Sermon for February 28, 2010

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Jesus the Leader

One day as Jesus was preaching on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, great crowds pressed in on him to listen to the word of God. He noticed two empty boats at the water’s edge, for the fishermen had left them and were washing their nets. Stepping into one of the boats, Jesus asked Simon, its owner, to push it out into the water. So he sat in the boat and taught the crowds from there.

When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Now go out where it is deeper, and let down your nets to catch some fish.” “Master,” Simon replied, “we worked hard all last night and didn’t catch a thing. But if you say so, I’ll let the nets down again.” And this time their nets were so full of fish they began to tear! A shout for help brought their partners in the other boat, and soon both boats were filled with fish and on the verge of sinking.

When Simon Peter realized what had happened, he fell to his knees before Jesus and said, “Oh, Lord, please leave me—I’m too much of a sinner to be around you.” For he was awestruck by the number of fish they had caught, as were the others with him. His partners, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, were also amazed. Jesus replied to Simon, “Don’t be afraid! From now on you’ll be fishing for people!” And as soon as they landed, they left everything and followed Jesus. Luke 5:1-11

Once upon a time, a couple married with great love and the love never died. Their greatest hope was to have a child so their love could walk the earth with joy. Yet there were difficulties. Since they were very pious, they prayed, and prayed and prayed. Along with considerable other efforts, the wife conceived. And nine months later there came rumbling into the world a delightful little boy. They named him Aaron. The sun and the moon were his toys. He was outgoing and zestful, drinking down the days and dreaming through the nights.

Aaron grew in years, and wisdom, and grace until it was time to go to the synagogue and study the Torah, the Law of God. The night before his studies were to begin, his parents sat Aaron down and told him how important the word of God was. They stressed that without the word of God Aaron would be an autumn leaf in the winter’s wind. He listened wide-eyed. Yet the next day he never arrived at the synagogue. Instead, he found himself in the woods, swimming in the lakes and climbing the trees. And when he came home at night, the news of his absence spread throughout the small village.

His parents were beside themselves. They did not know what to do. So they called in the behavior modificationalists who modified Aaron’s behavior, so that there was no more behavior of Aaron’s that was not modified. But, the next day he found himself in the woods, swimming in the lakes and climbing the trees.

So they called in the psychoanalysts who unblocked Aaron’s blockages so there were no more blockages for Aaron to be blocked by. But, the next day he found himself again in the woods, swimming in the lakes and climbing the trees. His parents grieved for their son. There seemed to be no hope. He would never learn the word of God.

It happened that a great Rabbi visited the village. The parents said, “That’s it! Perhaps the Rabbi...” And so they took Aaron to the Rabbi and told him their tale of woe. And the Rabbi bellowed, “Leave the boy with me, and I will have a talk with him.” Aaron’s parents were terrified. Was it worth it -- leaving their son with this lion of a man, just to make him go to the synagogue? But they had come this far, so they left the boy with the Rabbi.

Aaron stood in the hallway and the Rabbi was in the study. The Rabbi looked through the door at Aaron and said, “Boy, come here.” Trembling, Aaron came forward. And then the great Rabbi picked him up and held him silently against his heart.

His parents came to get him and they took Aaron home. And the next day, he went to the synagogue to learn the word of God. And when he was done, he went to the woods. And the word of God became one with the word of the woods which became one with the word of Aaron. And he swam in the lake. And the word of God became one with the word of the lake which became one with the word of Aaron. And he climbed the trees. And the word of God became one with the word of the trees which became one with the word of Aaron.

Aaron himself grew up and became a great man. And people who were broken inside came to him And with him they found healing. And people seized with inner panic came to him. And with him, they found peace. And people who were without anybody came to him. With him, they found possibilities. And Aaron often said, “I first learned the word of God when the great Rabbi held me silently against his heart.”

If only we had more of those kinds of leaders -- leaders who captivate us; leaders who hold the world in a compassionate embrace; leaders who see possibilities and bring out the best in others. I think Jesus was that kind of leader. Jesus had a radical leadership style, a style that was marked by compassion. He stands in contrast to the hard-driven, results-oriented corporate executive style we’ve been trained to follow. For Jesus, leadership was not about power, or management or organization. His leadership was about generosity, believing in people, meeting needs, encouraging others, and getting excited about good things that happen to others. And people were captivated. He is our model for compassionate service and compassionate leadership.

We read about it in today’s gospel text. Peter and some of his friends are living their lives -- doing what they did most days, sometimes with regular monotony. Jesus approaches them with an invitation: “Drop down your nets. Don’t be afraid. Believe.” And that’s it. Peter and some of his friends are captivated by Jesus. By the way, notice what’s missing from Luke’s version of the story. No where does Luke’s Jesus say to anyone: “Follow me.” Those words are found in Mark and Matthew’s versions of the story. Luke obviously knew about the existence of those stories. He used some of their material while writing his own gospel. Luke chose to leave the part out where Jesus says, “Follow me.” Luke says something far more radical. His story is not about “call” or “catching” or “fishing for humanity.” Luke is talking more about being “captivated.”

Think about the word captivate. It can mean: attract; fascinate; charm; enchant; cause to be enamored; beguile; entrance; subdue; overpower; capture; hold the attention of someone by being extremely interesting, exciting, charming or attractive. That’s the kind of leadership Jesus uses. That’s the kind of leader I want to be: compassionate, captivated by God, moved to action by the stark needs of the world around me. That’s why I appreciate what the Youth Group has done in the 30-Hour famine this week. Sure, they raised money. They also took some leadership. They put the values of Jesus into action. They showed us what needs to be done to help fix the world. They dare us to follow their example.

It’s hard, isn’t it – casting nets with no promise of reward, going into the deep with Jesus with no assurance of safety, taking risks without being afraid? What if, when we follow Christ we become more hopeful and less afraid, more forgiving and less resentful, more willing to sacrifice and less likely to protect what is ours? Then we’d have lives that people would notice. We’d have a gift we would want to share with as much passion as we share news about our children, spouses, pets, and sports teams. We would freely share the difference that Jesus’ compassionate leadership has made in our lives.

Can you love people and lead them without imposing your will? Can you deal with the most vital matters by letting events take their course? Can you love without any other motive? Can compassion change the world? If you can answer yes, you will learn how to love others selflessly and lead others with kindness. It’s a totally different model of leadership. Mostly, leadership is seen as a way of manipulating people into doing what you want them to do. Jesus’ leadership is about loving the people that he leads.

I’m going to stop talking now. I just want to say one more thing. “I first learned the word of God when the Jesus, the great Rabbi held me silently against his heart.” I was captivated, enchanted, and ready to face new possibilities. I follow Jesus, a compassionate and captivating leader. I hope you can, too. I hope we can do it together, working with Jesus to create a world where the hungry are fed, the lost are found, the captives are set free and peace is restored.

Sources:
http://www.rexaehuntprogressive.com/sermon_collection/year_c_sermon_collection/year_c_sermons_-_christmase/captivateepiph5c2004.html
http://presbyterian.typepad.com/reallastinglife/2009/09/who-is-jesus.html
http://www.taoism.net/theway/ttc.htm

Sermon for February 21, 2010

Jesus the Healer

Psalm 80:1-7

Turn us again to yourself, O God. Make your face shine down upon us. Only then will we be saved. O Lord God of Heaven’s Armies, how long will you be angry with our prayers? You have fed us with sorrow and made us drink tears by the bucketful. You have made us the scorn of neighboring nations. Our enemies treat us as a joke

Do real men cry? I am not talking about the tear men hide when they watch a good chick flick or Field of Dreams ... or Gladiator, or crying when their team loses the Super Bowl or tears when men cut an onion for the barbeque. I’m talking about the true gut wrenching weep of unbridled emotion? I once knew a guy who would cry at just about anything. Real tears, too. When he talked about God, he cried. When he watched a touching movie, he cried. When he heard his favorite song, or when he thought about his kids, he cried. He’d cry in public. Get him talking about his life in the grocery store checkout line, and he’d tear right up. He actually stopped going to church because he always cried. It embarrassed him. Some men can be painfully shy. To pour out their hearts before God or to be seen as not fulfilling the masculine stereotype can be hard. We have been taught that crying is a sign of weakness. Remember the last Presidential campaign, when Hillary Clinton teared up in New Hampshire. She was criticized for her vulnerability. Her tears made her ill-suited for leadership.

There are, of course, times when we feel sorrow or frustration so acutely that it must be let out. What if you are in pain? What if you feel like life is being robbed from you? What if you are at the end of your rope and there is no where else to go but down? What if you put on a nice smile for everyone on Sunday, but you really have a hollow place inside of you? Then what? There is a sacred sorrow in the Bible that we call “lament.” Lament is the kind of sorrow you have at injustice and anguish and the only thing you can turn to is God. Laments are not pretty. People in pain express themselves in some very painful ways. When we are sick, lonely, feeling the loss of someone we love, anxious, despairing or traumatized we may feel separated from God. We can feel like God abandoned us, or is at least ignoring us. Something is between God and us, casting a shadow over our hearts and hiding us from God’s sight. What a scary place this can be. Laments give voice to that fear. To lament to God is to be honest with God -- to trust God and to look for God’s promise of wholeness. By moving through lament, we voice our deepest hurts to a God who knows and cares deeply.

Listen to this prayer by Joyce Rupp – maybe you’ll find some affinity with it: “O God, I am afraid in the darkness. I pull the sheets of security about me and view all my imaginings with terror. These fears rise up in the shadows of my soul, like wild warriors ready to attack me. Though I hide from these monsters of my own making, or attempt to flee on the road of anxiety, they are always pursuing, close behind me. Help me to turn and face my fears. Do not let them have power over me. May I not succumb to the terrors of my mind which chase me relentlessly in the darkness.”

Sometimes it’s helpful to know that most fears are never realized, that we are never hidden from God’s sight. Fear is a bully. It keeps us contained and prevents us from recognizing that we can and must step out of the shadow into God’s loving light.

Luke 4:38-44

After leaving the synagogue that day, Jesus went to Simon’s home, where he found Simon’s mother-in-law very sick with a high fever. “Please heal her,” everyone begged. Standing at her bedside, he rebuked the fever, and it left her. And she got up at once and prepared a meal for them. As the sun went down that evening, people throughout the village brought sick family members to Jesus. No matter what their diseases were, the touch of his hand healed every one. Many were possessed by demons; and the demons came out at his command, shouting, “You are the Son of God!” But because they knew he was the Messiah, he rebuked them and refused to let them speak. Early the next morning Jesus went out to an isolated place. The crowds searched everywhere for him, and when they finally found him, they begged him not to leave them. But he replied, “I must preach the Good News of the Kingdom of God in other towns, too, because that is why I was sent.” So he continued to travel around, preaching in synagogues throughout Judea.

A lot of Christians have trouble with these stories in the bible. Some of us say, “Those kinds of miracles don’t happen now. Why should I believe they happened then? If God can heal, why are so many sick people in our world dying? What kind of God chooses to heal some while allowing others to suffer?” Sometimes we only see these healing stories in terms of biology. Jesus changes the physical condition of the people. Once healed, they no longer have whatever physical malady they had before. Jesus heals a woman’s fever. He heals diseases. He casts out demons. These stories confuse us and fill us with as many questions as expectations.

But that’s not how the Bible talks about healing. The purpose of the healing is not just to change the individual’s physical condition. Jesus makes people human beings again. In his day, if you were demon possessed, or a sick widow, you had no status in society. You were ignored by your community. Jesus doesn’t just heal sick bodies. He restores people back to right relationships. Through Jesus Christ, God says, “I want to come to heal relationships. I want to heal broken emotions. I want to restore broken connections. I want to fix you up so that through the experience of your pain you can reach out and share compassionate healing others.”

Today, I want you to think about the ways that God might want to heal and restore us. How’s the relationship between you and God going? Is it broken? Twisted? Does it need to be healed? How are the connections between you and others? Is there a broken relationship? Sick? Need to be healed? God wants to do that. How is your relationship with the environment? Broken? Disconnected? In need of restoration? God wants to make us into a community with a shared faith that can carry compassionate healing into the world. Our church family becomes full of the energy we need to reach out to a deprived, hurting world. This is the nature of faith. This is the nature of healing.

A missionary named Howard Cameron worked for many years in what was then known as the Belgium Congo. He tells about a visit to a congregation in the middle of nowhere which is extremely poor. He visits a pastor who has not been paid for two years. Cameron writes:

“The night before our visit, the pastor’s family grew by one. Mbaya, a son, was born. No prenatal care prepared his young wife for birth. No medical workers helped Mbaya into this world and he won’t receive any post-natal care. The hospital is too far away. His wife’s feet are the only transportation available and even if she could get to the hospital, there’s no money to pay the fees. Mbaya’s survival depends totally on his mother’s ability to feed and nurture him. Serving this church, this young pastor and his wife, could never hope to accumulate anything, yet week after week he calls his congregation together and starts worship with the words, “Praise God from whom all blessing flow.” This must be sung in faith, because few blessings are visible other than a total faith in God. This family understands sacrificial service.” Cameron then writes, “Without uttering a word, a sermon is preached. We’re asked a question. In similar circumstances could we sing those same words and mean them?”

Cameron describes an agricultural project to help this community. They need the physical help and they need the physical healing. But then he goes on to say that as he moves from place to place, there is one request that’s repeated. They plead for printed literature -- especially for Bibles and hymnals. They long, even in their physical poverty, for both material relief and spiritual connection. The physical and spiritual go side by side.

If you want to heal spirits, feed the body. If you want to heal the body, feed the spirit. We offer both in the name of Jesus Christ the healer.

At some time or another, we have all experienced the shadow of despair and fear. Out of our afflictions comes understanding. We cannot see with God’s eyes, but we can allow God to work through us to comfort those in need, and to seek God’s comfort in our own lives. As we seek wholeness today, we will also seek to be a bearer of Christ’s love to one another.

Today there will be an opportunity to receive anointing and a prayer for wholeness. God’s presence is here among us. I don’t claim to be a miracle-working healer, like you might read about in a book or see on a Sunday morning TV program. We are all God’s children – equally gifted and equally pained. Here’s what I can give you – a reminder that there is a church family that I willing to be here for you, and walk life’s hard road with you, and pray for you. We can do something to remember that God brings wholeness and balance to our lives, but not without some pain and not without giving something up. God brings wholeness, but not without transformation.

God knows pain. God knows distress. God birthed us, witnessed our sins, suffered our disabilities and, in the ultimate expression of steadfast love, came embodied in Christ to suffer and die with us. We can be instruments of God to each other, both in our joy and in our pain. Let us prepare to offer ourselves to God and God’s hurting yet hopeful people.

Sermon for Feb. 14, 2010

Jesus, the Glorious One

About eight days later Jesus took Peter, John, and James up on a mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly, two men, Moses and Elijah, appeared and began talking with Jesus. They were glorious to see. And they were speaking about his exodus from this world, which was about to be fulfilled in Jerusalem. Peter and the others had fallen asleep. When they woke up, they saw Jesus’ glory and the two men standing with him. As Moses and Elijah were starting to leave, Peter, not even knowing what he was saying, blurted out, “Master, it’s wonderful for us to be here! Let’s make three shelters as memorials—one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” But even as he was saying this, a cloud overshadowed them, and terror gripped them as the cloud covered them. Then a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, my Chosen One. Listen to him.” When the voice finished, Jesus was there alone. They didn’t tell anyone at that time what they had seen. -- Luke 9:28-36

You’re drained. You’re tapped out. You have little energy to give others. We’ve all been there. Usually, after a little break we revive and step back up to the plate. What happens, however, when these feelings don’t pass? What happens when you just want to give up? If you have ever cared for an elderly parent or a sick child, or worked as a health care worker of social worker, you might know what I’m talking about. Sometimes caregivers just give up. It’s called compassion fatigue. It refers to a physical, emotional and spiritual exhaustion that takes over a person and causes a decline in his or her ability to experience joy or to feel and care for others. It’s not that one day you’re living your life with a great deal of energy and enjoyment, and the next, you wake up exhausted and devoid of any energy. Compassion fatigue develops over time, taking weeks, sometimes years to surface. Basically, it’s a clouding of caring and concern for others in your life whether you work in or outside the home. Over time, your ability to feel and care for others becomes eroded through overuse of your skills of compassion.

Compassion fatigue also affects us when we hear news of disasters. Compassion fatigue sets in whenever there is a long-running news story that shows no signs of resolution. Viewers can become bored by even the most compelling story, if it seems never to change. Media audiences become jaded. Just think about the news cycle over few years: Katrina, Genocide in Sudan, War in the Middle East, Indonesian tsunami, Kashmir earthquake, Japan earthquake, China earthquake, Haiti earthquake, and the list goes on and on. There are days we wake up and, frankly, don't feel like turning the TV on. If I do watch TV, I’m stuck with a so-called “Reality TV Show.” The irony is not lost on me.

Isn’t there enough pain within ten miles of our homes to last us a lifetime? What do we do when we hear an orphanage was buried under a mudslide in Ecuador or a bus full of nuns holding babies in their arms went off a cliff in Singapore? I could probably spend two or three hours a day just praying for the crushing needs of people I know. So how can I shoulder the rest of the world’s problems? After all, God does not call ME to be the savior of the world. Sometimes I think about the pain all around, and all I can do is sit and put my bleary face into my cupped hands and pray.

Author Max Lucado tells another story of compassion fatigue: Four people snake up a mountain. The trip has been long. The hour is late. A level place on a hillside is reached, and they sit down. They’re tired. Their muscles hurt. The grayness of twilight settles over them like soft cloth. The quartet of pilgrims longs to sleep, but only three do. The fourth sits in the shadows, legs crossed. Face skyward. He slips off his sandals and rubs his sore feet and reflects on the wildness of it all. A God with sore legs? Holiness with hunger? Divinity with thirst? A World-maker made weary by his world?

His thoughts drift homeward. Nazareth. How good it would be to be home again. The memories surface so easily. A sawdust-covered work bench. Friends stopping to talk. Dinner-table laughter. Wrestling with his brothers. But Nazareth would never be home again. They tried to kill him last time he was there. Even his brothers and sisters considered him insane. They were ashamed to be known as his family. No, Nazareth would never be home again.

What about Galilee? The crowds listened in Galilee. There the people followed... as long as he said what they wanted to hear. He remembered the crowds as they turned away. He heard their jeering. He felt their rejection.

He thinks of Jerusalem. She offers no comfort. He knows what is waiting for him there. A foreboding pain stabs his wrists. He winces at the slicing of his brow. He sees the world around him growing darker. He shakes his head and takes a staggered breath. His thoughts return to the present. He plucks a shoot of grass, puts it into his mouth, and sits in the shadow of his fear. He looks at his followers, as asleep as they are naive. They have no idea. He speaks of suffering; they think of conquering. He speaks of sacrifice; they think of celebration. They think they hear. They think they see. But they don’t. Part of him knew it would be like this. And part of him never knew it would be so bad. Talk about compassion fatigue! Part of him wonders, Would it be so bad to give up? He has given his best and what does he have? A ragged band of good-hearted followers who are destined to fall flat on promises they can’t keep. He thinks about the future. Jesus will be banished by his people. Physical attack awaits him in Jerusalem. Only God really knows the cost of the struggle. So he sits down and puts his bleary face into cupped hands and prays. It’s all he can do.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it helper? You thought you could save the world one person at a time. You saw where you could best demonstrate your gifts of compassion, and you went there. But now you are tired, questioning your motives, feeling drained and useless, wondering when relief will come, kicking yourself for not having a back-up plan, resenting that you are the only one doing the work.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, dreamer? You wanted to badly change the world. Sure the mountain was high, but you were brave. Then winds came. Sharp rocks of reality cut your feet, breaking your stride . . . breaking your heart. And you found the role of the cynic was less costly than the role of the dreamer. So you sat down.

You need to know something. Jesus sat down, too. Sure, there were moments that he stood tall. There were hours of splendor. The days came when the sick leaped for joy and the dead came to life. But the peaks of popularity were corrupted by canyons of isolation. And on this day, the crevasse is deep. His strength has reached a low point.

Listen to what happens next. Luke writes, “As he was praying, the appearance of his face was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white.” For just a moment Jesus is transfigured; a glorious radiance pours from him. For a few minutes, the burden of humanity is lifted. God holds him. The One who felt weary is soon reminded that the weariness will soon pass. As Jesus prepares himself for the work of death, Moses and Elijah draw near: Moses the lawgiver whose grave no one knew; Elijah the prophet who side-stepped death in a fiery chariot. The one who faces death is reminded: the grave is powerless.

And then the Voice thunders. In the Bible, God likes to show up in mountain-wrapping clouds. God’s enveloping presence transforms the mountain into a shining monument. And from the belly of the clouds the Father speaks: “This is my Son, my Chosen One. Listen to him.” It’s as if God shouts, “It doesn’t matter what people think. Right now, it only matters what I think, and I’m proud.” By now the apostles are awake. For Peter, James, and John, the scene must have looked bizarre: dazzling white clouds, a voice from the sky, living images from the past. But for Jesus, it is a view of home. A view into yesterday. A glimpse into tomorrow. And he heads down the mountain. You see, there is a boy who needs to be healed. There are disciples who need to understand. There is a cross waiting in Jerusalem.

If we look hard enough, we can see Jesus in faces all around us.

Look at the face of Jesus the underpaid nurse who puts up with abuse as she tends to her patient’s needs – Or in the rescue worker who hasn’t slept in days because of the crushing needs of humanity around her -- Or in the Mom who struggles to raise her family with solid values, but is just simply exhausted by her kid’s relentless demands.

Look at the face of Jesus in the couple seeking to pick up the pieces of the fractured relationship, worn out and looking for the strength to go on.

Look at the face of Jesus in the cancer patient fighting to survive or the Alzheimer patient who feels the future is hopeless.

Look at the face of Jesus in a grieving spouse, asking why and looking for answers and finding the courage to live.

Look at the face of Jesus in the teen who thinks nobody understands or even cares who she really is.

If you look hard enough, he is even there in your own lonely, spots where no one else is invited to sit with you.

There are people all around us who are tired. Weary. Suffering other’s irrational reactions to their principles. Tempted to give up and looking for anything to help them just endure. Jesus was there, too.

This morning I invite all of us to travel up the mountain top with a weary Christ. If you do, a wonderful thing will happen. You will see Jesus for who he really is. And when we see Jesus for who he is, we are also able to see ourselves for who we really are. The pure, transfiguring light of God exposes all. It revealed Jesus as God’s beloved. God’s light reveals your own need to be loved, your disappointment with yourself, your shame and frustration, your deepest fears, your isolation and emptiness. In the transfiguring light of God, there is nowhere to hide. We stand stripped and vulnerable before our God and we hear a voice that says, “This is my son who is much loved. This is my daughter, whom I adore.” God’s talking about you. God’s just crazy in love with you. God thinks you are magnificent. God fills us with glory when we are lost and weary.

It is so easy and yet so hard to accept. God loves you. God understands your weariness. God has felt your emptiness. The voice of God calls out to us. Are you listening?

Through Christ, God says:
Come, you who are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Through Christ, God says:
Give all your worries and cares to me, for I care about what happens to you.

Through Christ, God says:
You are my child. I choose you. Listen.

God loves you. Jesus calls you. The Spirit is ready to fill you. Are you listening?