes like this: Know what you want and ask the universe for it. Feel and behave as if the object of your desire is on its way. Be open to receiving it. Her book claims to give us everything we’ve ever wanted, just through the power of positive thinking. Your thoughts become things. You are the most powerful power in the universe simply because whatever you think about will come to be. You shape the world that exists around you. You shape your own life and destiny through the power of your mind.
Let’s put it to the test. Ms. Byrne makes the unbelievable claim that food can only make you fat if you think it can make you fat. If you determine that food is unable to make you gain weight, you can eat as much as you want and never gain wait or suffer any ill effects. And all this time, we’ve been told that the key to weight loss was exercise and calorie reduction.
You are what you think. Do you think that’s true? Some people claim that it was the core of what Jesus taught. Well, I think the Bible talks about positive thinking, but not in the way that the new age self-help gurus would want us to think. Today’s reading from Philippians is a case in point. Paul does not seem to be in a very good situation. We learn almost accidentally that he is in prison awaiting a trial that could result in his death. Yet in this little letter, the words joy and rejoice appear 14 times, concluding with the declaration, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!” These verses bear the marks of Paul’s own personal experience with God. Even in a place of distress, he can be calm because the Lord is near.
Paul had every reason to be depressed, but instead he wrote: “Rejoice in the Lord Always.” He had every reason to complain and plead with God about his dire circumstances, but instead he wrote: “...with THANKSGIVING let your requests be known to God.” He had every reason to look on the dark side of his circumstance, but instead he wrote: “...whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable... if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”
We are not always free to determine what happens to us, but we are relatively free to choose how we will respond to whatever happens. To me, this is the difference between optimisn and hope. Optimism tends to be based on the notion that things are going to be better. If you’ve ever watched Monty Python’s The Life of Brian, you may remember the scene at the end of the movie where Brian is crucified. Next to him hangs criminal who turns to Brian and sings, “Always look on the bright side of life.” That’s optimism!
Hope looks at the world around us and says, “It doesn’t look good at all but we will make a leap of faith.” Optimism always reframes bad situations as good. Hope wrestles with despair and creates new possibilities. Hope gives us visions in which we against the odds with no guarantee what so ever.” Paul does not drown in despair. He does not put on a happy face and sing, “Always look on the bright side of life.” Paul chooses to rejoice in hope. His attitude is a step of courageous action. Paul reminds me of Victor Frankel who said, “Everything can be taken from a man but ...the last of the human freedoms - to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” In an act of heroic defiance, Paul encourages others to think on that which brings out the best of who we can be.
Traditional organizational development begins with the assumption that something is not working. Something is broken, something is messed up, something is missing. I suspect you have been with groups that huddle around a set of discouraging facts: giving is down, loyalty is waning, morale is low. Something is not working. A consultant is called in to fix it. The traditional approach begins with the premise that our life together is a problem to solve. It’s not a very encouraging start; it’s not a very energizing beginning.
Well, in the midst of my study and reflection, I learned about a tool called Appreciative Inquiry. It begins with the assumption that something is working. More than that, something good is at work, even when we feel stuck – even in hard times – even when we think that there is no positive change around us. So, let’s pay attention to that good. As Paul would encourage us, “Whatever is good and excellent and praiseworthy, think on these things.” We are going to start using this approach here at Trumbull Congregational Church.
In Appreciative Inquiry, we tell stories about peak moments in our life together – moments when we felt most alive, moments when we felt most connected, moments when we felt deeply loved – and we excavate these moments for all their worth. Why? Because the stories are good news, because they are the Word of God dwelling among us. Our stories have the power to propel us into possibility. They invite us to participate in the new life already emerging in our midst.
In Appreciative Inquiry, we take time to think about how God delights in us. We remember the times when we experienced the abundance of God’s blessings.
Sometimes we forget that. We begin to tell different stories. Since I’ve been here, I’ve heard a dominant story told over and over again. It goes something like this: In order to be who God wants us to be, we need more members and more money. This story defines our reality here. It may have seemed true at one point in our life together, but let’s be honest – it’s not a life-giving story. When I hear those words, I don’t get excited about God’s future for us. These words do not inspire me to think on that which is beautiful and excellent. In fact, they sound like complaints to me.
And believe me, I know how easy it is to complain, -- to find dissatisfaction with a situation or circumstance. A monk joined a monastery and took a vow of silence. After the first 10 years his superior called him in and asked, “Do you have anything to say?” The monk replied, “Food bad.” After another 10 years the monk again had opportunity to voice his thoughts. He said, “Bed hard.” Another 10 years went by and again he was called in before his superior. When asked if he had anything to say, he responded, “I quit.” “It doesn’t surprise me a bit.” Replied the monk’s superior. “You’ve done nothing but complain ever since you got here.”
It is easy to go the way of our monk and take all our opportunities to complain. And sometimes I’m the monk in that story. On my better days, I try to live differently. I try to tell a different story.
I think we could all use to hear some new stories – not about blind optimism but about our hopes and dreams. Some stories about how God has used our church in the past. Some stories about our traditions can have a positive impact on our future. Some stories about what we think God is calling us to do and who God is calling us to be. We could use some new ways to talk about why our church is here and how we see ourselves fulfilling God’s aims for the world.
Today I’m inviting you to join us in the exciting discovery. I believe that God can work more powerfully in this congregation than we have seen in a long time. But we need your help. Not just the person next to you. We need you. In our congregational tradition, we believe that every single voice counts. Every person’s story is important. When more people participate, we get a fuller picture of who we are and who God calls us to be. So, here’s what I’m inviting you to do:
1. Attend the All-church Potluck Dinner on Saturday, April 5 at 6:00 PM. Everyone is invited. Long timer. Long-time friend of the church. Casual attendee, or first time visitor. We are going to begin the process of appreciative inquiry -- telling our life giving stories – thinking about who we are when we are at our best.
2. During the month of April, I urge you to attend our weekly Cottage Meetings led by a trained team of facilitators: Wendy Ferencz, Carolyn Kalahar, Kirsetn Nestro, Ruth Wakely, and Paul Buttress. These meetings will help us to listen to the stories about who we are as a church when we are at our best and give us an array of alternate ways to experience our church identity. All ages are welcome to attend. Childcare will be provided. Meetings will begin on Thursday, April 10 at 7:00 PM.
3. We will share our findings at a final congregational gathering on Saturday, May 3 at 6:30 PM. We will gather and ask ourselves, "What are some creative and caring behaviors that sustain who we are as a church when we are at our best?”
You are an important person in the life of our church. Please make the time to participate in this significant project for the future of TCC. Your input will have a direct and immediate impact on who we are and how we do things here.
Thanks ahead of time for your participation. Please feel free to contact me with questions.
Sermon for Easter Sunday, March 23, 2008
I Have Seen the Lord
John 20:1-18
The First Story: It’s a starless night in 1944. A cattle train loaded with scared Hungarian Jews pulls into a depot. They are loaded off the trains by German guards who send women to the right and men to the left. The place is called Auschwitz. Flames, smoke, and guns greet the disoriented Jews as they are prodded to the registration area. The smell of death is in the air. A boy named Elie Wiesel is separated from his mother forever, as he follows his father and the other men. Talk of uprising is whispered among the men, as well as the advice of elders who say, “You must never lose faith, even when the sword hangs over your head. That’s the teaching of our sages.” After he survived the horror of the holocaust, Wiesel came to a different conclusion. In his book entitled Night, he writes, “Never shall I forget that night, the first night in the camp which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke . . . Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever . . . Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God himself. Never.”
Another story: Two men carry a dead body to a tomb. A man named Joseph wipes the wounded face of the corpse, and with a soft towel, he cleans the blood that came from lashings and a crown of thorns. When this is done, he closes the man’s eyes tight. Another man named Nicodemus unrolls some linen, and together these two men lift the body of Jesus and set him on the aloe covered cloths. They prepare the body in a hurry, for the sun is beginning to set and the Sabbath is about to begin. Across the city, 10 men sit in a darkening room. The door is locked tight. Each man feels embarrassed and guilty. These are Jesus’ disciples. After all of their courageous talk, all but one ran away in fear when Jesus was taken away from them. After Jesus dies on the cross, these disciples appear in the upper room, too overwhelmed to go home and too confused to go on. Each has an anxious hope that it’s all been a bad dream. Each has betrayed the man whom they promised to follow with their lives. Now all seems lost and senseless, for the man who claimed to be one with God now lies dead and buried in a garden tomb.
These stories have a common thread -- people who began to lose faith when their God died. Wiesel and the Disciples mourned the death of God in their hearts. Each faced a crisis of hope; a feeling that all was lost and that not even God could make the future any better. I believe that we also face a crisis of hope today.
In the modern era, it was generally agreed that life was a steadily upward moving process. Education and science seemed to guarantee the moral progress and enlightenment of the human race. As time went on, we were confronted with world wars and military occupations. We faced the holocaust, the development of nuclear weapons, ecological disasters in our own backyards, and wars throughout the world. These events shattered the dreams of moral growth, as we saw the consequences of our inhumanity. All the naive ideas about progress were eclipsed by the possibility of nuclear annihilation.
Many of the people of my generation, the so called “Generation X-ers” grew up wondering, “Why hope in the future, if there’s no future to live for? What is there to hope in if nuclear Armageddon destroys us all? What kind of future do we have if the environment won’t sustain us?” We achingly asked, “Where is God?” These aren’t just the questions of the X-ers. I believe that the conclusion of many generations is the same as Elie Wiesel’s -- the same as the defeated disciples. We dare to think, “If God were alive, there would be no holocaust. There would be no Hitler, or Stalin or Saddam Hussein; no Jonestown, or Waco? If God were out there, we wouldn’t have to live in fear of what the future holds.”
I once read about a town that was to be flooded as part of a large lake for which a dam was being built. In the months before it was to be flooded, all improvements and repairs in the whole town were stopped. What was the use of painting a house if it were to be covered with water in six months? Why repair anything when the whole village was to be wiped out? Week by week, the whole town became more and more bedraggled, more decrepit, more miserable. As one citizen of the town said, “Where there is no faith in the future, there is no power in the present.”
If there is no hope for the future, then there is nothing else to do but live for the moment. Our society trains itself to live for immediate good feelings and thrills. After all, God is dead. And if God is alive, he’s been very irresponsible. Or maybe God’s not powerful enough to stop bad things from happening. God can’t be trusted to heal. God can’t be counted on the bring justice and stop evil. If God isn’t there for us, then we only have one reasonable means of survival -- we will take care of everything ourselves. If the future is not sure, we will make here and now as pleasurable as possible. If we can’t hope in God, if there is no one greater then ourselves to believe in, then we will put our trust in our own abilities to make ourselves happy for the time being.
As this behavior continues, we will observe it’s destructive power. Can you see how cycles of self-gratifying behavior have left a void in people’s lives? We scramble for status. We seek the next rush of immediate pleasure. We dream of money and power. But our striving doesn’t seem to fill the lonely place inside of us that wants to believe that there is something greater than our own attempts at happiness-that there is a God who cares, and loves, and promises a future for us.
So far, I’ve presented the grimmest view of our natures, yet a view that’s embraced almost daily by world news. Rebecca West in her book Black Lamb, Grey Falcon makes an accurate statement in her observation of the Balkans, that trustworthy theater of hatred. I think it applies to us all. She writes:
Today, the living Christ stands before us. He knows us and our fears. We’re afraid of economic hardship, we’re afraid of debt, we’re afraid of diminishing resources and environ-mental destruction. We’re afraid of racial tensions and the growing gulf between the rich and the poor. We’re afraid of the hurt between men and women, between people of different nations. We’re afraid of a drift toward endless war. We fear for ourselves and our loved ones. Easter is about none of that. Today we proclaim that God overcomes death and gives birth to a new hope. Jesus was raised from death so we would know that there’s something more beyond the painful and inhumane offerings of the world. Because Jesus has been resurrected from death to life, we have the hope of eternity. Those without hope ask, “Where is your God?” The answer is this: look in the place where you would never expect God to be...like a cross. Look again in the places of pain and agony, and there God is, in the flesh. God isn’t stumped by the evil in the world. God doesn’t gasp in amazement at the death of our faith or the depth of our failure. We can’t surprise God with our cruelties. God knows the condition of the world, and God still loves it. God loves it enough to become one of us, to undergo the greatest kind of punishment imaginable, to die . . . and then rise above it. God doesn’t use the world’s ways against the world. Through the resurrection, God declares that worldly powers really have no power at all. We have a living God who knows our pain and offers us hope in the midst of it.
The school system in a large city had a program to help children keep up with their school work during stays in the city's hospitals. One day , a hospital program teacher went to see visit a boy. No one had mentioned to her that the boy had been badly burned and was in great pain. Upset at the sight of the boy, she stammered as she told him, "I've been sent by your school to help you with nouns and adverbs." When she left she felt she hadn't accomplished much.
But the next day, a nurse asked her, "What did you do to that boy?" The teacher felt she must have done something wrong and began to apologize. "No, no," said the nurse. " We've been worried about that little boy, but ever since yesterday, his whole attitude has changed. He's fighting back, responding to treatment. It's as though he's decided to live." Two weeks later the boy explained that he had completely given up hope until the teacher arrived. Everything changed when he came to a simple realization. He said it this way: "They wouldn't send a teacher to work on nouns and adverbs with a dying boy, would they?"
There is hope beyond our suffering. God doesn’t leave us alone. Jesus comes remind us that we have a future. We see the effects of atrocity, genocide, and hate all around us. But God reaches beyond that and says, “I am greater. Don’t mourn a dead God. This is no time for sadness. I’m alive! And because I live, you also will live.”
That’s real comfort. That’s real hope. This Easter, my prayer for all of is that, with the women leaving the tomb, we can affirm a word of hope: “I have seen the Lord.”
I have seen the Lord and I refuse to be controlled by fear.
I have seen the Lord and so I refuse to dehumanize another.
I have seen the Lord and so I will tear down the walls of race, class, and sex.
I have seen the Lord and so I we love my enemies.
I have seen the Lord and so I’ll stand with the poor.
I have seen the Lord and so I’ll forgive those who've wronged me.
I have seen the Lord so I’ll resist the violence of the nations by acting for peace.
I have seen the Lord and so I’ll demonstrate the power of resurrection in our world!
Yes, after seeing the risen Lord, let's dedicate the rest of our lives to claiming and acting upon our good hope in Christ . . .
That when all our work seems useless, new hope blooms.
That in the midst of brokenness, healing stirs.
That in the midst of darkness, a light shines.
That in the midst of death, life is breaking forth.
John 20:1-18
The First Story: It’s a starless night in 1944. A cattle train loaded with scared Hungarian Jews pulls into a depot. They are loaded off the trains by German guards who send women to the right and men to the left. The place is called Auschwitz. Flames, smoke, and guns greet the disoriented Jews as they are prodded to the registration area. The smell of death is in the air. A boy named Elie Wiesel is separated from his mother forever, as he follows his father and the other men. Talk of uprising is whispered among the men, as well as the advice of elders who say, “You must never lose faith, even when the sword hangs over your head. That’s the teaching of our sages.” After he survived the horror of the holocaust, Wiesel came to a different conclusion. In his book entitled Night, he writes, “Never shall I forget that night, the first night in the camp which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke . . . Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever . . . Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God himself. Never.”
Another story: Two men carry a dead body to a tomb. A man named Joseph wipes the wounded face of the corpse, and with a soft towel, he cleans the blood that came from lashings and a crown of thorns. When this is done, he closes the man’s eyes tight. Another man named Nicodemus unrolls some linen, and together these two men lift the body of Jesus and set him on the aloe covered cloths. They prepare the body in a hurry, for the sun is beginning to set and the Sabbath is about to begin. Across the city, 10 men sit in a darkening room. The door is locked tight. Each man feels embarrassed and guilty. These are Jesus’ disciples. After all of their courageous talk, all but one ran away in fear when Jesus was taken away from them. After Jesus dies on the cross, these disciples appear in the upper room, too overwhelmed to go home and too confused to go on. Each has an anxious hope that it’s all been a bad dream. Each has betrayed the man whom they promised to follow with their lives. Now all seems lost and senseless, for the man who claimed to be one with God now lies dead and buried in a garden tomb.
These stories have a common thread -- people who began to lose faith when their God died. Wiesel and the Disciples mourned the death of God in their hearts. Each faced a crisis of hope; a feeling that all was lost and that not even God could make the future any better. I believe that we also face a crisis of hope today.
In the modern era, it was generally agreed that life was a steadily upward moving process. Education and science seemed to guarantee the moral progress and enlightenment of the human race. As time went on, we were confronted with world wars and military occupations. We faced the holocaust, the development of nuclear weapons, ecological disasters in our own backyards, and wars throughout the world. These events shattered the dreams of moral growth, as we saw the consequences of our inhumanity. All the naive ideas about progress were eclipsed by the possibility of nuclear annihilation.
Many of the people of my generation, the so called “Generation X-ers” grew up wondering, “Why hope in the future, if there’s no future to live for? What is there to hope in if nuclear Armageddon destroys us all? What kind of future do we have if the environment won’t sustain us?” We achingly asked, “Where is God?” These aren’t just the questions of the X-ers. I believe that the conclusion of many generations is the same as Elie Wiesel’s -- the same as the defeated disciples. We dare to think, “If God were alive, there would be no holocaust. There would be no Hitler, or Stalin or Saddam Hussein; no Jonestown, or Waco? If God were out there, we wouldn’t have to live in fear of what the future holds.”
I once read about a town that was to be flooded as part of a large lake for which a dam was being built. In the months before it was to be flooded, all improvements and repairs in the whole town were stopped. What was the use of painting a house if it were to be covered with water in six months? Why repair anything when the whole village was to be wiped out? Week by week, the whole town became more and more bedraggled, more decrepit, more miserable. As one citizen of the town said, “Where there is no faith in the future, there is no power in the present.”
If there is no hope for the future, then there is nothing else to do but live for the moment. Our society trains itself to live for immediate good feelings and thrills. After all, God is dead. And if God is alive, he’s been very irresponsible. Or maybe God’s not powerful enough to stop bad things from happening. God can’t be trusted to heal. God can’t be counted on the bring justice and stop evil. If God isn’t there for us, then we only have one reasonable means of survival -- we will take care of everything ourselves. If the future is not sure, we will make here and now as pleasurable as possible. If we can’t hope in God, if there is no one greater then ourselves to believe in, then we will put our trust in our own abilities to make ourselves happy for the time being.
As this behavior continues, we will observe it’s destructive power. Can you see how cycles of self-gratifying behavior have left a void in people’s lives? We scramble for status. We seek the next rush of immediate pleasure. We dream of money and power. But our striving doesn’t seem to fill the lonely place inside of us that wants to believe that there is something greater than our own attempts at happiness-that there is a God who cares, and loves, and promises a future for us.
So far, I’ve presented the grimmest view of our natures, yet a view that’s embraced almost daily by world news. Rebecca West in her book Black Lamb, Grey Falcon makes an accurate statement in her observation of the Balkans, that trustworthy theater of hatred. I think it applies to us all. She writes:
Only part of us is sane: only part of us loves pleasure and the longer day of happiness, wants to live in our nineties and die in peace, in a house we built, that shall shelter those who come after us. The other half of us is nearly mad. It prefers the disagreeable to the agreeable, loves pain and its darker night despair, and wants to die in a catastrophe that will set life back to its beginnings and leave nothing of our house save its blackened foundations.It’s easy to fall into heartsickness when we have to rely on our own striving to make the future. Out of this turbulent swirl of hopelessness, I have heard only one thing that has helped me to know that there’s a God in this universe who cares. It’s a message that was spoken at a tomb in Jerusalem 2000 years ago. This is no time for sadness. This is no time to mourn. This is not the time to be afraid. Jesus is no longer in the grave! God is not dead. Jesus lives!
Today, the living Christ stands before us. He knows us and our fears. We’re afraid of economic hardship, we’re afraid of debt, we’re afraid of diminishing resources and environ-mental destruction. We’re afraid of racial tensions and the growing gulf between the rich and the poor. We’re afraid of the hurt between men and women, between people of different nations. We’re afraid of a drift toward endless war. We fear for ourselves and our loved ones. Easter is about none of that. Today we proclaim that God overcomes death and gives birth to a new hope. Jesus was raised from death so we would know that there’s something more beyond the painful and inhumane offerings of the world. Because Jesus has been resurrected from death to life, we have the hope of eternity. Those without hope ask, “Where is your God?” The answer is this: look in the place where you would never expect God to be...like a cross. Look again in the places of pain and agony, and there God is, in the flesh. God isn’t stumped by the evil in the world. God doesn’t gasp in amazement at the death of our faith or the depth of our failure. We can’t surprise God with our cruelties. God knows the condition of the world, and God still loves it. God loves it enough to become one of us, to undergo the greatest kind of punishment imaginable, to die . . . and then rise above it. God doesn’t use the world’s ways against the world. Through the resurrection, God declares that worldly powers really have no power at all. We have a living God who knows our pain and offers us hope in the midst of it.
The school system in a large city had a program to help children keep up with their school work during stays in the city's hospitals. One day , a hospital program teacher went to see visit a boy. No one had mentioned to her that the boy had been badly burned and was in great pain. Upset at the sight of the boy, she stammered as she told him, "I've been sent by your school to help you with nouns and adverbs." When she left she felt she hadn't accomplished much.
But the next day, a nurse asked her, "What did you do to that boy?" The teacher felt she must have done something wrong and began to apologize. "No, no," said the nurse. " We've been worried about that little boy, but ever since yesterday, his whole attitude has changed. He's fighting back, responding to treatment. It's as though he's decided to live." Two weeks later the boy explained that he had completely given up hope until the teacher arrived. Everything changed when he came to a simple realization. He said it this way: "They wouldn't send a teacher to work on nouns and adverbs with a dying boy, would they?"
There is hope beyond our suffering. God doesn’t leave us alone. Jesus comes remind us that we have a future. We see the effects of atrocity, genocide, and hate all around us. But God reaches beyond that and says, “I am greater. Don’t mourn a dead God. This is no time for sadness. I’m alive! And because I live, you also will live.”
That’s real comfort. That’s real hope. This Easter, my prayer for all of is that, with the women leaving the tomb, we can affirm a word of hope: “I have seen the Lord.”
I have seen the Lord and I refuse to be controlled by fear.
I have seen the Lord and so I refuse to dehumanize another.
I have seen the Lord and so I will tear down the walls of race, class, and sex.
I have seen the Lord and so I we love my enemies.
I have seen the Lord and so I’ll stand with the poor.
I have seen the Lord and so I’ll forgive those who've wronged me.
I have seen the Lord so I’ll resist the violence of the nations by acting for peace.
I have seen the Lord and so I’ll demonstrate the power of resurrection in our world!
Yes, after seeing the risen Lord, let's dedicate the rest of our lives to claiming and acting upon our good hope in Christ . . .
That when all our work seems useless, new hope blooms.
That in the midst of brokenness, healing stirs.
That in the midst of darkness, a light shines.
That in the midst of death, life is breaking forth.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Sermon for Sunday, March 16, 2008 -- Palm Sunday
Conversion: From Death to Life
Matthew 21:1-11 / Romans 12
One of my favorite movies of all time is The Lion in Winter. Peter O’Toole plays King Henry II who has locked his powerful wife in a remote castle prison -- the backstabbing Eleanor of Aquitaine played by Catherine Hepburn. Henry releases Eleanor so that she can visit the royal family for Christmas. Her visit begins the unraveling of this viciously devouring family. It’s a movie that exposes our own jealousies and the lengths we will go to preserve the facades of our own reputations. Historically, Henry II’s lust for power played out between him and his friend Thomas à Beckett. In the year 1162, Henry got into a quarrel with the bishops of his realm, and in a brazen attempt to gain control of the church, Henry decided to elevate his good buddy Thomas to archbishop. Once Thomas becomes the archbishop, however, he undergoes a sudden transformation. Instead of being the king’s crony with a miter, Thomas à Beckett becomes God’s man and, ultimately, a martyr. Henry feels betrayed. So, on a cold December evening, four of Henry’s knights hunt Thomas down and kill him at the altar of Canterbury Cathedral
Full of remorse, Henry eventually does penance imposed by the pope. He walks to Canterbury Cathedral in sack cloth and ashes and allows himself to be flogged by the monks there. It seems he also transformed by the death of his friend and given an opportunity to find a new life. Towards the end of his life, Henry began building religious foundations in England
I’m wondering if you’ve ever experienced such a change –a time when Jesus Christ called you to a new place in your life – a time when you sensed God leading you to turn your life around and to do a new thing. Maybe a moment like Beckett when God unexpectedly calls you to do something new, or an experience like Henry when you are faced with the repulsiveness of your sin and commit yourself to a new life in Christ. In other words, have you ever experienced a real conversion? Some people have some hang ups around this word. It literally means, “to turn.” Conversion is a change of perspective, not of who you are, but of how you experience life. Conversion doesn’t mean that you’ve turned into another form of protoplasm. You’re still human, but you’re not quite the same, either. You experience life differently. You hear God’s voice in a new way. The presence of God feels more real.
Some people think conversion is something that happens at a revival or a Billy Graham Crusade. Sinners are invited to come forward at the altar call to repent of their past life and accept a new life in Jesus. In the world of Evangelical Christianity, people speak of being born again. They are usually referring to the moment when they accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior . . . when they were, in effect, converted. There is a definite process involved in this conversion: stop sinning, express genuine faith, accept Christ, be filled with the Spirit, get baptized and join a church. A person who is a wastrel repents, gives his life to Christ, and becomes a preacher. A hell-bound teen druggie gets saved and gives up the fast and easy life for a new life of holiness. A chain-smoking, poker-playing grannie accepts Christ and begins a Christian aerobics class in the town. People get converted and begin signing their letters “yours in Christ.” This is how some people come into the church – In a crisis of faith, people hear the call of God, they leave behind their old life, and they became born again in Christ. Many people think about conversion in this manner. It is instant and identifiable.
There are others of you here today who were baptized as infants and raised in the church and you don’t have a conversion story that sounds anything like what I just described. You have never experienced a moment when decided to accept Christ and were “born again.” For many of you, there’s a sense of having always believed in God and always feeling at home in the church. The life of faith has not been defined by a moment in time, but rather by an ongoing process. An uneasy tension always arises in the church between those who have had a life-defining conversion moment with Christ and those who have enjoyed a slow and gradual relationship with God. The born-agains are seen by the traditionalists as pushy hurricanes who hammer religion down everyone’s throat. The traditionalists are seen by the born-agains as stagnant water in need of some serious stirring by God. Both sides say “My way is God’s way.” Both points of view refuse to believe that God will do anything other than what one’s personal experience dictates. Caught in the middle are those who are seriously seeking to turn, and change, and grow into Christ -- to be neither hurricane nor puddle, but filled with the life-giving water of Christ. Maybe we all need a conversion -- a turning – a change of perspective.
Here is the reality of my life. Even though I can pinpoint a conversion moment in my own experience, I don’t live a life of 24-hour peace, joy, and victory. I guess I committed my life to Christ with the expectation that Christianity would be like living in a new Eden. But, many times, my life feels like a dried up river bed. Sometimes I still get anxious. I still struggle with some bad habits and defeating attitudes. Much of my faith journey feels like wilderness time– struggling with temptation and trying to fathom the meaning of what life is throwing at me at any moment. I bet that for many of you people of faith, no matter how you got here, life may be the same. Life is lived in the neutral zone.
Our culture knows little of how to prepare us for the waiting involved in the neutral zone. We are eager to use medications and cure-alls, distractions and remedies, to help us avoid the pain and helplessness that the neutral zone imposes.
But, maybe our conversion comes from waiting, and reflecting, and even dying in this neutral zone. Suffering is, I am sorry to say, the most efficient means of transformation. Grief especially has unparalleled power to open our eyes and open our heart, but only over the patient long haul. After all, new beginnings come only after an ending. New life only comes after death. True conversion has to turn from something in order to turn to the life to which God is calling. If this is all true, then maybe conversion is a single moment and a process, but never just an end. Conversion is a beginning point, and a daily re-orientation to Jesus. After all, the cells of our body renew themselves every few days. Nature renews itself through the patterns of weather and seasons. Maybe God is continually renewing us and calling us to turn from death to life, and from old to new.
Maybe real conversion lies in admitting that God can work in us however, whenever, and through whatever means God chooses. Maybe conversion is not a one-size-fits-all garment. Maybe Christian conversion is worked out by each individual within the community of faith.
The Apostle Paul is a great example of what I’m proposing. Some of you may be familiar with Paul’s conversion experience in the Book of Acts. On his way to persecute Christians, he is blinded by the light, comes to faith in Christ, and makes restitution for the wrong he has done. The book of Acts makes it sound as if Paul, following his conversion experience, went right to work after an instant transformation. But, after his conversion experience Paul traveled for a time, spending at least three years in his own neutral zone, rethinking and retooling himself. His change of perspective wasn’t achieved all at once. He had work to do. And that, it seems to me, is the real nature of conversion. Once you have the idea of the change of direction to where God is pulling, then you have to embrace it . . . and that will require some discipline. It won’t be easy. It won’t be comfortable, no matter what anyone tells you.
Palm Sunday symbolizes the kind of conversion I’m talking about. Gentle Jesus, riding on a donkey to the cheering of crowds, is about to enter the neutral zone. Jesus may have been uneasy with the cheering crowds. The word “Hosanna” does not mean “Hip hip hooray.” It means “Save us!” Some of the onlookers call out for Jesus to rescue them from Roman domination. Others egg Jesus on, hoping that he will overstep the limit. As soon as Jesus enters the city, he immediately attacks the Temple. Some people in the city see him as a trigger for their revolution against Rome. Others see Jesus as a threat to the order of the city. Others may be city dwellers who don’t understand why a yokel from Nazareth is entering the City of God as a war hero on the back of a donkey. In the midst of it all, Jesus rides on to death, going where God leads him, facing the neutral zone of Holy Week. He will be tempted to turn away. He will be falsely accused. His friends will leave him. He will die as Rome’s public example of what happens to those who disrupt the peace. And on cross, his arms will stretch to embrace the world. Jesus will die, and he will lie in the neutral zone of a tomb for three days. New life will come, but not right away. Easter doesn’t come without some waiting, and some suffering, and some reflection on conversion from death to life.
For us, life in the neutral zone is a life that resembles Christ’s. In our reading from Romans 12, Paul says it like this: if we are truly converted we will love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other. We will be patient in trouble, and always be prayerful. We will help each other out when in need and show genuine hospitality. We will pray for those who persecute us, and we will do our part to live in peace with everyone, as much as possible. We will feed our enemies, not letting evil get the best of us, but conquering evil by doing good.
What does it mean to be open to constant conversion by God? Kathleen Norris is a poet who has written powerfully about her return to church after a twenty-year absence -- her own gradual and painstaking conversion. She writes, “Conversion is seeing ourselves, and the ordinary people in our families, our classrooms, and on the job, in a new light.” Sometimes, God visits us with a light so dazzling that we cannot help but be changed. But often, God's light shines more dimly, in ways and places we will not see unless we're keeping our eyes open for them. Just don’t rush it. Allow God to work. Sometimes it takes a while to move from death to life. It takes time to go from seedlings that are being hardened off to the winds of the world to fruit-bearing people. We cannot create conversion in ourselves or in others. But we can keep our eyes open for the daily ways God invites us to see with new eyes.
Matthew 21:1-11 / Romans 12
One of my favorite movies of all time is The Lion in Winter. Peter O’Toole plays King Henry II who has locked his powerful wife in a remote castle prison -- the backstabbing Eleanor of Aquitaine played by Catherine Hepburn. Henry releases Eleanor so that she can visit the royal family for Christmas. Her visit begins the unraveling of this viciously devouring family. It’s a movie that exposes our own jealousies and the lengths we will go to preserve the facades of our own reputations. Historically, Henry II’s lust for power played out between him and his friend Thomas à Beckett. In the year 1162, Henry got into a quarrel with the bishops of his realm, and in a brazen attempt to gain control of the church, Henry decided to elevate his good buddy Thomas to archbishop. Once Thomas becomes the archbishop, however, he undergoes a sudden transformation. Instead of being the king’s crony with a miter, Thomas à Beckett becomes God’s man and, ultimately, a martyr. Henry feels betrayed. So, on a cold December evening, four of Henry’s knights hunt Thomas down and kill him at the altar of Canterbury Cathedral
Full of remorse, Henry eventually does penance imposed by the pope. He walks to Canterbury Cathedral in sack cloth and ashes and allows himself to be flogged by the monks there. It seems he also transformed by the death of his friend and given an opportunity to find a new life. Towards the end of his life, Henry began building religious foundations in England
I’m wondering if you’ve ever experienced such a change –a time when Jesus Christ called you to a new place in your life – a time when you sensed God leading you to turn your life around and to do a new thing. Maybe a moment like Beckett when God unexpectedly calls you to do something new, or an experience like Henry when you are faced with the repulsiveness of your sin and commit yourself to a new life in Christ. In other words, have you ever experienced a real conversion? Some people have some hang ups around this word. It literally means, “to turn.” Conversion is a change of perspective, not of who you are, but of how you experience life. Conversion doesn’t mean that you’ve turned into another form of protoplasm. You’re still human, but you’re not quite the same, either. You experience life differently. You hear God’s voice in a new way. The presence of God feels more real.
Some people think conversion is something that happens at a revival or a Billy Graham Crusade. Sinners are invited to come forward at the altar call to repent of their past life and accept a new life in Jesus. In the world of Evangelical Christianity, people speak of being born again. They are usually referring to the moment when they accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior . . . when they were, in effect, converted. There is a definite process involved in this conversion: stop sinning, express genuine faith, accept Christ, be filled with the Spirit, get baptized and join a church. A person who is a wastrel repents, gives his life to Christ, and becomes a preacher. A hell-bound teen druggie gets saved and gives up the fast and easy life for a new life of holiness. A chain-smoking, poker-playing grannie accepts Christ and begins a Christian aerobics class in the town. People get converted and begin signing their letters “yours in Christ.” This is how some people come into the church – In a crisis of faith, people hear the call of God, they leave behind their old life, and they became born again in Christ. Many people think about conversion in this manner. It is instant and identifiable.
There are others of you here today who were baptized as infants and raised in the church and you don’t have a conversion story that sounds anything like what I just described. You have never experienced a moment when decided to accept Christ and were “born again.” For many of you, there’s a sense of having always believed in God and always feeling at home in the church. The life of faith has not been defined by a moment in time, but rather by an ongoing process. An uneasy tension always arises in the church between those who have had a life-defining conversion moment with Christ and those who have enjoyed a slow and gradual relationship with God. The born-agains are seen by the traditionalists as pushy hurricanes who hammer religion down everyone’s throat. The traditionalists are seen by the born-agains as stagnant water in need of some serious stirring by God. Both sides say “My way is God’s way.” Both points of view refuse to believe that God will do anything other than what one’s personal experience dictates. Caught in the middle are those who are seriously seeking to turn, and change, and grow into Christ -- to be neither hurricane nor puddle, but filled with the life-giving water of Christ. Maybe we all need a conversion -- a turning – a change of perspective.
Here is the reality of my life. Even though I can pinpoint a conversion moment in my own experience, I don’t live a life of 24-hour peace, joy, and victory. I guess I committed my life to Christ with the expectation that Christianity would be like living in a new Eden. But, many times, my life feels like a dried up river bed. Sometimes I still get anxious. I still struggle with some bad habits and defeating attitudes. Much of my faith journey feels like wilderness time– struggling with temptation and trying to fathom the meaning of what life is throwing at me at any moment. I bet that for many of you people of faith, no matter how you got here, life may be the same. Life is lived in the neutral zone.
Our culture knows little of how to prepare us for the waiting involved in the neutral zone. We are eager to use medications and cure-alls, distractions and remedies, to help us avoid the pain and helplessness that the neutral zone imposes.
But, maybe our conversion comes from waiting, and reflecting, and even dying in this neutral zone. Suffering is, I am sorry to say, the most efficient means of transformation. Grief especially has unparalleled power to open our eyes and open our heart, but only over the patient long haul. After all, new beginnings come only after an ending. New life only comes after death. True conversion has to turn from something in order to turn to the life to which God is calling. If this is all true, then maybe conversion is a single moment and a process, but never just an end. Conversion is a beginning point, and a daily re-orientation to Jesus. After all, the cells of our body renew themselves every few days. Nature renews itself through the patterns of weather and seasons. Maybe God is continually renewing us and calling us to turn from death to life, and from old to new.
Maybe real conversion lies in admitting that God can work in us however, whenever, and through whatever means God chooses. Maybe conversion is not a one-size-fits-all garment. Maybe Christian conversion is worked out by each individual within the community of faith.
The Apostle Paul is a great example of what I’m proposing. Some of you may be familiar with Paul’s conversion experience in the Book of Acts. On his way to persecute Christians, he is blinded by the light, comes to faith in Christ, and makes restitution for the wrong he has done. The book of Acts makes it sound as if Paul, following his conversion experience, went right to work after an instant transformation. But, after his conversion experience Paul traveled for a time, spending at least three years in his own neutral zone, rethinking and retooling himself. His change of perspective wasn’t achieved all at once. He had work to do. And that, it seems to me, is the real nature of conversion. Once you have the idea of the change of direction to where God is pulling, then you have to embrace it . . . and that will require some discipline. It won’t be easy. It won’t be comfortable, no matter what anyone tells you.
Palm Sunday symbolizes the kind of conversion I’m talking about. Gentle Jesus, riding on a donkey to the cheering of crowds, is about to enter the neutral zone. Jesus may have been uneasy with the cheering crowds. The word “Hosanna” does not mean “Hip hip hooray.” It means “Save us!” Some of the onlookers call out for Jesus to rescue them from Roman domination. Others egg Jesus on, hoping that he will overstep the limit. As soon as Jesus enters the city, he immediately attacks the Temple. Some people in the city see him as a trigger for their revolution against Rome. Others see Jesus as a threat to the order of the city. Others may be city dwellers who don’t understand why a yokel from Nazareth is entering the City of God as a war hero on the back of a donkey. In the midst of it all, Jesus rides on to death, going where God leads him, facing the neutral zone of Holy Week. He will be tempted to turn away. He will be falsely accused. His friends will leave him. He will die as Rome’s public example of what happens to those who disrupt the peace. And on cross, his arms will stretch to embrace the world. Jesus will die, and he will lie in the neutral zone of a tomb for three days. New life will come, but not right away. Easter doesn’t come without some waiting, and some suffering, and some reflection on conversion from death to life.
For us, life in the neutral zone is a life that resembles Christ’s. In our reading from Romans 12, Paul says it like this: if we are truly converted we will love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other. We will be patient in trouble, and always be prayerful. We will help each other out when in need and show genuine hospitality. We will pray for those who persecute us, and we will do our part to live in peace with everyone, as much as possible. We will feed our enemies, not letting evil get the best of us, but conquering evil by doing good.
What does it mean to be open to constant conversion by God? Kathleen Norris is a poet who has written powerfully about her return to church after a twenty-year absence -- her own gradual and painstaking conversion. She writes, “Conversion is seeing ourselves, and the ordinary people in our families, our classrooms, and on the job, in a new light.” Sometimes, God visits us with a light so dazzling that we cannot help but be changed. But often, God's light shines more dimly, in ways and places we will not see unless we're keeping our eyes open for them. Just don’t rush it. Allow God to work. Sometimes it takes a while to move from death to life. It takes time to go from seedlings that are being hardened off to the winds of the world to fruit-bearing people. We cannot create conversion in ourselves or in others. But we can keep our eyes open for the daily ways God invites us to see with new eyes.
Sermon for Sunday, March 9, 2008
Mourning Jerusalem
Luke 13:31-35
At that time some Pharisees said to him, “Get away from here if you want to live! Herod Antipas wants to kill you!” Jesus replied, “Go tell that fox that I will keep on casting out demons and healing people today and tomorrow; and the third day I will accomplish my purpose. Yes, today, tomorrow, and the next day I must proceed on my way. For it wouldn’t do for a prophet of God to be killed except in Jerusalem! “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you wouldn’t let me. And now, look, your house is abandoned. And you will never see me again until you say, ‘Blessings on the one who comes in the name of the LORD!’”
Let me tell you about two people I have met in my life. I met one in a tropical paradise, the other at a blistering Boston shop. The first on a warm, sunny Christmas Eve. The second on a rainy March morning. What caused their differing attitudes I won’t pretend to know. There may be a host of reasons why the second person was so bitter, and much sympathy might be garnered by each one. But that isn’t the point, right now. Edification is the point, a Latin way of saying, “building up.” The power to build up other human beings or else to tear them down, no matter how humble the circumstance nor how quick the meeting–that is the power possessed by each member of the Body of Christ, and it’s a mighty power indeed.
Christy and I were on our Honeymoon. Bermuda at Christmas. I still remember warm breezes blowing palm trees festooned with Christmas lights. People were getting out of work early in Hamilton on Christmas Eve, and the streets were alive with excitement. We must have looked like tourists, as hard as we tried to be inconspicuous. Perhaps it was me looking at a map and feverishly pointing eastward that gave us away. We stood in the business district. A man walked up to us. Not imposing, but friendly. His presence wasn’t menacing to us paranoid New Englanders, because he was at peace. He said, “Hello. What are you looking for?” and a smile flicked across his face. He was no chill stranger, although neither of us knew him. When he spoke he looked directly at us, without fear or embarrassment, with neither judgement nor haughtiness nor threat. Just a smile. It’s as if everyone else on the frenzied streets disappeared. He was there just for us in that particular moment.
He was a Bermudian of African decent, balding, middle-aged, slightly over weight. A banker. He pointed us in the right direction. He mentioned other points of interest. Then, out of nowhere he asked, “Do you two have plans for Christmas?” Christy and I looked at each other, Yankee paranoia kicking in again, and we suspiciously said, “No.”
“Why don’t you plan on coming over to my house for Christmas dinner.” He offered. “No pressure, but I’m sure my wife and family would love to have you.” He gave us his number and address. After a few hours of contemplation, we accepted the invitation. The next day we called a taxi and spent Christmas day in his beautiful home overlooking a silver ocean, with great food and friendly conversation. This man did not solve our problems. He didn’t save us from disaster or fix some great problem. Nevertheless, he did something extraordinary. He took a risk. He walked up to some naive strangers on the street and shook our hands. He built us up. He edified us. We never spoke or talked to each other again.
I was silently praying that I would never have to see the second person again. I have mentioned him before. He was the general manger of a propeller repair shop in South Boston. The building smelled like hot metal and grease. Morris was smeared in dirt. His face was ragged. An inch of ashes clung to a cigarette that seemed attached to the corner of his mouth against all laws of nature. “What do you want?” He growled. “I’m here to apply for the job.” He looked me up and down, and walked away, shaking his head as if in disgust. The shop owner came out with desperate apologies. I wanted to run away at that moment, but we needed the money. So I took the job. The months ahead proved Morris to be the bitterest, most foul-mouthed, insulting person I ever met. I was put in charge of grinding the welds of off newly-repaired inboard propellers. Mind you, I never touched a power tool in my life, and I was being trained to make $500.00 propellers look like new. Morris was always looking over my shoulder. Let’s just say, my successes were not celebrated, but every failure, and there were many, was talked about for days. “How could you be so stupid? Were you born screwing things up or is it an acquired ability? Give me that grinder you moron and watch me do it again.” I spent hours looking over his shoulder in utter boredom, wondering when he would strike next. I found little consolation in the fact that he treated everyone this way. I never knew what to say until I went home at night and fantasized my revenge. Every time Morris opened his mouth, I stood frozen like a mouse pretending to be invisible to a prowling cat. Except for one thing: I smiled. Morris would get ready for another verbal volley, and I would look him in the eyes and grin, letting his words burst upon me. Then I would return home at the end of the day demoralized, smeared with shaft grease and bronze dust and adding a few new phrases to my lexicon of “Profanities I’ve never Heard.”
And it wasn’t just that Morris was the nastiest person I had ever met. He was pathetically sad. Empty. And his sadness had made me sad. Those early days at the propeller shop broke me down.
The Bermudian’s life spoke of a certain truth. Morris’s speaks to another. What truth does your life speak? You may say, “Speak? How can I serve the Lord? I’m not important. What I do is so common and of little consequence. Anyone can do what I do.” But I say to you: Every time you meet another human being you have an opportunity. It’s a chance at holiness. For you will do one of two things. Either you will build her up or tear her down. Either you will acknowledge that he is, or you will make him sorry that he is– at least sorry that he is there, in front of you. You will create or you will destroy. And the things you dignify or deny are God’s own property. They are made, each one of them, in God’s own image.
You may say, “I don’t know what to say in order to share my faith with others.” And I say to you: There are no useless, minor meetings. There are no dead-end jobs. There are no pointless lives. Swallow your sorrows, forget your grievances and all the hurt your poor life has sustained. Turn your face truly to the human before you and let her, for one pure moment, shine. Think her important, and she will suspect that she is fashioned by God.”
As always, we Christians look to Jesus to show us how to do it. Jesus knew what it felt like to be demolished. In today’s text, he suffers the agony of spurned love. He knows of a day when the crowds will cry “Hosanna!” cheering him on with waving palms as he enters the city on a donkey. Jesus also knows that these same crowds will take the love he offers and spit it back upon him as they jeer him down his road to death. How interesting that in the face of his own demolition, Jesus edifies. Listen to what Jesus does the week before his death. It’s told in Matthew 20. As Jesus and the disciples left the town of Jericho, a large crowd followed behind. Two blind men were sitting beside the road. When they heard that Jesus was coming that way, they began shouting, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” “Be quiet!” the crowd yelled at them. But they only shouted louder, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” When Jesus heard them, he stopped and called, “What do you want me to do for you?” “Lord,” they said, “we want to see!” Jesus felt sorry for them and touched their eyes. Instantly they could see! Then they followed him.
Jesus sees the world as it is. He sees pain. He hears the cries of people who are isolated, cut off, and alone. Jesus reaches out to those who have been pushed aside and he reconnects them to community. He goes beyond our tragic history of exclusion and our outdated hostilities and liberates people with his compassion. Yes—take note of what Jesus does just before he dies. He touches the blind and reminds us that all people have access to the healing love of God. He weeps for his people in the city of God and reaches out to those who will reject him. He longs to protect and enfold everyone, even those who make themselves his enemies–even those who wait in Jerusalem with a crown of thorns, steely cold nails and a cross.
The tragedy of failure doesn’t end with there. We have also been offered restoration. The healing hands of Christ are there for us. And we repeatedly reject the offer. God has blessed us thousands of times, and what do we do? We often take them for granted; we fail to appreciate how valuable God’s blessings really are. We minimize them and we treat them as if they’re worth next-to-nothing. We sometimes even complain about God’s blessings senselessly, failing to realize what our lives would be like without them. We may even deny the fact that our blessings come from God—in a twisted, distorted way of false pride, we take credit for them ourselves. So, in a sense, God’s love is lost on us. Christ laments over our rejection of the love that he so consistently offers to us.
One could say that to live a life of faithfulness to Christ is to experience the hurt and pain of lost love; to lament in grief and sorrow over the world’s sad state of affairs. Out of that attitude of sorrow comes our commitment to build others up. When we see a world that rejects and denies the power of love, we can be living reminders of the people God loves. You know who they are? The surly boat propeller repairman who inhales the bitter ashes of life and blow their angry smoke on others. Do you know whom God loves? The rejected and despised, the prejudiced and those who challenge our prejudices, the disappointed, the insecure and the lonely, the violent and the hate-filled people of the world. Do you know whom God loves? Us – every one. We all belong to God. We find ways to encourage and build others up because God’s love never gives up. Not on you. Not on anybody
On his way to Jerusalem, Jesus’ life spoke a story compassion. What truth does your life speak? How we respond to others is never inconsequential.
How do you say hello? Or do you say hello?
How do you great strangers. Or do you greet them?
Are you so proud as to burden your customer, your client, your neighbor, your child, your parent, with your tribulations? Even by attitude? By crabbiness, anger, or gloom?
Demolition!
Or do you look people in the eye and grant them friendship and peace? Does the truth that Christ is living in you edify others–reach out and grab them with love?
~~~~~~~~
Morris and I became friends. All I can say is I never followed through on my revenge fantasies. I just kept smiling that dumb smile of mine. Every morning I would go to work and say, “Hi, how are ya’ ?” After a year or so, Morris’s defenses began to fall. He even began to smile back as he called me a moron.
So don’t forget to smile upon others, and encourage, and shine with love, even to the one who is a pain in the neck. You never know. Your smile, your kind words ...your encouragement might just reveal the face of Christ. You might bring some healing. And you might just find that as you show compassion, you will find some healing and liberation as you walk along the way.
Luke 13:31-35
At that time some Pharisees said to him, “Get away from here if you want to live! Herod Antipas wants to kill you!” Jesus replied, “Go tell that fox that I will keep on casting out demons and healing people today and tomorrow; and the third day I will accomplish my purpose. Yes, today, tomorrow, and the next day I must proceed on my way. For it wouldn’t do for a prophet of God to be killed except in Jerusalem! “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you wouldn’t let me. And now, look, your house is abandoned. And you will never see me again until you say, ‘Blessings on the one who comes in the name of the LORD!’”
Let me tell you about two people I have met in my life. I met one in a tropical paradise, the other at a blistering Boston shop. The first on a warm, sunny Christmas Eve. The second on a rainy March morning. What caused their differing attitudes I won’t pretend to know. There may be a host of reasons why the second person was so bitter, and much sympathy might be garnered by each one. But that isn’t the point, right now. Edification is the point, a Latin way of saying, “building up.” The power to build up other human beings or else to tear them down, no matter how humble the circumstance nor how quick the meeting–that is the power possessed by each member of the Body of Christ, and it’s a mighty power indeed.
Christy and I were on our Honeymoon. Bermuda at Christmas. I still remember warm breezes blowing palm trees festooned with Christmas lights. People were getting out of work early in Hamilton on Christmas Eve, and the streets were alive with excitement. We must have looked like tourists, as hard as we tried to be inconspicuous. Perhaps it was me looking at a map and feverishly pointing eastward that gave us away. We stood in the business district. A man walked up to us. Not imposing, but friendly. His presence wasn’t menacing to us paranoid New Englanders, because he was at peace. He said, “Hello. What are you looking for?” and a smile flicked across his face. He was no chill stranger, although neither of us knew him. When he spoke he looked directly at us, without fear or embarrassment, with neither judgement nor haughtiness nor threat. Just a smile. It’s as if everyone else on the frenzied streets disappeared. He was there just for us in that particular moment.
He was a Bermudian of African decent, balding, middle-aged, slightly over weight. A banker. He pointed us in the right direction. He mentioned other points of interest. Then, out of nowhere he asked, “Do you two have plans for Christmas?” Christy and I looked at each other, Yankee paranoia kicking in again, and we suspiciously said, “No.”
“Why don’t you plan on coming over to my house for Christmas dinner.” He offered. “No pressure, but I’m sure my wife and family would love to have you.” He gave us his number and address. After a few hours of contemplation, we accepted the invitation. The next day we called a taxi and spent Christmas day in his beautiful home overlooking a silver ocean, with great food and friendly conversation. This man did not solve our problems. He didn’t save us from disaster or fix some great problem. Nevertheless, he did something extraordinary. He took a risk. He walked up to some naive strangers on the street and shook our hands. He built us up. He edified us. We never spoke or talked to each other again.
I was silently praying that I would never have to see the second person again. I have mentioned him before. He was the general manger of a propeller repair shop in South Boston. The building smelled like hot metal and grease. Morris was smeared in dirt. His face was ragged. An inch of ashes clung to a cigarette that seemed attached to the corner of his mouth against all laws of nature. “What do you want?” He growled. “I’m here to apply for the job.” He looked me up and down, and walked away, shaking his head as if in disgust. The shop owner came out with desperate apologies. I wanted to run away at that moment, but we needed the money. So I took the job. The months ahead proved Morris to be the bitterest, most foul-mouthed, insulting person I ever met. I was put in charge of grinding the welds of off newly-repaired inboard propellers. Mind you, I never touched a power tool in my life, and I was being trained to make $500.00 propellers look like new. Morris was always looking over my shoulder. Let’s just say, my successes were not celebrated, but every failure, and there were many, was talked about for days. “How could you be so stupid? Were you born screwing things up or is it an acquired ability? Give me that grinder you moron and watch me do it again.” I spent hours looking over his shoulder in utter boredom, wondering when he would strike next. I found little consolation in the fact that he treated everyone this way. I never knew what to say until I went home at night and fantasized my revenge. Every time Morris opened his mouth, I stood frozen like a mouse pretending to be invisible to a prowling cat. Except for one thing: I smiled. Morris would get ready for another verbal volley, and I would look him in the eyes and grin, letting his words burst upon me. Then I would return home at the end of the day demoralized, smeared with shaft grease and bronze dust and adding a few new phrases to my lexicon of “Profanities I’ve never Heard.”
And it wasn’t just that Morris was the nastiest person I had ever met. He was pathetically sad. Empty. And his sadness had made me sad. Those early days at the propeller shop broke me down.
The Bermudian’s life spoke of a certain truth. Morris’s speaks to another. What truth does your life speak? You may say, “Speak? How can I serve the Lord? I’m not important. What I do is so common and of little consequence. Anyone can do what I do.” But I say to you: Every time you meet another human being you have an opportunity. It’s a chance at holiness. For you will do one of two things. Either you will build her up or tear her down. Either you will acknowledge that he is, or you will make him sorry that he is– at least sorry that he is there, in front of you. You will create or you will destroy. And the things you dignify or deny are God’s own property. They are made, each one of them, in God’s own image.
You may say, “I don’t know what to say in order to share my faith with others.” And I say to you: There are no useless, minor meetings. There are no dead-end jobs. There are no pointless lives. Swallow your sorrows, forget your grievances and all the hurt your poor life has sustained. Turn your face truly to the human before you and let her, for one pure moment, shine. Think her important, and she will suspect that she is fashioned by God.”
As always, we Christians look to Jesus to show us how to do it. Jesus knew what it felt like to be demolished. In today’s text, he suffers the agony of spurned love. He knows of a day when the crowds will cry “Hosanna!” cheering him on with waving palms as he enters the city on a donkey. Jesus also knows that these same crowds will take the love he offers and spit it back upon him as they jeer him down his road to death. How interesting that in the face of his own demolition, Jesus edifies. Listen to what Jesus does the week before his death. It’s told in Matthew 20. As Jesus and the disciples left the town of Jericho, a large crowd followed behind. Two blind men were sitting beside the road. When they heard that Jesus was coming that way, they began shouting, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” “Be quiet!” the crowd yelled at them. But they only shouted louder, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” When Jesus heard them, he stopped and called, “What do you want me to do for you?” “Lord,” they said, “we want to see!” Jesus felt sorry for them and touched their eyes. Instantly they could see! Then they followed him.
Jesus sees the world as it is. He sees pain. He hears the cries of people who are isolated, cut off, and alone. Jesus reaches out to those who have been pushed aside and he reconnects them to community. He goes beyond our tragic history of exclusion and our outdated hostilities and liberates people with his compassion. Yes—take note of what Jesus does just before he dies. He touches the blind and reminds us that all people have access to the healing love of God. He weeps for his people in the city of God and reaches out to those who will reject him. He longs to protect and enfold everyone, even those who make themselves his enemies–even those who wait in Jerusalem with a crown of thorns, steely cold nails and a cross.
The tragedy of failure doesn’t end with there. We have also been offered restoration. The healing hands of Christ are there for us. And we repeatedly reject the offer. God has blessed us thousands of times, and what do we do? We often take them for granted; we fail to appreciate how valuable God’s blessings really are. We minimize them and we treat them as if they’re worth next-to-nothing. We sometimes even complain about God’s blessings senselessly, failing to realize what our lives would be like without them. We may even deny the fact that our blessings come from God—in a twisted, distorted way of false pride, we take credit for them ourselves. So, in a sense, God’s love is lost on us. Christ laments over our rejection of the love that he so consistently offers to us.
One could say that to live a life of faithfulness to Christ is to experience the hurt and pain of lost love; to lament in grief and sorrow over the world’s sad state of affairs. Out of that attitude of sorrow comes our commitment to build others up. When we see a world that rejects and denies the power of love, we can be living reminders of the people God loves. You know who they are? The surly boat propeller repairman who inhales the bitter ashes of life and blow their angry smoke on others. Do you know whom God loves? The rejected and despised, the prejudiced and those who challenge our prejudices, the disappointed, the insecure and the lonely, the violent and the hate-filled people of the world. Do you know whom God loves? Us – every one. We all belong to God. We find ways to encourage and build others up because God’s love never gives up. Not on you. Not on anybody
On his way to Jerusalem, Jesus’ life spoke a story compassion. What truth does your life speak? How we respond to others is never inconsequential.
How do you say hello? Or do you say hello?
How do you great strangers. Or do you greet them?
Are you so proud as to burden your customer, your client, your neighbor, your child, your parent, with your tribulations? Even by attitude? By crabbiness, anger, or gloom?
Demolition!
Or do you look people in the eye and grant them friendship and peace? Does the truth that Christ is living in you edify others–reach out and grab them with love?
~~~~~~~~
Morris and I became friends. All I can say is I never followed through on my revenge fantasies. I just kept smiling that dumb smile of mine. Every morning I would go to work and say, “Hi, how are ya’ ?” After a year or so, Morris’s defenses began to fall. He even began to smile back as he called me a moron.
So don’t forget to smile upon others, and encourage, and shine with love, even to the one who is a pain in the neck. You never know. Your smile, your kind words ...your encouragement might just reveal the face of Christ. You might bring some healing. And you might just find that as you show compassion, you will find some healing and liberation as you walk along the way.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)