tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49956594940379642862024-03-28T14:36:51.854-07:00word into worldJonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.comBlogger332125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-90776405615165610822024-03-28T14:35:00.000-07:002024-03-28T14:35:58.823-07:00"You Will Never..." (John 13:3-8, 12-15)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“An Insulting
Depiction”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In 2014, St. Albans Episcopal Church in Davidson, North
Carolina, installed a statue on the church grounds that depicts a homeless
person sleeping on a bench. If you get close enough to the statue, you can see
that the homeless person is Jesus—there are the marks of crucifixion on his
feet.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The response of the neighbors to this newcomer in the
community was mixed. One neighbor called the cops on this homeless person.
Another who got close enough to see who this homeless person really was, wrote
in to the editor to express their displeasure. The statue, they said, was “an
insulting depiction of the son of God.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">In the Beginning and
at the End<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Insulting.”</i> I
imagine this word or a similar one flashed through Peter’s mind when he said to
Jesus, “You will <i>never</i> wash my feet.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There at that last Supper, Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem ends
exactly as it started—with Peter (of all people) rebuking him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the beginning, Peter rebukes Jesus for talking about
suffering and death. At the end, Peter rebukes Jesus for getting on his knees
like a slave.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Of all the rejections that Jesus endured, perhaps Peter’s at
the beginning and the end are the most important. They are a sobering reminder
that Jesus’ closest followers continually mistake the messiah for their own
aims. They confuse Christ with getting their way.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Peter’s Humiliation<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our familiarity with tonight’s foot-washing scene has
domesticated it into an appealing illustration of what we have called “servant
leadership.” Servant leadership, in our world, often masquerades as
selflessness when it fact it serves its own self-interest. We only have to
think of how individuals and companies make altruistic gestures as a way to
build their brand, boost their profile, and get ahead. If we had done a
foot-washing service tonight, whoever did the foot-washing (whether it was me
or an elder) would likely win a little favor in the eyes of others, if for no
other reason than being willing to handle the feet of others, which is an
intimate and somewhat uncomfortable thing in our world.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But what Jesus is doing here is no publicity stunt. In the
ancient Greco-Roman world, washing feet was something slaves did. (“Slave
leadership” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?) We do not have
slavery today in the form that we so shamefully did, so the meaning may be lost
on us a little bit. But what Jesus is doing, is taking on the role of a slave.
In Peter’s mind, Jesus has just overstepped the boundary. Jesus is not doing a
good deed, like holding open the door or allowing others to first. Such things
might buy a person the good favor of others. Jesus is humiliating himself.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The foot-washing scene is not a tender picture of a
servant’s heart. It is a humiliating picture of a messiah who seems to have it
all backwards. And this is why Peter rebukes Jesus. When he began following
this rabbi, he yoked his identity with him. Jesus’ glory would be his glory.
Jesus’ shame would be his shame. “You will never wash my feet,” is not merely
Peter being a bit embarrassed for Jesus or trying to protect his reputation. It
is Peter being embarrassed for <i>himself</i>.
He’s protecting <i>himself</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">An Example of
Shameless Love<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I have set you an example, that you also should do as I
have done to you” (John 13:15). The example Jesus sets us, is not just doing
good deeds. It’s not just selfless behavior. It is <i>unashamed love</i>. It is a love that is willing to be identified with
the wrong crowd. A love that is willing to be branded “insulting.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In our world, the lines between social groups have shifted.
We stand little risk of humiliating ourselves as a slave. But we do stand the
risk of being caught watching the wrong channel, reading the wrong news source,
rubbing shoulders with the wrong crowd. Our tribes demand loyalty. Our tribes
say that it is more important to be right than to be caring.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But the example of shameless love that Jesus sets for us, is
otherwise. Jesus invites us to care for others, even if it puts us on the wrong
side of the fence. The “slave Jesus” invites us to see people before we see
problems, to see Christ in them instead of our contempt, whether we’re looking
at the homeless, the immigrant, the addict, the protester, the black sheep of
the family, the counter-protester, the criminal, the atheist, the Russian—the
list is endless.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As endless as Christ’s unashamed love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Dear Christ,<br />Your example sometimes looks like losing, <br />Like humiliation, <br />Yet you are unashamed. <br />… <br />Ground us in the same love <br />In which you are grounded, <br />That we might bear unto others <br />Your unashamed care. <br />Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-90228524145757964142024-03-24T06:05:00.000-07:002024-03-24T06:05:47.031-07:00"The Stone That the Builders Rejected" (Mark 11:1-11)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Unseen Possibility
and Growth<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In fourth grade, my class read <i>The Secret Garden </i>together.
Everyday, we’d sit in a circle and the teacher would read several pages. It
became my favorite part of the school day, rivalling even recess. The thought
astonishes me today—that I would have been transfixed by the story of a garden.
Where I’m living now, there are a couple of raised beds in the backyard, but
I’ve left them untouched. Gardening is not a hobby that I’ve learned to enjoy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Why, I wonder, was I so fascinated by this book? I remember
that in the spring of my fourth-grade year, I was so inspired by the story,
that I asked for a little plot of the back yard in which to grow something. My
mom happily obliged. Day after day, I would wander by that patch of ground to
see if anything had happened. Slowly but surely, a plant did emerge. And not by
my power. I was hardly doing anything.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wonder, in fact, if that were not the root of my
fascination with <i>The Secret Garden</i>. Beneath the story of a garden, is
the story of unseen possibility and growth. Beneath the story of shrubs and
flowers, is the story of an unseen energy, an unseen spirit. The “secret
garden” becomes a metaphor for the secret power and possibility of love. Not
only do the plants in the garden grow, but the children in the story, who each
have a tragic background, come alive in a new way. The children come to refer
to the unseen energy and power of the garden as “magic.” But Mrs. Sowerby, a
motherly, salt-of-the-earth figure in the story, refers to it simply as “the
Good Thing.” <a name="_Hlk161652203">“I never knowed it by that name [magic]
but what does th’ name matter? I warrant they call it a different name i’
France an’ a different one i’ Germany. Th’ same thing as set th’ seeds swellin’
an’ th’ sun shinin’ made thee a well lad an’ it’s th’ Good Thing. It isn’t like
us poor fools as think it matters if us is called out of our names. Th’ Big Good
Thing doesn’t stop to worrit, bless thee. It goes on makin’ worlds by th’
million—worlds like us. Never thee stop believin’ in th’ Big Good Thing an’
knowin’ th’ world’s full of it.”</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“Save Us! … Give Us
Success!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture is a familiar one. We read the same story
every year on this Sunday, Palm Sunday. Jesus enters Jerusalem ahead of the
Passover festival, and a crowd lines the road and cheers him, with leafy
branches and shouts of praise. But the shouts of praise are interesting.
They’re not the spontaneous exclamations of inspired individuals. They are
quotations drawn from Israel’s prayerbook, the Psalms. In fact, it is quite
possible that they are sung, that the crowd are not just shouting their praise,
they’re singing it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The psalm that they are singing appears to be Psalm 118,
which in Jewish tradition is sung at the conclusion of the Passover meal. It
is, therefore, a song that would have been on the people’s mind as they prepare
for the Passover feast. Of course, it would have had a special meaning for the
followers of Jesus. “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”
would refer not to some nameless savior in the future, but to the man in front
their eyes, Jesus.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hosanna” means “save us, please.” It comes from the very
same root that Jesus’ name comes from. In the Hebrew, you can hear the resonance.
“Hoshi’a” and “Yeshua” (Jesus) come from the root word <i>yasha</i>, which
means “to save.” The crowd are calling for Jesus to do what his name says he
will do. In the song that they are singing (if it is indeed Psalm 118), the cry
for salvation is expanded into a plea for success: “Save us, we beseech you, O
Lord! O Lord, we beseech you, give us success!” (Ps 118:25). It’s a small
detail, maybe, but a significant one, in my thinking. Do we not often ourselves
conflate salvation with success, rescue with what we want? When the crowd moves
on to sing, “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David,” I hear
echoes of a tribal battle cry, a partisan proclamation, “Make us great again,
and our enemies small.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Just Resentments Waiting
to Happen<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The recovery community has a helpful adage, “Expectations
are just resentments waiting to happen.” To be clear, expectations are
different from hope. Hope is not so definite, so controlling. It does not
prescribe what happens next, but only trusts in the possibility of goodness,
the possibility of growth. In my view, the story of Palm Sunday is not about
hope, but about great expectations. Expectations that will be dashed and ground
to disappointment, expectations that will fester into resentment and resignation.
The crowd that cries, “Hosanna,” will in several days cry, “Crucify him.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It seems, in fact, that every expectation is reversed in
Holy Week. All of the kingly, messianic symbols sit askew on Jesus. He
processes in, not on a war horse, but on a beast of burden. He will wear not a
crown of jewels, but of a crown of thorns. People will proclaim him king
(“hail, king of the Jews!”), but in a mocking tone accompanied with spitting
and hitting. He will be high and lifted up, but on a cross. Most kingdoms begin
with the deaths of their enemies (as was the case in this nation), but his
kingdom will begin with the death of the king.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“Give Us Control”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There is an extremely prescient, prophetic line hidden in
Psalm 118, the song of praise that the crowd sings on Palm Sunday: “The stone
that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone” (Psalm 118:22). We’ve been talking this Lent
about the rejections that Jesus endures en route to the cross. Well, in a
single line, this song tells the story of our rejection of Jesus. The builders
have a plan. A blueprint. A vision for the building. They see a stone that
doesn’t fit, and so they throw it away. Reject it. And yet it is this very
stone that will become the cornerstone of their salvation.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I believe this single line tells a universal story. We
humans are like builders. Which means we have our plans, blueprints, tools. We
want to be in control. In control of ourselves, in control of others, in
control of the circumstances around us. Is this not the prayer we hear in Psalm
118? “O Lord, we beseech you, give us success!” Give us control.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Building Vs. Growing<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But as I ponder this line—“the stone that the builders
rejected has become the chief cornerstone”—as I turn it over in my heart, I
become aware of its oddity, its strangeness. When Jesus talks about the
kingdom, he uses a very different metaphor. He repeatedly talks about sowing
and growing. This agricultural metaphor harbors a host of suggestions about the
kingdom. Chief among them is the suggestion that we are not in control of the
kingdom. We are not its builders. We do not have the master plan. As Jesus says
in one of his parables, “[The farmer] would sleep and rise night and day, and
the seed would sprout and grow, <i>he does not know how</i>” (Mark 4:27).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Elsewhere Jesus talks about the kingdom as something we
receive, whether as little children who trustingly receive a gift from their
parent, or as a person who receives an invitation to enter a banquet. Again, it
is clear, the kingdom is not something we build. Rather, it is already here,
sometimes as small as a seed. Our duty is not to build it or construct it, but
to trust in its growth and to receive it as though it were already among us, as
Jesus says it is.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">What We Need:<br />
The Unseen Power of Love<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think back to how <i>The Secret Garden </i>captivated me
as a fourth grader. The secret, unseen energy and growth and possibility that
was bigger than me, bigger than my control, was not a threat but in fact good
news. It was, as Mrs. Sowerby called it, “the Big Good Thing.” The irony of
Palm Sunday is the irony that what we want is often the opposite of what we
need. We want control, we want to be builders. But the cornerstone of God’s
salvation is the opposite. It is trust and dependency, care and nurture. God is
love, not power.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For much of Lent, I’ve referred to Jesus’ brokenness, which,
admittedly, can risk giving the wrong impression. I do not think Jesus is helpless.
Rather I think Jesus is infinitely helped by the Spirit of God who dwells
within him. I think Jesus’ brokenness is in fact his greatest strength. I think
it shows us a very different kind of power than the one we want, than the one
that we cry for when we cry, “O Lord, we beseech you, give us success!” Jesus’
brokenness is the poverty of spirit, the need, that draws him into the care and
nurture of God, which is the Big Good Thing, the unseen energy and growth and
possibility that brings life from death, that turns a single grain of wheat
into much fruit, that renews the face of creation.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the Lenten Bible Study small group, we talked recently
about the symbolic significance of gardens in the Bible. Whatever else they
are, they are also reminders of that original goodness and intimacy that we
humans enjoyed with God. Is it a coincidence that Jesus’ metaphors of seeds and
growth present God’s kingdom as a garden?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This Palm Sunday, as Jesus enters Jerusalem and the crowd
dreams of control and fantasizes about its blueprints for success finally
realized, I’m thinking it may be worthwhile for me to pause and ponder the
difference between what I want and what I need. It may be worthwhile to ponder
how Jesus disappoints my expectations, how my expectations may even become
resentments and resignation. But if I ponder this, I hope I do not stop there.
For the good news is that the stone I reject, is in fact my salvation. This
seemingly powerless man Jesus, in fact bears witness to an extraordinary power,
the Big Good Thing. I may take a page from Jesus’ book, and look for God’s
kingdom right here, not as something I build, but as seeds growing by the
unseen power of love. As the child Mary declares in <i>The Secret Garden</i>,
and I think she’s onto the gospel of God’s love here—“If you look the right
way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Dear Christ,<br />Sometimes we look toward you <br />With great expectations <br />Instead of with hope <br />… <br />This Palm Sunday, <br />Help us to distinguish<br />Between our wants and needs. <br />Help us to relinquish our blueprints <br />And instead to marvel <br />At the growth in our midst, <br />At the Big Good Thing of love, <br />Fallen like a grain of wheat <br />And bearing much fruit. <br />Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-40126571115971109892024-03-17T06:42:00.000-07:002024-03-17T06:42:14.386-07:00"For This Reason I Have Come" (John 12:20-33)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Glory<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A couple of weeks ago, I got a phone call from my brother.
Well, really, it was from my nephew, Nathan, whose voice interrupted my brother’s
with an enthusiastic announcement. “Hey Uncle Jonny. Did you know that
Liverpool plays tomorrow? If they win, they will be in <i>first place</i>. But
if they lose and Arsenal wins, then they will be in second place. We hope they
win! We want to be in first place, not Arsenal.” It is immensely gratifying—more
gratifying than I would have expected—to have my nephew Nathan share this sports
passion of mine for Liverpool.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A few months ago, Nathan knew nothing about soccer. Then,
something sparked, and he has suddenly become a sponge for our family pastime.
He’s always asking questions about the teams, the players, the rules of the
game. My brother tells me that every morning he asks to see a schedule of the matches
being played that day. He even knows the names of clubs in the lower divisions—the
minor league teams, so to speak. “<i>Shrews</i>bury”—he said to me once, out of
nowhere, referring to an obscure team in the third division. “<i>That’s</i> a
funny name!”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Where did this sudden fascination with soccer and Liverpool
come from? My brother and I have always had Liverpool games on the TV. Why did
Nathan so abruptly sit up and take notice of this family interest <i>now</i>? I
can’t know for certain, but I think it has to do with his beginning to grasp
the idea of competition, of winning and losing. Games like <i>Chutes and
Ladders </i>and <i>Connect Four</i> have taught him that it is fun to win. It
feels good to come in first. Now that he is oriented toward the basics of
competition, he can appreciate what’s going on in a soccer game, in a league.
He has begun to identify with a team, and he wants them to be champions,
because he wants to be a champion.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All of this is to say, Nathan has not only been learning
about soccer. He has been learning about the meaning of glory. He has been
learning the traditional values of the world, whether we’re talking about
sports or politics or the job world. Glory is the synonym that ties together
all the things we desire: ability, achievement, recognition, winning, strength,
success.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Glory.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Theology of Glory<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When Martin Luther issued his criticisms of the church in
the early 1500s—jumpstarting the Reformation, from which our own tradition
would eventually emerge—he seized particularly on this word: glory. He said
that the church had confused glory with God. Which is to say, the church
confused success, size, prosperity, power, winning and so on, with God. It
viewed the world in the simplistic terms of good-things-as-rewards and bad-things-as-punishment.
If good things happened, it meant God was with you and rewarding you for your
virtue. If bad things happened, it meant God was not with you and punishing you
for your sins.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He called this way of thinking and looking at the world, a
“theology of glory.” A theology of glory has to have victory at the finish
line. So it tends to dismiss pain and difficulty and look instead to what
purpose they might serve. When something bad happens, a theology of glory will rationalize
it as a means to a glorious end. A bad thing becomes a lesson from which we
learn or an experience that toughens us up. “What doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger” is part of a theology of glory.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In contrast to this theology of glory, Martin Luther held up
what he called a “theology of the cross.” In a theology of the cross, God is
not confused with success. Rather, God is the free gift of love, which sometimes
meets with great suffering. Luther did not see the cross as a gruesome means to
a glorious end, as a transaction by which Christ paid for our entry into
heaven. Luther saw the cross as a show of love. A theology of glory says that
God must have a card up his sleeve when he goes to the cross. Luther says, No.
Love does not have a card up its sleeve. It’s not a trick or a transaction. It
is a good thing, in and of itself, even when it meets with the worst thing in
the world. </p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Redefining Glory: <br />
The Glory of God<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In our scripture today, Jesus has reached Jerusalem, and
anticipation is building. News of Jesus’ teaching and healing has spread to the
point that even Greeks—outsiders—have journeyed to Jerusalem. They implore
Philip in today’s scripture, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” (John 12:20). People
want to see Jesus. They want to see with their own eyes what he’s all about.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What Jesus is all about—well, that’s something Jesus himself
ruminates on in today’s scripture. He refers repeatedly to “<i>the hour</i>
[that] has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” (John 12:23; cf. John
12:27-28). But he’s not anticipating a victory or a triumph, not in the
traditional sense. He’s not anticipating the glory that the crowds are hoping
to see.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“My soul is troubled,” he says (John 12:27). He is wrestling
with himself: “What should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is <i>for
this reason </i>that I have come to this hour” (John 12:27). Jesus affirms the
cross. He says “Yes” to it. Not as a means to an end. Not as a transaction. But
as the reason itself that he is here. The cross is the glory of God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Cross<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s very easy, and very tempting, to look beyond the cross,
to look for resurrection. Jesus himself talks about a grain of wheat, and how
it must die in order to bear much fruit (John 12:24). Ah!—we might think. The
card up his sleeve. This is what it’s all about. His death is really a detour
to a greater destination. A stepping stone to a glorious end.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t mean to challenge the promise of resurrection, not
at all. But I do want to point out that Jesus anticipates “the hour…for the Son
of Man to be glorified” not as the moment of resurrection, but as the moment of
crucifixion. I want to point out that “the judgment of this world,” of which he
speaks, when “the ruler of this world will be driven out,” is not identified
with the moment of resurrection, but with the moment of crucifixion. Something
happens on the cross that is valuable in itself, that is in fact more valuable
than anything else. Resurrection may be an outgrowth of the cross, just as a
seed gives root and grows, but the cross is the thing. The reason Jesus has
come. The judgment of the world. The driving out of the devil. The glory of
God. It’s all in the cross.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Moment of Truth<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus’ repeated references to “the hour” toward which he has
come and his mention of “the judgment of this world” lead me to think about the
cross as “a moment of truth.” A moment of truth is a pivotal event, a “crucial”
event, at which point something is revealed and also something must be decided.
What is revealed on the cross is God’s love. What must be decided for all who
have gathered to see what Christ is all about, is, “Do I trust in this love
that has ended up on a cross?” What must be decided is, “Is this a moment of
victory, or a defeat? Is this a moment of glory, or shame and disgrace?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One of the earliest artistic representations of the
crucifixion is a piece of Roman graffiti. (See <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexamenos_graffito#/media/File:AlexGraffito.svg">here</a>.)
It depicts a man with a donkey’s head on a cross, and the inscription,
“Alexamenos worships [his] God.” Needless to say, the graffiti artist has made
his decision about the cross. It is a shameful, mockable defeat. A God who
dies? A joke. People who worship him? Losers. There, in the heart of Rome, the
center of power, the graffiti artist shakes his head and thinks, Pitiful. Could
you get any further away from the idea of glory?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Again, the temptation is to jump to what we as readers long
familiar with the story already know, which is the resurrection. It is tempting
for us, in turn, to mock this graffiti artist, to say, “A-ha! But we know
something you don’t.” It is tempting to make our judgment based on what happens
next, to treat the cross as a means to an end, as a temporary stopover en route
to a glorious eternal destination. But this is not the way that Jesus sees
things. For Jesus, the cross is the reason he’s here, the hour of glory, the
victory over the devil. The thing itself. It is confounding. It sounds like
foolishness and weakness to the world, who checks the scores each morning to
see who won, the papers to see who’s leading in the polls, and the stock market
to see who’s ahead.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Glory of the
Cross<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And yet to us, the cross is good news. Our faith is not
based on a miracle that decides matters for us. It is based on our own decision
that this love, exemplified in Christ on the cross, is worth it. It is based on
a very different understanding of glory—not success, but steadfast love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have a friend who is going through a difficult divorce in
the wake of a grand deception that is only now coming to full light. I see in
her situation the glory of the cross, a dogged faith that love is worth it even
when it meets with pain and difficulty.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have another friend in the hospital who is suffering from
a disease that the doctors cannot explain. I see in his situation the glory of
the cross, a determination to bear love to his family and others even though it
does not bring an ounce of physical relief.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think of all of us in times of loss and grief, and I see
the glory of the cross. To put it plainly, I see the victory of love. In our
gratitude for the gift of another’s life. In the care we show for one another.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We haven’t made it to Easter yet, so I’m hesitant to say
much about resurrection. But I think in light of this difficult glory, it’s
worth saying this. For Jesus, the resurrection was not a victory dance. He did
not parade himself in front of his doubters, in front of the religious leaders,
in front of the future graffiti artists who would mock him. If they couldn’t
see his glory on the cross, they wouldn’t see it properly in his resurrection
either. For Jesus, the glory of the resurrection is one and same with the glory
of the crucifixion. It is cut of the exact same fabric—namely, love. The glory
of love is the same on the cross as it is on Easter morning. It is the glory of
a love no matter what. Its no-matter-whatness is what is stronger than death.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The followers of Jesus who trusted in this love, saw it in
both places: the crucifixion and the resurrection.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Dear Christ,<br />We have at various points <br />Tasted the glory of this world, <br />Success, achievement, wealth— <br />And it does not satisfy. <br />We are hungry and thirsty <br />For something else. <br />… <br />Give us eyes to see the cross <br />As the victory of your love, <br />And hearts to trust in the goodness of your way, <br />Even when it is hard and narrow. <br />Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-53687512334128859762024-03-10T07:14:00.000-07:002024-03-10T07:14:36.880-07:00"Lifted Up" (John 3:14-21)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Tales of Denial<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture reminds me of a comical sketch in a
popular TV sitcom.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the beginning of the episode, two characters who are in a
relationship are faced with a significant decision, one that neither of them
wants to face. (To be honest, I can’t remember what the decision is! Maybe it
was about a pregnancy or a career change.) From one scene to the next, we find them
avoiding the one conversation they need to have. Instead, they’re munching on
chips. Grabbing a snack from the refrigerator. Ordering a basket of fries at
the restaurant. Each scene makes evident that the characters are getting
bigger…and bigger…and bigger. Exaggeratedly so.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Toward the end of the episode, when they cannot avoid
noticing their mushrooming waistlines, they accept that they have a problem. But
even then, they misdiagnose it. They think they have an eating problem, when in
fact their eating is merely a symptom of their denial, a coping mechanism to
help them avoid a painful conversation. In fact, it will take them several more
episodes to acknowledge and address the deeper issue.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While I might chuckle at the humor of this scenario, there’s
a part of me that squirms. Who among us does <i>not</i> know this pattern of
events, this avoidance or denial, this rejection of a painful reality? Not
studying for a test because of the anxiety it arouses. Putting off a doctor’s
visit for fear of what might be found. Staying late at work to avoid an
uncomfortable conversation at home.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Israelites’
Denial<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When the Israelites were in the wilderness, they did not
have the luxury of surplus food. They could not eat away their stress. But
their anxieties and their fears find another outlet. Impatience and negative
chatter. They reject the hardship of their reality by complaining about it.
Instead of being honest about their deepest doubts and fears, they are
embittered and hard-hearted, closed and guarded. In today’s Old Testament
scripture, their words are not an open-hearted prayer but a closed-minded
prosecution. “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?
For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food” (Num
21:5). The people emphatically reject their painful reality, denying that it
should be so, avoiding its implications of the need for help and trust. As in
the sitcom scenario, they misdiagnose their problem. They say it’s a matter of
food. The truth is, it’s a matter of fear. They are afraid they will never make
it out of the wilderness. They’re not sure they really trust in God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What happens next is an episode that requires careful
interpretation. Scripture says, “The Lord sent poisonous serpents among the
people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died” (Num 21:6). This
chain of events seems simple enough, right? The Israelites complained, and God
punished them. But the God whom Jesus reveals, of whom Jesus is the very image,
is a God of mercy, not punishment. (“God did not send the Son into the world to
condemn the world” but to save it, as our gospel text says today.) It helps, I
think, to appreciate that the idea of punishment in the Old Testament is less the
idea of an authority punishing a person for their misdeeds, and more the idea
of a natural consequence for a person’s actions. Sometimes, the Old Testament
will say God “visits” a person’s sins “upon them”—which is to say, the person
experiences the natural consequences of their actions. In this case, the
Israelites’ rejection of their painful reality, their avoidance and denial, makes
them vulnerable to a painful reality. (It’s sort of like when we deny a
problem, and it only gets bigger and bigger, until we can’t avoid it.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What is instructive to me about God in this wilderness
episode, is not the idea that God sent poisonous serpents among the people, but
what happens next. When the people cry out that they have sinned and Moses
prays to God, God responds with mercy, with healing. When the people get honest
about their painful reality, God brings healing.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Problem Becomes
the Cure<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now, God’s deliverance in this episode is…<i>strange</i>.
God instructs Moses to make a bronze serpent and lift it up high on a pole.
Everyone who has suffered a snakebite may then look at it and live (Num 21:8).
Again, we could interpret this rather literally, as though it depicted some
form of ancient magic. But I think we would be missing the deeper point. Readers
have long pondered a remarkable resemblance in this scene. Snakes are the
problem; and a snake is what brings healing. The problem becomes the cure.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Readers in the medical field have observed that this resembles
the practice of homeopathy, or curing “like with like”—that is, treating a
disease with a substance that elicits similar symptoms. Vaccines are
technically not homeopathic, but practically speaking they function in a
similar way. They imitate an infection (which is why you might feel a bit tired
or sore after getting a vaccine) in order to engage and boost the body’s immune
system. To put this otherwise, they force the body to get honest about the
effects of the disease, so that it might be prepared and protected against
future occasions. The problem becomes the cure.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“May Not Perish but
Have Eternal Life”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In case you were wondering if I would ever get to <i>our</i>
scripture today in the gospel of John, well, I’m finally there. You probably
recognized in our scripture reading earlier one of the Bible’s most well-known
verses, John 3:16. As a child, this was one of the first verses I memorized. I
learned that it was effectively the promise of salvation. Which it <i>is</i>!
I’m not about to contradict that claim. But the picture of salvation that I was
largely taught, was the picture of a future destination, of an <i>escape</i>
(one might even say, of a denial). This verse was about getting my ticket
punched. Salvation was in the afterlife, not this life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But that picture of salvation is very limited. It’s
one-dimensional. The scripture itself presents a much richer picture of
salvation, one that has to do with taking responsibility and receiving healing,
here, now. It all starts with the verses that precede John 3:16. “Just as Moses
lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up,
that whoever believes [trusts] in him may have eternal life [the life of the
ages, the life where you’re really living]” (John 3:14-15). “<i>Just as</i>
Moses lifted up the serpent….” In other words, Jesus is comparing what will
happen on the cross directly with what happens in the wilderness scene. He’s
saying it’s the same phenomenon.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just as Israel was invited to look upon its own sin, its own
painful reality, in the form of that bronze serpent lifted up, so the world is
invited to look upon its sin in Jesus on the cross. Jesus on the cross holds a
mirror to the brokenness of the world. The violence of the cross reflects the
violence of the world. Distrust, fear, hate, greed, impatience, the desire for
control—violence is their end. We see all these diseased patterns of thinking in
the violence of the cross.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Best Way Out Is
Through<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This Lent we have been exploring the rejections that Jesus
endures en route to the cross. Today’s scripture reveals that the rejection of
Jesus is in fact an act of denial or avoidance of our own painful realities.
The serpent on the pole, Jesus on the cross—they are held up that we might
acknowledge our hurt and the ways we hurt others. Only when we accept our painful
reality and our sin, only when we expose our wounds, can they be healed. And
that’s precisely what Jesus promises in today’s scripture. The problem becomes
the cure. When we look upon the cross and see our sin and finally acknowledge
the hurt we have been avoiding or denying, there suddenly appears an opening
for God’s healing love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Robert Frost once wrote in a poem, “The best way out is
always through,” which I think echoes the salvation of the cross. Trusting in
Jesus is not the salvation of an escape, of going around. It involves
acknowledging and taking responsibility for our painful realities and trusting
that in so doing God’s love will heal us. The problem becomes the cure.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another way I’ve heard it put, is, “What you resist,
persists.” What we avoid or deny or run away from, will linger and fester and
persist. But when we accept a painful reality, we open ourselves up to the
possibility of transformation. The problem becomes the cure.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Getting Honest<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The history of our faith is rich with spiritual practices
for getting honest. The Catholic tradition has confession. Twelve-step recovery
has checking in with a sponsor. There is a prayer called the Examen, which some
people pray daily or weekly, which involves recalling both helpful and hurtful
moments in the recent past and inviting God’s guidance and care in navigating
them. And then there are a host of informal practices, such as journaling or
visiting with a spiritual mentor or just calling a friend. The important thing
is not the precise form of any one practice, but the getting honest that
happens in them.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The paradox of salvation is that we really don’t <i>do</i>
anything in the first step. We just get honest, which is a way of opening
ourselves up to God’s healing love, which is always there. The desert fathers
and mothers observed that the moment they confessed a struggle, the moment they
got honest, the burden of the struggle was lightened. Maybe it was still there,
but it was bearable now. In the acceptance they found from God and others, they
felt relieved. They also often found that further guidance and support would be
received in due time when they needed it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The story of the bronze serpent in the wilderness is <i>weird
</i>and unforgettable. And I’m grateful for that. Because now when I hear John
3:16, I do not hear the promise of an escape. I hear the promise of a richer
salvation, the promise of life <i>now</i>. I hear the hard invitation to get
honest and the gentle assurance that God’s love is always here to help.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Dear Christ,<br />Who comes not to condemn, <br />But to deliver us who stand condemned already <br />By the things we avoid or deny <br />… <br />Grant us the courage <br />To look upon your cross <br />And acknowledge our sin <br />And our painful realities, <br />So that we might know your love <br />Where we need it most, <br />And so that we might bear witness <br />To the good news of your healing. <br />Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-53265170265738788142024-03-03T05:44:00.000-08:002024-03-03T05:44:38.244-08:00"What Sign Will You Show Us?" (John 2:13-22)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">What Is a Sign?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What is a sign? The answer may seem obvious, but it’s a
question worth revisiting.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s say we’re driving on the road, looking for a
particular place. We see in the distance, mounted on a pole, a large board with
words on it. Do we judge the board on how high it stands? Or what material it
is constructed from? Do we judge it according to its craftmanship, its
neatness? Is the board itself our concern? Or are we more interested in what
the board tells us? Do we pay attention instead to the words on the board? If
we’re looking for a particular place, if we are not where we want to be, then
no matter how glorious a board may look, it is useless if it does not point us
somewhere, if it does not guide us in the right direction.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Or those of you who have been married and who wear a ring on
your finger, consider your ring as a sign. What is its significance to you? Are
you most concerned with the material of the ring—silver, gold, a precious stone
set within it? Are you most concerned with how it looks in and of itself? Does
its value consist in its costliness or its elegance? Or does it have a deeper
value? I remember as a child learning that the significance of a ring was not
its material but its shape. It is a circle. Eternal. Sure, we get caught up
sometimes in the material of it, but its real value, what is <i>signifies</i>, has
nothing to do with the material. The ring could be pure gold or it could be
wood, but it would ultimately mean the same thing.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To answer the question, then: a sign signifies. What matters
is not the material of the sign, but the meaning of it. To fixate on the
material of the sign, would be like looking only at the finger and not paying
attention to where it is pointing.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“What Sign Can You
Show Us?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture is a familiar scene: Jesus overturning the
moneychangers’ tables in the Temple. The other gospels place this scene right
before Jesus’ crucifixion. John, however, places it earlier in the timeline, a
year or so before Jesus’ death. It is possible it happened both times. But it is
equally possible that it happened once and the gospels have remembered the
event a little bit differently, in the same way that several family members might
remember a cherished moment differently. The differences in memory here are a
not a conflict that need to be reconciled but are rather distinctions in
meaning. Each family member remembers the event in a unique way that captures
the event’s meaning for them.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For John, Jesus’ table-turning demonstration in the Temple is
a sign that the religious leaders miss. John’s gospel is the only one that
gives a voice to the religious leaders in this scene. Jesus declares, as he is
driving out the money-changers and their animals, “Stop making my Father’s
house a marketplace!” The religious leaders respond, “What <i>sign</i> can you
show us for doing this?” (John 2:18).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The gospel of John is fascinated with signs. Many readers
have noticed that John identifies a handful of Jesus’ miracles as signs. In
fact, there are six miracles that John designates as “signs.” Six is so close
to seven—and seven is a sacred number (symbolic of the seven days of creation)—that
some readers have speculated that there are actually seven signs in John, and
one of them simply did not receive the formal designation.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In any case, today’s scene in the Temple raises the question
of the meaning of these signs. When the religious leaders demand a sign from
Jesus, saying, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” they seem to be
asking for a miracle. Which is to say, a demonstration of power. What Jesus has
just done does not seem right in their eyes, <i>but</i> if he has the might to
back it up, if he can prove his power, then they will perhaps change their
minds. Their thinking is a reflection of the cliché, might makes right.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Neither Miracles Nor Calculations:<br />
Christ Crucified<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In our other New Testament lectionary text today, we find
Paul talking about perhaps the greatest sign or symbol of our faith, the cross.
He says, “Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ
crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Cor
1:22-23). Paul is painting with a broad brush here. He’s not talking about the
essentials of Judaism or Greek culture, but about two basic ways of living in
the world. The “Jews” who “demand signs” represent a religious orientation that
focuses on power—that is, miracles, <i>signs</i>. The “Greeks” who “desire
wisdom” represent a worldly orientation that focuses on wisdom—that is, good
sense, logic. If you would permit a paraphrase, here’s how I would put what
Paul is saying when he says, “Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom.”
“Religious people demand miracles, mighty deeds that prove their point; and
people of the world desire spreadsheets and sound calculations, evidence to
back up their decisions; but we proclaim love crucified, which is nonsense to
the religious people demanding miracles, and bad sense to the worldly people
desiring a profitable bottom line.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Have you ever wondered why Paul proclaims Christ crucified
and not Christ resurrected? Or why at the Lord’s Table—“as often as we eat this
bread and drink the cup, we proclaim the Lord’s death” and not his resurrection
(1 Cor 11:26)? Doesn’t that seem a little odd?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t know for certain, but I think Paul highlights the
cross because as a <i>sign</i>, it signifies so much more about God’s love than
the resurrection alone. If all we did was proclaim the resurrection, or if all
we did was talk about the signs of Jesus in terms of his power and might, as
though the healings and feeding of the thousands had to do with a demonstration
of his godly strength, then we would miss out on the good news completely. It
would be like looking at a sign and marveling at its height and craftsmanship,
or looking at a ring and thinking its significance consisted in its material
value, or fixating on a pointed finger and not looking toward where it’s
pointing. I think Paul proclaims the cross because there’s no mistaking its
significance. The cross does not show us power or wisdom, not by the world’s
standards. It only shows us one thing: God’s love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Lenten Bible Study group is reading a book about the
seven last words that Jesus utters from the cross. Susan Robb, the author,
points out that Jesus’ final words on the cross exemplify the compassion,
forgiveness, and love that Jesus showed people throughout his life. In a way,
the cross highlights those qualities. It lifts them up and makes them
unmistakable. It’s one thing to love others when life is going well. It’s quite
another to do that in the midst of cruelty, in the midst of one’s own certain death.
As a sign, the cross shows us more than anything else who God is. Not power.
Not logic or common sense. But love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Only a Sign of Love<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This Lent we’re focusing on the rejections that Jesus
endures en route to the cross, and how these rejections effectively present us
with a learning opportunity. (That is what it means to be a disciple, by the
way. “Disciple” simply means “learner.”) The rejections that we read about are moments
of decision at which we all find ourselves from time to time. Like the
religious leaders in the Temple, we might cock an eyebrow at Jesus’ crazy
behavior, such as loving enemies or turning the other cheek or forgiving again
and again without end. “Yes, but what sign can you show us,” we might ask, “that
all of this isn’t just nonsense, that in the end you’re gonna trounce the bad
guys and we will be mightily rewarded?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In today’s scripture, the religious leaders at the Temple
effectively reject Jesus because instead of seeing Jesus’ signs for their
deeper meaning, they’re looking only at the surface. They’re looking at how
high the billboard is, or how expensive the ring is, rather than considering
what it <i>means</i>, what it <i>points toward</i>. I think this is why, when
they ask for a sign, Jesus does not try to gratify them. He does not point
toward the miracles. He does not say, “Haven’t you heard about what I did at
the wedding at Cana?” Or, “Just follow me for a few days and witness the
healings.” If they’re only looking for power, they will misread these signs.
They will not see beyond their surface. They will see a powerful man instead a
loving man. So instead, Jesus responds cryptically with a reference to the
ultimate sign: his crucifixion and resurrection.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Granted, the resurrection of a dead body may seem like
precisely the kind of sign that the religious leaders would appreciate. That’s
a miracle! That’s real power! But the curious thing about the resurrection, is
that only Jesus’ followers see the resurrected Jesus. Jesus does not parade his
resurrected boy in front of the religious leaders, or those who were looking
for a sign of power. Only the people who experience the crucifixion, only the
people who see in the crucifixion the <i>depths</i> of God’s love, see its
heights as well.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What sign can you show us…?” the religious leaders ask
(John 2:18). Perhaps we ask the same thing from time to time, looking for a
show of God’s power, for certainty that will dissolve our doubts. But instead
all we get is love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s a little bit like the rings some of us wear, if we
could go back to them for a moment. When wedding vows are made, they are not
made because the two parties have run all the calculations and determined with
absolute certainty what will be, or because one person has absolute control over
the other and rests assured of a profitable arrangement. (Either of these
theoretical circumstances would make a mockery of the marriage, making it a
matter of spreadsheets or cold, callous control.) The vows are made not with
knowledge of what is to come, not with control over the future. They are made only
with love, which is quite vulnerable, which has no guarantees of what is to
come. “In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health…” Or as we could
perhaps imagine Jesus saying, “In grateful companionship around the table and
on a hateful cross…I will love and honor you.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The signs of Christ, of which the cross is the greatest, are
not demonstrations of power or proof of a good investment. They are pointers
toward what matters most: God’s love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Dear Christ,<br />Who points us toward God’s love— <br />We see in our world your many signs: <br />Moments of healing, <br />Moments when our hunger is nourished, <br />Moments when the water of ordinary life <br />Is transformed into the wine of the kingdom, <br />Moments of love amid great suffering, <br />When life feels like a cross <br />… <br />Help us to accept these signs <br />Not as proof of power, or certainty of control, <br />But as reminders of what matters, <br />Your great love for us, your children… <br />So that we might not proclaim the signs alone, <br />But the good news toward which they point. <br />Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-55115988599986784322024-02-25T06:29:00.000-08:002024-02-25T06:29:55.230-08:00Rejected from Within (Mark 8:31-38)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Losing the Crutch<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My friend Bill describes it as the worst day in his life…and
the best day in his life. When he came home from work, his wife was standing in
the doorway with a lost look on her face, looking at him as though at a
stranger. Bill knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. He asked what
had happened, but his wife merely shook her head. As he entered the kitchen, he
saw on the table a stash of drugs. His drugs. Things he had never meant for
anyone else to see.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That day was his “rock bottom.” It felt like the end, but in
truth it was the beginning. He felt like he would lose everything, but in fact
he would start living. The funny thing about addiction is that the addictive
substance or behavior is used as a crutch to keep going, to hold everything
together. It is a survival tactic. It is meant for self-preservation in the
face of what seems otherwise unbearable. For Bill, his addictive behavior was
what seemed to hold everything together. When it was discovered, it felt like
everything would fall apart.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Addiction is a loaded word and means many things to many
people. I use it in a spiritual sense. I think we are all “addicted” in a
spiritual sense. Which is to say, we all have a habit of becoming excessively
attached to things: relationships, jobs, political agendas, our appearance, the
next shiny toy, and so on. We might not have a “rock bottom” in the sense that
my friend Bill had one, but if we listen closely to our lives I would suspect
we can find similar experiences.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For example, no one looks forward to losing their job or to
losing a relationship, and yet I’ve heard countless stories of personal renewal
in the loss of these very things. It seems to me that a job or a
relationship—or any other attachment—can begin to feel like the thing that
holds everything else together. A person can become fixated on maintaining it
for the sake of self-preservation. It becomes the crutch they walk with. The
irony is, in seeking to save the thing—a job, a relationship—a person actually
begins to forfeit their life. The divine flame within is slowly extinguished as
they compromise their calling, their joy, that thing that made them smile as a
child, just to keep everything together. For Bill, this was certainly true. The
drug that had become his crutch was the very thing taking him away from his
wife, his daughter, the life-giving pursuits that had once been his calling and
given him joy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But then the thing is lost—whatever the crutch is—and
everything falls apart. And the surprise is, the falling apart is a good thing.
With no crutch, we are free. There is suddenly a world of possibility, an
opportunity to be faithful again to who God called us to be. The end is
actually a beginning. The loss is actually a gain. What seemed the worst day in
our life may actually be the best day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Jesus Rejected by His
Own<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today is the second Sunday in Lent, the season when we
follow Jesus to the cross. This year, we are focusing on the various rejections
that Jesus encounters on his way to the cross. As I hope will become clear,
these rejections are not just a dramatic flourish in the story, something meant
to heighten our sympathy for Jesus and inflame our dislike for his opponents. Rather,
these rejections reflect an attitude or orientation that we all assume from
time to time. These rejections reflect a way of living that is distrustful of
God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Last week, we read about the first rejection Jesus
encounters, and it was from within. Alone in the wilderness, he heard the voice
of Satan, a voice of rejection, a voice that said he was not enough, a voice
that told him to prove himself.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There’s a curious pattern developing, because today Jesus
encounters further rejection <i>from within</i>. Not within his heart, but within
his religious tradition and his inner circle. In today’s scripture, we actually
read about two rejections. First, Jesus anticipates his rejection at the hands
of the religious leaders, in which he will suffer and ultimately be killed
(Mark 8:31). Immediately after Jesus says this, Peter takes him aside and
begins to “rebuke” him (Mark 8:32). Which is to say, <i>Peter</i> rejects Jesus.
He rejects the script Jesus is following. Peter is expecting a conquering
messiah, not a suffering one.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wonder if these rejections from within are related to the
self-preservation tactics of our addicted minds. In other words, I wonder if
the Jewish leaders and Peter both are attached to the idea of power, to the
idea of making Israel great again so that it can be freed from Roman
occupation. They are inclined to reject Jesus because his way of living threatens
their national interests and ultimately triumph over their enemies. “The first
shall be last” (Matt 19:30)? “Whoever wishes to be great…must be your servant”
(Mark 10:43)? “Unless you change and become like children…” (Matt 18:3)? “Love
your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you” (Luke
6:27-28)? What kind of agenda, what kind of battle plan is this?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Self-Denial, the
Cross, and Losing One’s Life<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the religious leaders and for Peter, power is the drug,
the crutch, the thing that’s holding everything together. It’s their survival
tactic. And I think it’s what Jesus has in mind when he delivers his contrary
proclamation, “For those who want to save their life will lose it” (Mark 8:35).
My friend Bill thought that his drug, his crutch, was the one thing keeping his
life together, just as all of us commonly attach to one thing or another,
thinking it will save our lives. But the truth is often the opposite: in our
aim for self-preservation, for saving our lives, we slowly compromise them, and
the divine flame within grows dimmer and dimmer. We see this all too commonly
on the institutional level as well, where an original mission—whether it is
hospitals meant to care for the sick or educational programs meant to inspire
and edify all children—is slowly obscured by the “needs” of the institution. In
order to preserve itself and to “grow,” it focuses less and less on the
original mission, and more and more on money and membership, power and
prestige.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Instead, Jesus calls his followers to “deny themselves” and
to “take up their cross” and to “lose their life for my sake and the sake of
the gospel” (Mark 8:34-35). Now I’ll admit, that is some heavy language. Some
people have interpreted it rather literally as self-hatred and worthlessness.
Some people have used it to beat up on themselves and on others. But knowing
Jesus, I don’t think this is at all his intention. I think these are strong
words meant to kick out the crutch, to pry us loose from the attachments that
slowly extinguish the divine flame within. To deny self is to let go of the
crutch we think is holding everything together. To take up the cross is to hit
the rock bottom of powerlessness, where we finally acknowledge that we are not
in control. It is simultaneously the end and the beginning. Instead of trying
to preserve ourselves, we open ourselves up to the good news—a kingdom of love
and abundant life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our Old Testament scripture today is Abraham’s covenant with
God. It reminds me that Abraham, in his own way, denies himself and takes up the
cross. He leaves behind his family and all that he knows. His journey begins
with a great loss. But this loss is in fact a great gain, for he becomes a
blessing for all the families of the world (cf. Gen 12:3). His self-denial is
ultimately not a rejection of himself but an opening up of himself, a turning
toward others. The cross is not the end but the beginning.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">To the Church<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus invites all of us to let go of the way things are, to
let go of the crutch that seems to be holding everything together. It is a
message worth hearing every day on a personal level.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yet his invitation comes immediately in the wake of being
rejected by his own—his own religious tradition and his own right-hand man,
Peter. So I think it is at least worth pondering how Jesus’ words apply to his
own today, which is to say, to the church. (And I speak here not of our church
specifically, but of the church at large, what some would call the big-C
“Church.”)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There’s been a lot of hand-wringing and hair-pulling over
what seems an inevitable decline in the church. I wonder, however, if the
decline might not also be a blessing in disguise. A rock bottom, of sorts. Could
it be that church has become so fixated on self-preservation (“How do we save
the church?” “How do we attract more members?”) that its own flame has been
obscured and has grown dimmer and dimmer? Could the loss of the institution be,
in fact, the recovery of the soul? Could the end be the beginning? Could the
church let go of its attachment to power and prestige, and in its place rediscover
the simple joy of sharing a life of faith together?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One historical tidbit that fascinates me, is that in the
first four centuries of the church, during which countless theological
treatises and essays were written, there is not a single discourse about church
growth or methods of evangelism. The early church, even as it was persecuted,
was not worried about preserving itself or growing. It was focused on being
faithful, not successful, on being the body of Christ in its own small way, its
participants living out their calls faithfully and in companionship with one
another.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is just off-the-cuff speculation, but I have a hunch
that what right now seems to be the worst day in the life of the church, might
in fact be the best. It profits the church not one bit to gain the whole world,
to have filled sanctuaries and cultural domination, if its honest and simple
witness is forfeited.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Worrying about church growth and strategizing how to win
people back, may be a crutch by which the church is trying hold everything
together. And losing the crutch and having everything fall apart…might not be
so bad, if on the other side there is a return to what Therese of Lisieux
called “the little way” of faith, the way of “where two or three are gathered,”
the way of “unless you turn and become like little children,” the way of love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Dear Christ,<br />Whose love unsettles <br />Our attempts as self-preservation <br />… <br />Teach us the good news <br />Of “rock bottoms,” <br />Of losing control. <br />We trust that your love has the power <br />To turn endings into beginnings <br />And loss into new life. <br />Help us to let go <br />Where we need to let go, <br />And to trust <br />Where we need to trust. <br />Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-56216368929717702282024-02-18T06:35:00.000-08:002024-02-18T06:35:55.483-08:00"The Voice Within" (Mark 1:9-15)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“You Are Not Enough”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Today, you will eat clean, healthy foods.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re the only one who thinks about food this much,
you…freak.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“[This isn’t] particularly hard to do. Other people don’t
need this kind of hand-holding.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re such a loser!”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These are but a few snippets of the hateful self-talk that
plagues Sheila, played by Rose Byrne in the Apple +TV series <i>Physical</i>.
Set in the early 1980s, <i>Physical</i> revolves around Sheila’s struggle with
an eating disorder. As a middle-aged housewife who is disenchanted with a life
in which she seems to have little agency, Sheila seeks salvation in attaining
the perfect body.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I haven’t watched more than a few clips of the show but
enough to appreciate what makes it relatively unique in the world of television.
Not only do you see and hear the show’s characters as they interact, but you
also hear the inner monologue that torments Sheila. Sometimes people refer to
emotional struggles and addictions as our “inner demons.” This show gives
Sheila’s inner demon a voice. And it is a voice of rejection.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m no psychologist, but judging by the show’s reception, in
which many viewers have identified with Sheila’s experience, and judging by the
ubiquity of this negative self-talk that we’re all familiar with in one form or
another, I think ultimately the voice that Sheila hears is a voice that we all
hear, whatever our history, whatever our struggles. It is a voice that can
speak in any language, in any dialect, using any sort of vocabulary. But it has
a single, devastating message. “You are not enough.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Lent and the
Rejections of Jesus<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today is the first Sunday of Lent, the season when Jesus
begins his road to the cross and we are invited to follow him. This year, we
are focusing on the various rejections that Jesus encounters on his way to the
cross. As I hope will become clear, these rejections are not just a dramatic
flourish in the story, something meant to heighten our sympathy for Jesus and
inflame our dislike for his opponents. (I’m afraid that’s how the story is read
sometimes, and with drastic consequences, as Christians have periodically
persecuted Jewish people and others whom they have perceived as heretics and
enemies.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The truth is, the rejections that Jesus endures are a single
rejection. It is not a rejection limited to one moment in history. It is a
rejection that spans history, a rejection we perpetuate, not only against
Jesus, but against ourselves. It is the rejection of the image of God in us.
Why would reject the image of God? Because, to our surprise, it’s an image of
brokenness. An image of needfulness. An image of vulnerability.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt; text-align: center;">The
Accuser<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">As it to highlight that the
rejections Jesus encounters are not simply some external conflict of good guys
versus bad guys, the first scripture of Lent features Jesus alone in the
wilderness. The first rejection that Jesus encounters is <i>within</i>. It is the
accusing voice that he hears in his heart. Mark calls it Satan. Centuries of
embellishment have given rise to a tradition of “the devil,” a figure who is
opposite and almost equal to God. But the biblical origins of Satan are much
simpler. In the Hebrew, <i>ha-Satan</i> means “the adversary.” Satan is more
like a prosecuting attorney, running around and accusing. Think back, for
example, to the famous legend of Job. There, Satan accuses Job of having faith
only because of the many blessings he has received. The implication is that Job
is not enough, is not worthy of God’s love. He must have things in order to be
the good person he is.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">In the wilderness, Satan accuses
Jesus. Mark, the first gospel to be written, does not elaborate on Satan’s
accusations, but Matthew and Luke do. According to Matthew and Luke, Satan
repeatedly begins his temptations with the phrase, “<i>If</i> you are the son
of God…” (Matt 4:2, 6; Luke 4:3, 9). He is effectively accusing Jesus of <i>not</i>
being a child of God. He is saying, “You seem weak and needy to me. Prove your
worth. If you really are of God, then prove it through some demonstration of
your power, of your self-sufficiency.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt; text-align: center;">Utter
Depravity?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">“You’re the only one who thinks about food this much,
you…freak.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“[This isn’t] particularly hard to do. Other people don’t
need this kind of hand-holding.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re such a loser!”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">It’s the same voice that Jesus
hears. The voice of the accuser, the voice of rejection. It’s a voice within.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">Our Old Testament text today takes
us all the way back to right after the Flood, when God makes a covenant with
Noah and all of creation never to flood the earth again. But right before that
covenant, there is a curious scene, in which Noah offers a sacrifice of
thanksgiving, and after God smells the pleasing odor, God says, “I will never
again curse the ground because of humankind, for the inclination of the human
heart is evil from youth” (Gen 8:21). I will confess, I always read that verse
as an indication of humanity’s inherent wickedness or sinfulness, what the
famous theologian John Calvin would call our “utter depravity.” I’m not a
Calvinist, and I simply wish to point out that this theological idea of our
utter depravity is not a requirement for faith. There are and have been many
followers of Christ who do not understand humanity as having an in-baked
wickedness as the result of Adam and Eve’s actions. Rather, they understand
humanity as God seems to have understood humanity—God who, right after having
created humanity, saw that they were “very good.” We humans are God’s very good
creation, endowed with the creative capacity of choice. When God recognizes
that “the inclination of the human is evil from youth,” that is only one side
of the picture. The other side has already been told, that the inclination of
the human is also good.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">I revisit this story because it
seems to provide a backdrop for the voice of rejection, the voice of the
accuser, whom Jesus hears in the wilderness just as clearly as we do today. <i>This</i>
voice within is the “inclination” toward evil, toward a bad view of ourselves
and the world. This voice is not who we are; it does not mean we are utterly
depraved. It’s just a condition of being human. Perhaps it is at least a
comfort or consolation to know that we are not alone in experiencing this
voice. Jesus knew it too.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt; text-align: center;">Broken
and Blessed<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">Apparently in the TV series <i>Physical</i>,
Sheila slowly finds a sense of self and power through the burgeoning aerobics
movement of the 1980s. But her empowerment is not an altogether good thing,
because she begins to employ it hurtfully against anyone who gets in her way.
Her sense of self is recovered, but mistakenly so. She believes herself
self-sufficient, a force separate from others, a force to be reckoned with.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">In the wilderness, Jesus shows us
a different way to respond to the voice of the accuser. And it all seems to
hinge on what he heard right <i>before</i> he went out into the wilderness.
Another voice within, an altogether different voice, that affirmed him, “You
are my beloved son; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11). And so to each
temptation to prove himself, to show his power, Jesus responds by claiming his
identity as a child of God, which means just that—as a child, he is trustful
and dependent on a higher power. This is that image of brokenness, needfulness,
and vulnerability that we are all tempted to reject. But Jesus claims it.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">The paradox of the good news, at
least as it is seen from a worldly perspective, is that to be a child of God is
to be both broken and blessed. As we follow Jesus toward the cross this Lent,
we will see him continually respond to rejection not with bullish bravado and a
show of force, but as a child of God, blessed in his brokenness. What might
this mean for us who follow Jesus? For me, it’s pretty simple. To be broken and
blessed like Jesus, is an invitation to ask for help—help from God and others.
Because I cannot do it all on my own. And also because I am worth it as God’s
beloved child. It is an invitation to let go sometimes, to recognize my limits
and also that I am not in control. It is an invitation to accept the present
reality as right where I am supposed to be. If the accuser’s voice is a voice
of rejection, the voice of God is a voice of affirmation, a voice affirming
God’s goodness and presence in ourselves and all things.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">The poet Mary Oliver writes with
this divine voice of affirmation when she reflects on a moment of quiet bliss
in a field of daisies. She writes, “It is heaven itself to take what is given,
/ to see what is plain.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021824%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Aptos; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span></span></a> This
is the opposite of “You are not enough.” This is, “It is enough, enough, more
than enough.” She wrote this about daisies, but it could be written about
literally anything: the sunrise, a loved one, a pet, a song that breaks you
open, even a time in the wilderness, a time of deprivation and loss.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;">“It is heaven itself to take what
is given, to see what is plain.” Heaven on earth. The kingdom of God among us.
Blessing amid the brokenness. Sound crazy? Jesus invites his followers, “Come
and see.” This Lent, Jesus shows us the way.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 327.9pt; text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Dear Christ,<br />Who shares our inclination toward evil, <br />Who hears the accuser’s voice that we hear, <br />The voice of rejection that tells us, <br />“You are not enough” <br />… <br />Teach us anew our belovedness <br />As fellow children of God. <br />Help us to hear the voice of affirmation, <br />The voice of God, saying, <br />“You are my beloved child; <br />With you I am well pleased,” <br />So that we might accept our brokenness <br />And in it God’s blessing. <br />Amen.
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021824%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Aptos; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Mary Oliver, “Daisies,” in <i>Devotions</i>
(New York: Penguin, 2017), 176<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-46457627785969599952024-02-16T05:34:00.000-08:002024-02-16T05:34:19.334-08:00"A Broken Spirit" (Psalm 51)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“What the Heck Is
Water?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The story goes that two young fish were swimming along one
day when an older fish swimming the other way nodded to them and said,
“Morning, boys! How’s the water?” The two young fish swam on for a bit.
Eventually one of them looked over at the other with a puzzled look and said,
“What the heck is water?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s a question worth asking on Ash Wednesday, when we get solemnly
smudged with a reminder of our mortality. A reminder that we will not swim in
this water forever, at least not in the same way that we do now. It’s worth
asking, “What is all of this?”—“<i>What the heck is water</i>?”—before it’s
gone.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul, who is rarely short of an opinion, has a pretty good
answer. “In [God] we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). The water
we swim in is God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Which means that in every element of life you could think of—the
hospital or house where you were born, the field where your remains will be
buried or scattered, the dogs that jump at your side, the Shenandoah Mountains,
cancer, casseroles, your adorable grandchildren, war, betrayal, sunset on the
Chesapeake—in every element of life, good and bad, we are held in the embrace
of God. We cannot escape the water. “Where can I flee from your presence?” the
psalmist asks. “If I ascend to heaven, you are there. If I make my bed in
Sheol, you are there” (Ps 139:7-8).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Or as Paul puts it, “Nothing can separate us from the love
of God” (cf. Rom 8:38-39).</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Anxious and Unsure of
the Water<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But like the two young fish, we often swim unaware of the
very water in which we swim. And not just unaware. We are often anxious and
unsure of the water. Albert Einstein put his finger on this when he asked, “‘Is
the universe a friendly place?’ This is the first and most basic question all
people must answer for themselves.” What the heck is this water?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take
your holy spirit from me,” King David cries out in Psalm 51 (51:11). The truth
is, there is no danger of God’s presence departing. The problem is, King David
does not know this. Maybe he does intellectually, but not in his body, in his
feelings, in the depths of his soul.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sin is not the transgression of some arbitrary divine rule.
It is not a mark on our permanent record by a pedantic God, who sees us when
we’re sleeping, who knows when we’re awake, and who will reward and punish
accordingly. Sin is simply whatever disregards the good water we swim in—and what,
quite naturally, leaves us feeling separated, alone, by ourselves. Doomed. “My
sin is ever before me,” David exclaims (Ps 51:3), giving voice to this feeling
of alienation. He cannot see the water all around him, he can see only his sin.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Broken and Whole<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But then enters God’s grace. “You have no delight in
sacrifice,” David realizes. “If I were to give a burnt offering, you would not
be pleased” (Ps 51:16). This is not a record-keeping God who can be bribed. Not
at all. This is a God in whom we live and move and have our being, a love we
cannot escape, a mercy that falls on us all like the rain or the sunshine. What
restores us to life is not merit or achievement or anything we do, but simply
accepting our reality, which of course means accepting God’s love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit” (Ps
51:17). Broken does not mean sinful. “Broken” means David is aware of the
water. He is aware that he is just a speck, and yet a speck that is held by the
water and connected through it to all of life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Broken does not mean bad. Broken means we are built for
connection. Broken means we cannot do it alone. Broken means we’re in this
together. Broken means we’re impoverished by independence, that we need each
other and God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The paradox of Lent, of our faith, is that by accepting our
brokenness, we are made whole. Not a self-contained whole, self-sufficient and
able to do it alone, but in harmony with the whole, in tune with the symphony,
in vibrant relationship with the water and all that is in it. The kingdom of
God is a wholeness constituted by brokenness. It is our need that draws us into
God’s grace. It is our limits and our weakness that invite us into connection.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we are smudged with ash, reminded of our mortality,
reminded of the sin that leaves us feeling separated, alone, alienated, we are
at the very same time invited by that symbol of the cross to know our broken
selves as held in the embrace of God, as immersed in the water that gives us
life, as surrounded forever by the resurrection love of God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So…if the old fish ever asks us, “How’s the water?” instead
of responding, “What the heck is water?” we might respond, “The water’s good. Very
good.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Loving God,<br />Whose attention is not won <br />By good deeds or holy thoughts, <br />But is freely and tenderly given— <br />With broken spirits, <br />We turn to you <br />… <br />Teach us the goodness <br />Of the water in which we swim, <br />The grace, forgiveness, and love <br />In which we swim. <br />Teach us to trust in your embrace. <br />In Christ, who leads the way: Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-71401056135500921762024-02-11T05:49:00.000-08:002024-02-11T05:49:19.555-08:00Dropping the Mask (2 Cor 4:3-6)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">(Blindingly) Shiny
Stories<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember at church youth retreats there would often be a
special guest speaker. He would be young. He would be cool. He would wear jeans
with holes in them and crack funny jokes and show us that being Christian was
not necessarily synonymous with being a nerd.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And he would have a story. The details of the story changed
from speaker to speaker, but the arc was always the same. His story would
always involve a dramatic turnaround. “My life used to be a mess. Then I met
Jesus. Now the mess is cleaned up, and I’m all better.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The implication, of course, was “You can be like me.”
Whatever’s got you down, whatever’s hurting you, Jesus can fix it and
everything can be better.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes I wonder about the truth of these shiny stories.
To be clear, I believe in the truth of the turnarounds. I just think there’s a
little more to the story. I think these stories tell the truth—just not the <i>whole </i>truth. Listeners may walk away “blinded”
by the “god of this world,” a god of control and certainty. They may walk away
with unhealthy desires and expectations.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Whole Truth<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jacob Loewen, a Mennonite missionary who taught college for
a period of time, recounts a memorable incident that happened once when he took
his small class to the local prison.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">A college sophomore with a radiant
smile had been asked to give her testimony. When she got up in front of the
jail group, she grasped the bars with both hands and with a voice choked with
deep emotion revealed to the prisoners that her father, a prominent minister,
had committed suicide and that this had caused some very intense conflicts in
her life. She admitted that in her darker moments, she hated her father for
what he had done to her reputation. Then again she realized in those very
thoughts the [brokenness] of her own heart and could only say that she was
deeply grateful that she knew that God still cared for her, was concerned about
her, and wanted her to find peace, joy, and meaning in life.<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021124%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><sup><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><sup><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></sup><!--[endif]--></span></sup></a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This story took the prisoners by complete surprise. In all
the other testimonies they’d heard from church folks, the message was, “Let me
tell you how bad I was. But now that I am a Christian, everything is completely
different. I invite you all to become like me!”<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021124%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><sup><sup><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[2]</span></sup></sup></a> But that
kind of story did not move them. They could detect a mask, a certain pretense.
The story was too shiny, too packaged. It wasn’t real. But this girl’s story
was real. It confessed to the darkness in her life, the loss and anger and
ongoing struggle—perhaps in a way that made the light in her, the hope and joy,
shine more brilliantly.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One of the prisoners later remarked, “I don’t know why that
girl had to be so honest….She had no business taking off her mask like that.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021124%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title=""><sup><sup><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[3]</span></sup></sup></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Christ, the Image of
God<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In today’s short scripture, Paul repeatedly refers to Christ
as a shining light. Several verses earlier, he talks about seeing the glory of
God “as though reflected in a mirror” (2 Cor 3:18), which suggests that <i>Christ</i> is the mirror in which we see
God. Or as he puts it in today’s scripture, Christ is “the image of God” (2 Cor
4:4). Like a mirror, Christ reflects
God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For us who follow Christ, this is a really helpful
theological benchmark. If you want to know who God is, how God behaves, what
God thinks—after all, these can all be rather high-minded and abstract
ideas—look to Christ. Christ brings God’s glory down to earth. Christ is like a
mirror in which we see God. In Christ, we see the image of God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is all very straightforward. The problem, Paul says, is
that we have trouble seeing Christ as he really is. The world has been
“blinded” to God’s glory in Christ. Blinded by “the god of this world” (2 Cor
4:4).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Peter, Blinded by the
God of This World<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today is Transfiguration Sunday. Our gospel text is that
famous scene where Peter, James, and John see Jesus transfigured on a high
mountain into dazzling white clothes. And then they hear a voice, “This is my
beloved son; listen to him!” (Mark 9:8). But to understand the meaning of this <i>epiphany</i>, this remarkable revelation, we
must go back to what immediately precedes it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Peter has just proclaimed Jesus to be the messiah, and in
response Jesus reveals to his disciples for the first time that as the messiah
he will soon endure suffering and rejection at the hands of the religious
leaders (Mark 8:31). Ironically, Peter rejects Jesus right then and there. As
Mark puts it, “Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him” (Mark 8:32). I can
imagine him with an arm around Jesus’ shoulder, shushing him and shaking his
head. “No, no, Jesus, you must be mistaken. You’re the <i>messiah</i>!”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But it’s not really Peter speaking. It’s, in Paul’s
language, “the god of this world,” who has blinded him. Jesus rebukes Peter,
“Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but
on human things” (Mark 8:33). Peter cannot see God reflected in Christ because
he is blinded by his desire for a god of control. He’s looking for a god who
controls things, not a God whose care for us goes to the lengths of suffering
with us and for us. He’s looking for a god who will fix things with force, not
a God whose love is patient and does not insist on its own way.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Peter’s blindness, I think, is part of the reason that God
must proclaim on the mountaintop, “This is my beloved son; <i>listen </i>to him!” If you want to know who God is, look to Jesus.
Listen to him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Learning We Are Not
Alone<o:p></o:p></p>
The good news that emerges from today’s scripture is not necessarily obvious.<br />It is counterintuitive by the world’s standards. <br />It is, as Paul says in today’s scripture, “veiled” to the world, <br />Which has been “blinded” by the god of this world (2 Cor 4:3-4). <br /><br />The glory of God, <br />The light that shines in the darkness, <br />Is not reflected in control and certainty. <br />Jesus did not triumph over the Roman occupation of Judea, <br />Nor did he come to argue and make his point. <br /><br />The glory of God, <br />The light that shines in the darkness, <br />Is reflected as in a mirror <br />In a man who bears God’s vulnerable love; <br />A man who cries with the grieving, <br />Who endures the sin and violence of this world <br />And yet offers forgiveness; <br />Who shares with us this body <br />Of hunger and thirst, aches and pains, <br />And eternal glory. <br /><br />The glory of God, <br />The light that shines in the darkness, <br />Is not reflected in a mask of perfection. <br />It is reflected only when the mask is dropped. <br />It is reflected by the college girl in prison, <br />Sharing the darkness of her struggles <br />And all the more, the light of her hope in Christ. <br />It is reflected in us, <br />Being honest about the darkness of our lives, <br />And all the more, about what gets us out of bed in the morning, <br />What brings hope to our heart and a smile to our face. <br />Our honest faces are a mirror for God’s light. <br /><br />Because when we are honest, <br />Others know that they are not alone, <br />Just as in Christ we discovered <br />We are not alone. <br /><br />The glory of God, <br />The light that shines in the darkness, <br />Is the love of a Companion, <br />Who shares the journey with us. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Prayer</div><br />Loving God, <br />Whose thoughts are not our thoughts, <br />Whose ways are not our ways— <br />In Christ we see your true glory: <br />Not victory but vulnerability, <br />Not control but companionship. <br />… <br />Grant us peace and courage <br />Through your company, <br />That your glory might be reflected <br />In our honest companionship with others. <br />In Christ, who calls us friends: Amen. <br /><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<br /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021124%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;"> Jacob A. Loewen, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Culture and Human Values: Christian Intervention in Anthropological
Perspective </i>(Pasadena: William Carey Library, 1975), 64.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn2" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021124%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;"> David J. Bosch, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Spirituality of the Road</i> (Scottdale, PA: Herald, 1979), 54.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn3" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/021124%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;"> Loewen, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Culture and Human Values</i>, 64.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
</div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-65316596765221967752024-02-04T05:30:00.000-08:002024-02-04T05:30:45.352-08:00"Free to All" (1 Cor 9:16-23)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Unattached to Insult
or Praise<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You may remember the Desert Fathers and Mothers from our
Lenten series last year. They were an odd and inspiring movement in the fourth
century, a group of Christ-followers, mostly lay people, who fled to the desert
in order to unlearn the habits of the world, such as greed, envy, and anger,
and in their place to cultivate the fruits of the spirit. One tale in
particular came to mind as I read this week’s scripture. I’ve adapted it
slightly:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">A brother came to see Abba Macarius
the Egyptian, and said to him, ‘Abba, give me a word, that I may be saved.’ So
the old man said, ‘Go to that grove of trees near the oasis and insult them.
Insult every part of them: their roots, their branches, and their leaves.” The
brother went there, insulted the trees, and even threw stones at them; then he
returned and told the old man about it. Abba Macarius said to him, ‘How did
they respond? Did they say anything back to you?’ He replied, ‘No.’ The old man
said, ‘Go back tomorrow and praise them.’ So the brother went away and praised
them, extolling their roots and their branches and their leaves. He returned to
the old man and said to him, ‘I have complimented them.’ And the old man said
to him, ‘How did they answer you? Did they say anything?’ The brother said no.
The old man said to him, ‘You know how you insulted them and they did not
reply, and how you praised them and they did not speak; so you too if you wish
to be saved must do the same and become like a tree. Like those trees, do not
be yoked to either the insults of others or their praises, and you can be
saved.’<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/020424%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Occupation and
Calling<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In today’s scripture, we find Paul giving a robust defense
of his missionary activity. One of the accusations to which he is responding, stems
from the observation that he does not take payment as other missionaries do. Some
people are saying that his no-charge policy is because he knows he’s not a real
apostle.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It helps to know that in the ancient world, a religious
professional found their subsistence in the support of the people whom they
served—not unlike today, really. So, for example, priests who served in the
temple were supported by the tithes of the people who brought sacrifices to the
temple.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But Paul is not taking payment. Why? Are his opponents
right? Is he refusing payment because he knows he does not deserve it?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Earlier in this chapter (1 Cor 9), Paul addresses this
accusation head-on. “The Lord [even] commanded that those who proclaim the
gospel should get their living by the gospel,” he acknowledges. “But I
have made no use of any of these rights, nor am I writing this so that they may
be applied in my case” (1 Cor 9:14-15). Why is Paul not accepting support? He
explains in today’s scripture, “An obligation is laid on me, and woe to me if I
do not proclaim the gospel!” (1 Cor 9:16).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul is touching here on the difference between an
occupation and a calling. An occupation is what you do for money. A calling is
what you would do even if no one paid you. Sometimes, there’s considerable
overlap between a person’s occupation and calling. Many teachers in our schools
would acknowledge that teaching is their calling. Which means that, after
working hours, or later in life after they have retired, they will still find
themselves teaching, because it’s a calling—and “woe to [them] if [they] do
not!” Paul is saying that he cannot help but proclaim the gospel. It’s not
something he does for money, it’s something he is compelled to do, regardless
of payment.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Freedom<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And he continues on to explain why he’s <i>chosen</i> not to
receive money: so that “I may make the gospel free of charge” (1 Cor 9:18). Paul
does not want <i>anything</i> to stand in the way of his calling. If others
have no means to support him, no problem. His proclamation is free. And this
freedom cuts both ways. As he says moments later, “I am free with respect to
all.” Paul has no patrons to please. They say the customer or client is always
right, and that can compromise any calling. It introduces the dilemma: do I
stay faithful to my calling, or do I try to make my audience happy?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The kernel of good news that I hear in today’s scripture is
a little bit hidden by Paul’s passionate rhetoric, which at times gets a little
convoluted. But as I untangle what he’s saying, what I hear is this: Our
calling liberates us. Our calling grounds us in God’s love, so that we do not
have to go looking for all the things we think will satisfy and secure us,
things like approval, possessions, power. I think of what Jesus tells Martha,
“You are worried and distracted by many things, but only one thing is needed”
(Luke 10:41-42). The paradox of calling is that by focusing on “one thing,” we
are free—present, available, able to serve—in all things. Thus Paul can say, “I
am free with respect to all” in the same breath that he says, “I have made
myself a slave to all” (1 Cor 9:19).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Opposite of
People-Pleasing<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To put some flesh on this idea, let me share a simple story.
I remember once being a part of a small group of ministers. We would gather to
share from our experiences: what we were learning, where we were struggling,
how we needed help, and so on. One day, after the group, I felt particularly
unsettled. I felt like what I had shared had been unhelpful. I felt like I had
rambled. I felt like I had said a lot and said nothing at all.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I shared this with my spiritual mentor, he asked, “Were
you honest?” I thought for a moment and then said, “Yeah, I was.” He smiled and
nodded as though the matter were settled and everything was alright. Only then
did I realize that my worry had been for the approval of others. I was <i>not</i>
like that grove of trees that Abba Macarius held up as an example. Unlike those
trees, I was worried what others might think or say. I had wanted in some small
way to demonstrate my wisdom and to improve my standing in the eyes of others.
I was living for their praise and to avoid any criticism. My mentor was a bit
like Abba Macarius, reminding me that my calling—part of which, I think, is to
tell honest stories—is more important than the praise or criticisms of others.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When Paul talks about being “all things to all people,” I
don’t think he’s referring to pleasing all people. I think he’s referring to
its opposite: the freedom of his calling. There is little freedom in
people-pleasing. But when a person is grounded in God’s love—rooted in it <i>like
a tree</i>—needing no approval from this group or that, he can do what he is
called to do in any setting. He can be all things to all people.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Called to Be
Faithful, Not “Successful”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lest we confuse calling with a religious thing, with
something we do <i>in</i> church or <i>for</i> church, it may help to remember
that Paul’s calling had to do with his unique experience. In other words, it
had to do with the gift that he had to share with others. Our calling is not a
religious thing; it is a unique, personal, holy thing that inherently builds up
others and connects us to God and ourselves. The English poet and novelist
Dorothy Sayers comments:</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">In nothing has the Church so lost
Her hold on reality as in Her failure to understand and respect [callings
outside of the Church.] … How can any one remain interested in a religion which
seems to have no concern with nine-tenths of his life? The Church’s approach to
an intelligent carpenter is usually confined to exhorting him not to be drunk
and disorderly in his leisure hours, and to come to church on Sundays. What the
Church should be telling him is this: that the very first demand that his
religion makes upon him is that he should make good tables.<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/020424%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our calling may be making good things that help others. It
may be teaching. It may be caring for the hurt or lonely. It may be organizing
resources in a way that enriches the common good. It may be things like
listening, greeting, or giving encouragement.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Whatever it is—and it may be more than one thing, and it may
change over time—it is from God. It is holy. And as Paul’s writing suggests, it
is liberating. It orients us in what really matters, which is being faithful to
God rather than successful among peers. We work not for prestige, possessions,
or power, but for the joy of that thing which we would do for no money at all. I’ve
heard it said that our calling is where our deep gladness meets the world’s
deep hunger.<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/020424%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[3]</span></span></span></a> It’s
as good a definition as I’ve heard. We work not for results, but for the joy of
our calling, and it makes us more present, more available, more able to serve—wherever
there is need.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Holy God,<br />Who equips and calls each of us uniquely, <br />To build up others in ways <br />That only we can— <br />Where we remain distracted and enslaved <br />By quests for approval, wealth, or power, <br />Help us to hear anew the words of Christ, <br />“There is need of only one thing” <br />… <br />Grant us freedom <br />In the small but mighty deeds <br />Of faithfully living out our call, <br />That we might know peace <br />And serve where there is need. <br />In Christ, who knew what he came to do: Amen.
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/020424%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Adapted
from Benedicta Ward, ed., <i>The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, The
Alphabetical Collection</i> (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1984),
132.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn2" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/020424%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
Dorothy Sayers, “Why Work?” accessed January 29, 2024, <a href="https://www1.villanova.edu/content/dam/villanova/mission/faith/Why%20Work%20by%20Dorothy%20Sayers.pdf">https://www1.villanova.edu/content/dam/villanova/mission/faith/Why%20Work%20by%20Dorothy%20Sayers.pdf</a>,
6-7.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn3" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/020424%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Frederick
Buechner, <i>Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC</i> (New York: Harper &
Row, 1973), 95.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-66874405185165937112024-01-28T05:59:00.000-08:002024-01-28T05:59:02.840-08:00"The Necessary Knowledge" (1 Cor 8:1-13)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Two Different Kinds
of Knowledge<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My sister-in-law, Erin, worked at a Lifeway bookstore in
Denver, Colorado, when she was in high school. One year, a local church was
hosting a famous Christian singer for a concert. There’s a good chance that if
I said his name, you’d know whom I was talking about.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, Erin, her brother, and several other Lifeway
employees had been enlisted as stagehands for the concert. They were thrilled
at the prospect of being so close to this celebrity and brought posters with
them from the store to ask him to autograph. They were almost starstruck. They
knew all about this singer. They knew the words to his songs. They knew the
stories of his life—at least the stories he’d shared in songs and interviews.
They knew quite a lot <i>about</i> him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But as they would discover on the night of the concert, they
did not <i>know</i> him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Which is to say, they had no relationship with him and
actually had not an inkling of who he was as a person. Before I continue, I
should qualify what I’m about to say with the acknowledgement that this singer
must have been in the middle of a grueling tour and who knows what else was
going on in his life. But what Erin and her colleagues discovered that night
was a man very different from the gentle and yearning persona of the albums
they’d listened to. He was frequently barking demands at his assistant. He did
not even acknowledge them as he absentmindedly signed their poster, except to
ask for a bottle of water. Needless to say, they went away from the concert
that night disenchanted….</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In some languages, there are two different verbs for the verb
“to know.” One verb is for intellectual knowledge, knowing <i>about</i>
something. The other verb is for relational knowledge, which is actually <i>knowing</i>
someone through experience. For example, you might know who Chip and Joanna
Gaines <i>are</i>, which is to say, you might know <i>about</i> them. But that
would be different than <i>knowing</i> them. Than actually seeing them outside
or beyond the confines of their expertly crafted brand and knowing something
about their hearts, their genuine hopes or fears, joys or sorrows. (As it
happens, my brother served a church just a block away from their studio in
Waco, Texas, and he says they had a reputation for being genuinely lovely
people.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Knowledge Versus Love<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture gives us a snapshot of an ancient dilemma.
In Corinth and elsewhere in Rome, it was common for banquets and other civic
gatherings to be hosted at the local temple, and the meat served there would be
from the recent sacrifices to the local gods. As you can imagine, this puts
Christ-followers in an awkward position. Let’s say you get an invitation from
some friends to attend a wedding or a funeral or a baby shower. If you go, you
may find yourself offered meat that has been sacrificed to gods you don’t
believe in. Do you eat it?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Clearly some Corinthians are eating the meat. Paul gives
voice to their reasoning in today’s scripture. “No idol in the world really
exists,” they say (1 Cor 8:4). “There is no God but one” (1 Cor 8:4). In other
words, <i>they know better</i>. They know that these meat sacrifices are
ultimately meaningless; they are offered up to gods who don’t exist. As they
see it, the meat is not defiled. So why let it go to waste?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What fascinates me is that Paul never says whether they are
right or whether they are wrong. Because, for Paul, the real issue is not who
is right or who is wrong. In fact, what concerns Paul is this very attitude of
determining rightness and wrongness. Immediately after introducing his
topic—“now concerning food sacrificed to idols” (1 Cor 8:1)—he launches into
what seems an entirely different discussion: knowledge and love. He presents
them as opposites. He says our faith is not aimed at knowledge, at knowing
what’s right. It is aimed instead at love, at building up.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To make his point, Paul says that “the necessary knowledge”
is not actually about anything we claim to know, but rather about living in
God’s love and being known by God (cf. 1 Cor 8:2-3). I think back to the two
verbs for “to know,” one about intellectual knowledge and being right, the
other about relational knowledge and being connected. And I think Paul is
saying that, if we want to talk about knowledge as a good thing, then we should
be talking about the second kind, the knowledge of love, the knowledge of a
person through relationship and care.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Of Rights and
Responsibility<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If we went through today’s scripture and put quotation marks
around the word “knowledge” every time it appears, I think we would hear Paul’s
tone voice even more clearly. Generally, he refers to knowledge not as a good
thing, but as a dangerous thing, as an attitude or way of living that may in
fact do great harm to others. “By your ‘knowledge’ those weak believers for
whom Christ died are destroyed,” he says (1 Cor 8:11). In other words, when you
eat food sacrificed to idols, there are other Christ-followers who have grown
up in this culture of idols, and they will be confused by your actions. They
will think, perhaps, that you are acknowledging other gods and that they might
do so too and that Christ is not the sole way and truth and life—and so “by
your ‘knowledge’ those weak believers for whom Christ died are destroyed.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While food sacrificed to idols is an ancient and distant
concern, seemingly unrelated to anything we experience, Paul’s underlying point
is perhaps more pertinent than ever. For Paul, “knowledge” is an attitude of
rightness that destroys community. Does that resonate? In this upcoming election
year, our world will be flooded with declarations and debates and denunciations
that are all based on “knowledge”—on this attitude of rightness. I am treading
lightly here. (Please know that, from what I say, you can take what sounds true
and helpful and leave the rest.) Our culture has become especially
individualistic and consumeristic, and the sacred value that guides it is a
person’s “rights.” Which is to say, the right to live the way we want (as long
as we’re not hurting others): the right to buy what we want, to have the health
care that we want, to drive what we want, to build the kind of house that we
want, and so on. The American dream is an individual’s dream, underwritten by rights
that are almost completely unrestricted.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s not a bad dream as far as it goes. It’s just that, for
Jesus, for Paul, it goes nowhere near far enough. It is not the kingdom of
which Jesus dreamed; it is not the kingdom that Paul proclaims in today’s
passage. In the kingdom of God, the sacred value is not rights but
responsibility. The sacred value is not being right but being in relationship. The
“necessary knowledge” (and here I hear Paul through gritted teeth, saying “If
we must use the word ‘knowledge’ then let’s use it this way”)—the “necessary
knowledge” is not knowing about things but knowing people through encounter and
through a spirit of care.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Bearing Hope in a
Polarized World<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul doesn’t issue the Corinthians a verdict on who is right
and who is wrong. He redirects them from their preoccupation with rights and
back to their responsibility for their neighbor. “Take care,” he says, “that
this liberty of yours”—that is, this right to eat whatever you want—“does not
somehow become a stumbling block” to others (1 Cor 8:9). And he models the way
that he espouses, as he gives up his own right, saying, “If food is a cause of
their falling, I will never eat meat” (1 Cor 8:13).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture strikes me as precious instruction for us
who live in what seems an increasingly polarized world. I’ve read reports that
the polarization in our society is actually more emotional than ideological.
That is, people are increasingly coming to see their opponents not as having
different perspectives but as simply untrustworthy and unlikable. It’s not that
they disagree with them. It’s that they dislike them. Needless to say, this is
not “the necessary knowledge.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But as a follower of Christ, I can bear light in the dark. I
can declare the good news of a different world, the kingdom, in deed and in
word. And today’s scripture is a helpful reminder for how I might do that. The
question that should motivate me in my life with others is not, “Am I right?”
but, “Am I in relationship?” The “necessary knowledge” is not knowing the
facts, but knowing and caring for the heart of the other.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">An inspiring motto that circulated among the earliest
Christ-followers in northern Africa was this: “We do not speak great things but
live them.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/DoC(CC)/Intro%20to%20NT/012824%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span></span></a> The
fragrant aroma of Christ in our world is not what we know but how we live. Early
Christ-followers made a name for themselves not based on a leader or agenda
that would employ the force of law to protect their interests, but based on the
way they cared for others. How in plagues they took in the sick rather than
kicking them out onto the street. How they offered burials for the poor who
could not afford them. How they conducted themselves patiently in business
transactions, not bringing suit against their business associates. Their spirit
was not a defensive one, but rather a sacrificial one. They had no power to
protect, only love to share. Their knowledge was “the necessary knowledge,” the
knowledge of their neighbor and their neighbor’s heart and need.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This year of the election is, as Jesus might have put it, a
plentiful harvest. It is a special opportunity to show how we are different, to
show the hope we have in Christ who knows and loves us all.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As our ancestors in northern Africa said nearly two thousand
years ago, so may we be able to say: “We do not speak great things but live
them.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Loving God,<br />Whose care we know in Christ <br />Who died for us all— <br />Help us to unlearn <br />Habits of rightness, <br />Attitudes of knowledge and control <br />… <br />That we might take on the easy yoke <br />Of Christ’s gentle and humble heart, <br />And that our care for others <br />Might bear witness to your life-changing love. <br />In Christ, who builds up others: Amen.<div> <br /><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/DoC(CC)/Intro%20to%20NT/012824%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Alan
Kreider, <i>The Patient Ferment of the Early Church</i> (Grand Rapids: Baker,
2016), 14.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div></div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-26049481234736467272024-01-21T06:13:00.000-08:002024-01-21T06:13:32.820-08:00Living "As If" (1 Cor 7:29-31)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Turning Down the
Invitation<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was the weekend, and one of the town’s most respected
businessmen was hosting a lavish dinner. Toward the middle of the meal, the
conversation turned religious. One man, who was a little less polished than
most of the guests, began to talk about respect. He said that in the kingdom of
God respect would look different than it looks in our world. The poor and the
helpless, who are typically either ignored or treated with condescending pity,
would have the most respect, he said.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some people winced, finding the sentiment a bit dreamy and
improper for such a gathering. A few others, however, seemed inspired. One man,
moved with feeling, spoke up and said, “Yes! How great will heaven be!” (cf.
Luke 14:15).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The first man smiled and said, “Yes. How great it is…for
those who receive it.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He went on to tell a story. “Imagine,” he said, “that the
kingdom of God is like a lavish dinner. Like the one we’re having right now.
The host”—and here he nods to the respected businessman hosting the
dinner—“sends out invitations. But he is quickly disappointed. One friend says,
‘I’ve just acquired a new piece of land, and I need to go and see it.’ Another
says, ‘I just bought some new equipment, and I have to try it out.’ A third says,
‘I just got married! Sorry, I can’t make it.’” The storyteller stopped abruptly.
Apparently his tale was done.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Everyone in the room looked quizzically at the man, unsure
of his point. To their blank stares and furrowed brows, he explained, “The
kingdom of God is great indeed…but how often we turn down the invitation!”<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/012124%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><sup><sup><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></sup></sup></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Kingdom’s Scandal<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You probably have picked up by now that this paraphrased
dinner party story is in fact from scripture, from Luke’s account of a certain
Pharisee’s sabbath meal (Luke 14:1-24). I share it because I wonder if it is
not also in the back of Paul’s mind when he writes to the Corinthians and
issues them a similarly baffling teaching.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul encourages the Corinthians to live as if they were not
attached to their spouses and loved ones, or to their work and accomplishments,
or to their property and wealth. His words are scandalizing, striking at all
the respectable bonds that hold society together: family, work, possessions. On
second glance, however, these are precisely the attachment that Jesus addresses
in his parable. In his parable of the dinner banquet, people miss out on the
kingdom not because they’re evil and engrossed in all sorts of wicked behavior,
but because they’re respectable and care more for their present
attachments—possessions, work, family—than they do for God’s incoming kingdom.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There’s a clue in Paul’s language, however, that may help us
to digest his message, which otherwise seems a bit hard to swallow. Five times
in three verses, he repeats the phrase “as though.” For example, “Let even
those who have wives be as though they had none” (1 Cor 7:29). Now Paul is
clearly not calling for divorce or for the dissolution of the family. Elsewhere
he acknowledges the value of married couples in the church. What he’s calling
for is a change of mind, a change of attitude. Or what we might call
repentance—not in the hand-wringing, guilty sense that we often attribute to
the word, but in its literal sense of having a new or different mind.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Living Ourselves Into
a New Way of Thinking<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve heard it said that, contrary to popular belief, we do
not think ourselves into new ways of living. Rather, we live ourselves into new
ways of thinking. In other words, we do not simply decide to change the way we
think. Our thought patterns are much too engrained and resistant to change.
They’re second nature, like our breathing. It is only after we start to behave
differently, that our thinking and our beliefs will follow suit.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The recovery community has demonstrated this truth better
than any other place I know. In recovery, people who have trouble accepting the
idea of God or even of a “Higher Power” are invited just to live “as if” there
were a God who cared for them. To live “as if” is a gentle way of learning
trust. The more we act “as if,” the more we see how our experience bears out
the truth that we were hesitant to accept. For an addict, this might mean that
living as if God cared for them and others results in experiences that show the
goodness and beauty of care. They discover the little joys of life, like
getting a full night’s rest or being clean and feeling good about it or looking
into another person’s eyes and feeling seen. They begin to believe that there
really is a higher power of care, and that trusting in its provision and
guidance really does result in a better life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t know if recovery got this tool from the Bible, but
I’m nearly certain that Paul is espousing the same practice in today’s
scripture. His living “as if” is not meant as a literal and stringent rule.
He’s not calling for couples to divorce or families to dissolve or workers to
down their tools. Rather, his “as if” is meant as a sort of holy experiment.
His “as if” is meant as a tool, as a sort of crowbar to pry open our lives to
the kingdom of God. He’s not against families or friends or the fruits of our
labor. He’s against those things being the end of our story. His invitation is
to begin living as if the present order of life did not have the final word. As
if our family or clan or political party were not the only people who matter,
because everyone is a child of God. As if possessions were provisional and not
permanent, because everything belongs to God and is meant for the good of all.
As if achievements and losses were not the defining moments of our lives,
because God’s love is steadfast and the true mark of our value.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In short, Paul’s inviting the Corinthians to begin living
“as if” the kingdom of God were already here.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">As If the Kingdom
Were Already Here<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We often talk about the kingdom of God as though it were a
future event, a reality that will be visited on us later and from the outside,
that will come with overwhelming force and establish itself once and for all.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One day God will wave the wand and everything will be
better.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But what if God has already waved the wand (so to speak)?
Could you believe it? Could you live “as if” it were true?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jesus himself declares that the kingdom of God is among us,
within us (Luke 17:21).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And the way that Jesus talks about the kingdom suggests
that, at this point, it’s not up to God as much as it to us. It is up to us
whether we decide to live in it. He compares the kingdom to something we
receive, as a child receives the love of a parent and all the gifts a parent
gives (Mark 10:15). He compares the kingdom to a place we enter (e.g., Matt
7:21), as though we had received an invitation to a banquet and accepted it
(cf. Luke 14:15-24). He compares the kingdom to a seed that is carefully tended
to and that grows (cf. Mark 4:26-27).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A common denominator in all these metaphors is that the
kingdom of God happens not by force but by acceptance. Not by grasping but by
letting go and opening up. It is never a matter of our being in control, but it
is always a matter of our living faithfully—“as if” God’s care were real.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">An Opening Up<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s gospel text in the lectionary is the famous
beginning of Jesus’ ministry, when he calls the fishermen to become disciples
and they leave behind their nets and their father. It is a dramatic image, and
in our either-or way of thinking, it seems to suggest the disciples have renounced
their work and rejected their family. But—and this is just my interpretation—I
don’t think Christ was calling them to reject these things any more than Paul
was calling for divorce. I think our faith and the kingdom of God ultimately
entail not a rejection but an opening up. For the disciples, their story
suddenly expanded beyond a fishing net, beyond the roof under which they grew
up. Their story suddenly enlarged to include the concerns of not only their
Jewish brothers and sisters but also Samaritans and Roman soldiers and lepers
and gentiles and Canaanite women and destitute widows and little children. The
kingdom of God was much bigger than the world they had previously inhabited.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What about us, I wonder. I feel that today’s scripture is
too powerful and far-ranging to be reduced to a few routine prescriptions, so
I’d prefer to leave it open-ended and to leave you with the question: What
would it look like for <i>you</i> to live as
if the kingdom of God were here? How might it affect your relationships and how
you see other people? How might it affect your finances and how you handle your
possessions? How might it affect your politics and how you live in a world of
competing interests? How might it affect your mortality and how you relate to
the reality of death?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It might be hard to believe that the kingdom of God is
already here. Paul understands this difficulty, I’m sure of it. He asks us not
to feel it entirely, or to be convicted of it, but simply to give it a shot. To
live “as if.” And maybe we’ll be surprised with the results.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Holy God,<br />Whose love is the end of the world <br />And the beginning of the kingdom— <br />Loosen our grip on the things, the people, the ideas <br />That hold us back from the grandeur <br />Of your kingdom <br />… <br />Give us the courage <br />To give your kingdom a try, <br />To live “as if” and to discover the truth. <br />In Christ, who shows us the way: Amen.
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/012124%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><sup><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><sup><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></sup><!--[endif]--></span></sup></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 10.0pt;"> A paraphrase of Luke 14:1-24.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
</div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-59586825830691868432024-01-14T06:28:00.000-08:002024-01-14T06:28:01.163-08:00Where God Happens (1 Cor 6:12-20)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Destined for
Destruction<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve noticed a certain pattern in my life. When something is
nearing the end of its existence—it could be anything, a shirt, a car, a
couch—I tend to care for it less.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I worry less about getting the stain out of an old shirt
because what’s the point? It’ll be transformed into a wash rag or thrown out
with the trash soon enough.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I neglect to get an old car washed or to clean its interior
because what’s the point? It’ll be beyond repair soon enough.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The couch that sits right now in my living room, which is
already a hand-me-down, is currently being torn to shreds by two cats who have
yet to learn it is not a scratching post. But I’m not too fussed about it
because what’s the point? It was already on its final leg before the cats took
to it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A Discardable Body
and an Eternal Soul<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture is like the fossil of a conversation. If
you look at the insert in your bulletin, you’ll notice the use of quotation
marks in verses twelve and thirteen. The original texts did not make use of
quotation marks, but readers have long recognized that Paul is playing out an
imaginary conversation with his Corinthian audience.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Apparently, he has heard them saying, “All things are lawful
for me” (6:12), as a rationale for self-indulgent behavior, for doing whatever
they want. Where they got this idea is uncertain. It could have been from Paul
himself, who elsewhere declares, “Christ has set us free!” (Gal 5:1). Perhaps
the Corinthians confused the freedom of Christ, which is a freedom to live well
in any circumstance, with a license to do whatever one wanted.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But it is the next quotation that reveals what’s really
going on. It reveals the roots of the Corinthians’ mistaken thinking. It shows
the logic that fuels their self-indulgence. “Food is meant for the stomach and
the stomach for food, and God will destroy both one and the other” (6:13). In
other words, this body is destined for destruction. It’s discardable. It’s a
temporary shell, a sinful thing we’re burdened with in this life. When we die,
we will finally be shed of our body, and our soul will depart to live forever
in the spirit realm with God. “Therefore”—the Corinthians reason—”what
difference does it make what we eat? How we eat? Or”—as we see later in the
passage—“whom we join with sexually? This body is destined for destruction
anyway.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Does this idea of a discardable body and an eternal soul
sound familiar? It does to me. As I grew up, I learned this idea about God and
ultimate reality not only at church but in the wider world. I can still see
Looney Tunes characters comically flying off a cliff and dying and their souls
departing their body and floating up to some spiritual realm in the clouds. The
irony is that, while this idea has found a home in the Christian religious
imagination, it does not come from the Bible. It comes from ancient Greek
thought, from philosophers like Plato, who thought that the material world was
flawed and imperfect and temporary in contrast to the perfect and eternal world
of the spirit.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">God Don’t Make No
Junk<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul is sometimes portrayed as a bit of a prude, a person
who’s uncomfortable with the body and all its messiness. But I would like to
suggest the opposite, that Paul is in fact a champion and celebrant of the
body. Not in a shallow, if-it-feels-good-do-it kind of way. But in a
God-don’t-make-no-junk kind of way. Paul had a firm foundation in the Jewish
scriptures. He knew that when God created the world and humanity from the murky
chaos of the deep, God saw that it was good, very good (Gen 1). So Paul responds
to the Corinthians’ idea of a discardable body by saying, “The body is
meant…for the Lord, and the Lord for the body” (6:13). In other words, the body
is good. If God meant it, then it is good.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In case there is any doubt about this, Paul points toward
Christ and the resurrection. “God raised the Lord and will also raise us by his
power” (1:14). All of which is to say, the body is <i>not</i> destined for destruction. It is not a discardable shell. On the
contrary, the body is how God’s Spirit becomes real (which is what we see in
the incarnation); and the body is how God’s Spirit will endure and redeem
everything (which is what we see in the resurrection).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The body is where God happens. God happened in the body of
Jesus. God happened in birth and growth and touch and embrace and eating
together. And when the cross seemed to put an end to this, God showed that
actually the end was a new beginning. There is always more life. In the body.
As Paul repeats across his letters, “<i>We</i>
are now the body of Christ.”<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Our Bodies Matter<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul is not a prude about bodies. He is a proud apologist
for them. He thinks bodies matter more than we know. What we do with our bodies
matters. It either bears fruit or contributes to decay.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now, to be clear, Paul is not being a health nut here. He’s
not saying, “Eat the healthiest food and work out every day and keep your body
in pristine condition.” There are many people who say this but with
self-oriented motives, such as living as long as possible or attracting as much
attention as possible.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What orients Paul’s glorification of the body is not the
self but God and the common good. “All things are lawful,” the Corinthians are
saying, but Paul responds, “Not all things are beneficial” (6:12)—or as he says
elsewhere in the same letter, “Not all things build up” (10:23). “All things
are lawful,” the Corinthians are saying, but Paul responds, “I will not be
dominated by anything”—which is to say, we can become slaves through our bodies
to all sorts of pursuits and behaviors and idols, including the body itself. If
I’m honest with myself, I can usually determine a healthy thought or behavior
by asking the simple question, “Does it build up? Does it bear fruit—for myself
and ultimately for others?” If it does not, if it isolates me spiritually from
others or myself, if it makes me less available to God and the world, then
chances are that I am in danger of becoming enslaved—“dominated by” the thought
or the behavior.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Revealing Christ in
Our Bodies<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is easy to read today’s
scripture in a moralizing way, as though Paul were just saying, “Don’t have sex
outside of marriage,” and “Don’t let your appetites rule you.” But reading in
this moralizing tone would risk not only cultivating a culture of judgment and
shame, but also missing the deeper point, which is radically affirming. Our
bodies are good. Our bodies are not destined for destruction but for abundant
life. Our bodies are where God happens in the world. The ultimate point is not
what our bodies <i>can’t</i> (or shouldn’t)
do, but what they <i>can </i>do.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our bodies can smile and cry and embrace. Our bodies can
walk and visit and sit together. Our bodies can eat and drink and enjoy life
together. Our bodies can do all the things Jesus did that showed God’s love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In this season of Epiphany, we celebrate not only how Jesus
was revealed in the world two thousand years ago, but how Christ is revealed in
us today. Today’s scripture invites us to reflect on the distinctive posture
that Christ bore in the world, and that we might bear too. Christ did not
regard the world as destined for destruction. He did not preach the good news
of a fairy world in the future. Christ regarded the world and the people in it
as infinitely valuable, worthy of care, worthy of touch and healing and hope.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In a culture that all too commonly dismisses the things of
this world as merely resources to be used and discarded, we might reveal
Christ. We might reveal a different way. We might live as though everyone—and every
thing—mattered.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Creator God,<br />Who looks on us and the world <br />With deep satisfaction <br />And calls us, good, very good— <br />Restore in us a sense <br />Of the holiness of all things <br />… <br />That we might, through our care <br />For others and ourselves, <br />Reveal Christ <br />And glorify your goodness. <br />In Christ, our brother: Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-4276402495307845992024-01-07T05:44:00.000-08:002024-01-07T05:44:54.282-08:00"The Mystery of Christ" (Eph 3:1-12)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“The Gospel of Cats” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">(Sort Of)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some say they were brought in to take care of the rats.
Others say that they were already inhabitants of the land. But everyone who
lives at the 180-year-old penitentiary in Santiago, Chile, can agree on this. The
cats were there before them.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For a long time, they were ignored by the officials and the
outside world, given free room and board at the prison if for no other reason
than their help with the rodent population. But in the last decade or so, the
cats have garnered extra attention for what might be called their spiritual
effect on the prison environment. The prison’s warden, Colonel Helen González,
who wears a tight bun, carries a billy club, and wanders the prison in combat
boots, explains the difference that the cats make. “Prisons are hostile places.
So of course, when you see there’s an animal giving affection and generating
these positive feelings, it logically causes a change in behavior, a change in
mindset.” Having the cats around, she says, “has changed the inmates’ mood, has
regulated their behavior and has strengthened their sense of responsibility
with their duties, especially caring for animals.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Carlos Nuñez, a balding inmate who is serving a
fourteen-year sentence for home burglary, describes this change as he points
proudly to his two-year-old tabby friend, whom he has named Feita, or Ugly. “A
cat makes you worry about it, feed it, take care of it, give it special
attention. When we were outside and free, we never did this. We discovered it
in here.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I cannot help but smile at the mystery of this arrangement.
Here, where men are forced to live behind bars, cats freely choose to dwell.
Here, where society has cast its outlaws out of sight and out of mind, cats
make their home and make these men their neighbors. And by all accounts, they
are doing for these men what the justice system has not been able to do. In
their patient, insistent presence, they are inviting the men to care for
themselves and for others. They are teaching them the good news of care—quite a
different story to the fear-ridden myth that these men have been taught by the
world, namely that control is the only way they will ever meet their needs.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another inmate, Reinaldo Rodriguez, serving a firearms
charge until 2031, describes the gentle behavior of his black feline friend,
Chillona: “Sometimes you’ll be depressed and it’s like she senses that you’re a
bit down. She comes and glues herself to you. She’ll touch her face to yours.”
Chillona lives with Reinaldo and the eight other inmates who are crammed into the
same cell. Reinaldo says that, in the beginning, he and his cellmates used a
bowl of water to lure Chillona out of hiding. “Little by little, she would
approach us,” he says. “Now she’s the owner of this room. She’s the boss.” The
cellmates argue with each other over whose bed is her favorite.<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/010724%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lest you hear this story as my partisan proclamation of the
gospel of cats (which I admittedly do proclaim from time to time), I should add
quickly that there are similar stories of rehabilitation all over the world,
involving not just cats but man’s other best friend as well, dogs.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Welcomed by Outsiders<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today we are celebrating the beginning of the season of
Epiphany. Epiphany literally means “appearance.” In the church, Epiphany is the
season that immediately follows Christmas, and it tells the good news that
Christ is not hidden under a bushel but rather “appears” to people like you and
me, shining a light into the shadows of our lives. The traditional story told
at Epiphany is the visit of the <i>magi</i>—wise men. In fact, some communities
call Epiphany “Three Kings Day” in honor of the<i> magi</i> who bring three gifts
and thus are sometimes identified as three persons.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The story of the <i>magi</i> reminds us of a mystery. Generally,
when a new king or ruler is announced, there is a grand celebration and
reception, and he is given honor by honorable people. But when Christ first
appears to the world, it is outsiders who welcome him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the <i>magi</i> are Gentiles. They are men from the east.
They are watchers of stars, which is perhaps to say that they are starry-eyed.
They pay little attention to the ground, to the boundaries that powerful men
draw on it, and instead they search the “boundless” sky (cf. Eph 3:8), knowing
that God’s grace can appear anywhere. The <i>magi </i>are not the only
outsiders to welcome Jesus. We already saw on Christmas day how Jesus was
welcomed by a band of shepherds, who were social outsiders of their day—not
really the sort of people you’d have over for dinner.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The mystery that outsiders should receive Christ when he
appears to the world is compounded by the fact that many insiders, such as
Herod and the leaders of Jerusalem, look toward Christ with fear and
resistance, if for no other reason than that his arrival threatens the standing
order of the day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Christ Welcomes
Outsiders<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This mystery of Christ’s reception, this reversal of
insiders and outsiders, is mirrored in Christ’s own embrace of the world. Christ
certainly embraces the insiders of his day, as evidenced by his genuine care
for Pharisees like Nicodemus and for the rich ruler. The mystery, however,
according to Paul in today’s scripture, is that Christ shares this same embrace
with outsiders, which is to say, Gentiles, non-Jews.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It may help to remember that the earliest Christian
communities were primarily composed of Jewish people. Jesus himself was Jewish.
His first followers assumed, quite naturally, that to become a follower of
Christ, a person must first adopt the respectable beliefs and rituals of Jesus’
own religious tradition. In other words, an outsider must first undergo a cultural
makeover and become an insider. Then they could be declared Christian.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But in today’s text, Paul proclaims the mystery that
Gentiles—outsiders—are already “members of the same body, and sharers in the
promise in Christ Jesus” (Eph 3:6). No one would have believed it if the Spirit
itself hadn’t made it abundantly clear, manifesting in Gentile Christ-followers
who had not yet undergone any cultural makeover (cf. Eph 3:5; Acts 10:1-11:18;
15:1-29). This, Paul says, is the mystery of Christ. No social change is
required in order to receive the welcome of Christ. Sure, changes may happen as
a result of following Christ, but they are not conditions for receiving the
primal embrace of Christ.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think back to the gospels. How Jesus marvels at and
praises the faith of the Roman centurion—who is about as outside as an outsider
could get, a military figure of the oppressive occupation of Judea. How Jesus
spends multiple days with the Samaritans in their own hometown, even though
they are derided by many as Jewish “half-bloods.” How Jesus eats with tax
collectors and women whose lives have been dragged down into desperate and
hopeless circumstances.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For Paul, the mystery of Christ is that we keep finding him
with outsiders—people we wouldn’t expect.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Riches of Christ<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think back to those cats in Santiago. There is something
of the mystery of Christ in them, is there not? While society fears these men
and puts them behind bars, the cats draw no such boundaries and welcome them as
neighbors. And while the world’s rejection of these men threatens to keep them
imprisoned in patterns of shame and violence, the cats’ acceptance restores
them to a way of care. The cats help to reveal the true nature of these men as
children of God, blessed and bearing the very image of Love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There’s a word that gets repeated in today’s scripture.
“Rich.” First Paul talks about the “boundless riches of Christ” made evident in
his embrace of people who have not undergone the cultural transformation
expected of them (3:8). Then he declares that “through the church the wisdom of
God in its <i>rich</i> variety might now be made known to the rulers and
authorities” (3:10).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For Paul, “rich” clearly does not mean having many things.
Instead it seems to mean embracing many people. The “boundless riches of
Christ” refers to his gracious welcome of everyone. And “the wisdom of God in
its rich variety” is what the church makes known to the world when it reflects
this same gracious welcome of Christ. In a different letter, Paul says,
“Welcome one another…just as Christ has welcomed you” (Rom 15:7).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Mystery of the
Church<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What becomes clear in Paul’s letters, what is good news for
the world today, is that Epiphany is not just about the appearance of Christ in
Jesus two thousand years ago, though of course that is crucial. Epiphany is
also about the appearance of Christ in us who are his body. The church reflects
to the world the mystery of Christ, the mystery of his boundless grace.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t mean to be starry-eyed in my praise of those chummy
cats in Chile. Certainly, criminal deeds that threaten the well-being of a
community need a response that will ensure safety.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But if I am starry-eyed…then I hope maybe the example of the
<i>magi</i>, who were starry-eyed before any of us, will invite us to stay a
minute longer with this question: what does it mean for us, as the body of
Christ, to live out the mystery of his boundless riches of grace?<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
<br /><br />Mysterious Christ,<br />Who eats with tax collectors and sinners, <br />Whose work is done by cats and dogs, <br />Who turns up where we wouldn’t expect— <br />Help us to know ever more deeply <br />Your embrace of us as fellow children of God <br />… <br />That we might share this embrace with others <br />And make known your mystery, <br />Your boundless riches of grace, <br />“The wisdom of God in its rich variety.” <div>Amen.
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><br /></div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><br />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/010724%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Jack
Nicas, “Cats Filled the Prison. Then the Inmates Fell in Love,” <i>New York
Times </i>(online), December 31, 2023; accessed January 1, 2024; https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/31/world/americas/cat-prison-chile.html.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div></div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-84899762192618913462023-12-31T09:26:00.000-08:002023-12-31T09:26:39.585-08:00"My Eyes Have Seen Your Salvation" (Luke 2:22-40)<p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A Boy’s Praise<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was running at the park in a stew of my own worry. Maybe
it was work that had me wrapped around the axle. Or maybe it was a
relationship. Or maybe I’d just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. I can’t
remember the specific reason, but it hardly matters. When I find myself
embroiled in self-concern, the object of obsession makes little difference.
Whatever it is, it narrows my perspective. It makes the world smaller. And that
small world–it revolves all around me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was on a narrow path and could see ahead of me a father
and his child, no more than five years old. As I begrudgingly shifted off the
path to make way, I saw the child point up to the sky. By God’s grace, I looked
to where he was pointing and saw a hawk in majestic flight, swooping toward the
ground. “Look, daddy!” I heard the boy cry. “What is it?” I kept running, and
so I did not hear the father’s response. What echoed in my mind was the boy’s
wonder and enthusiasm, so contrary to my numb self-centeredness. I had been
closed off to the world. But the boy was not. He was open and curious. And his
spirit was contagious. It opened me up! I wouldn’t have looked up if he hadn’t
pointed. I wouldn’t have seen the hawk in its majesty. I would have kept
running under a cloud of self-centered worry.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Is it any coincidence, I wonder, that today I cannot
remember what small concern had me captive but I can remember the boy and his
hand pointed upward and the hawk swooping down? It is as though that moment
reframed the world as so much bigger than my passing concern. That moment
restored my heart to God. What I remember is not the passing concern but the
bigger truth of God’s presence and love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bear with me if it seems I am blowing this out of proportion—but
“my eyes [saw] God’s salvation!” If salvation is nothing more than saying a
prayer and getting our ticket punched for heaven, then yes, I am quite out of
line. But isn’t this ticket-to-heaven, pie-in-the-sky salvation actually rather
feeble and impoverished? It’s all about another time and place and makes no
difference to the here and now. On the other hand, Jesus proclaims a much
grander salvation. The kingdom of God has arrived! There is growth and healing
and abundant life now, for we are God’s beloved children.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The conceptual root of salvation is simple: safety.
Salvation means we are safe in God’s love. That day in the park, when I was
wrapped around myself, I felt fear, not safety; I saw only threats, not
promise. But then a little boy praised God—sure, he didn’t use theological
language, but his voice was pure praise and wonder—and my eyes were opened
again. No longer was I wrapped around myself. I was alive with wonder, returned
to a much larger world. I was returned to God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Not a Spectacle, but
a Seed<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Simeon’s eyes were already open. He was not wrapped up in
himself, as I was in the park, but rather he was “<i>looking forward</i>,” Luke tells us, “to the consolation of Israel”
(2:25). Looking forward. Which is to say, looking outside himself. Trusting in
something larger than himself. Is it a coincidence that the Holy Spirit rests
on him and reveals to him the coming of the messiah? His heart is open.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What really strikes me about Simeon, however, is the
salvation that he sees. Just an infant. I don’t know about you, but generally
when I hear the word salvation, I think of grand spectacles, sweeping gestures,
sudden interventions. But as Jesus will later say, “The kingdom of God is not
coming with things that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’
or ‘There it is!’” (17:20). The kingdom of God is more speck than spectacle.
It’s a little thing, ignored by people looking for greatness. Elsewhere Jesus
will compare it to a seed. Something nearly invisible, and yet bearing all of
God’s love and goodness.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What does Simeon see in this helpless infant being presented
to God in the temple? Do his eyes reach into the future? Does he see Jesus on
the cross? Does he see Jesus embracing lepers and eating with tax collectors?
Or do his eyes only see a baby–and yet that’s enough? Suddenly everything
clicks, that, yes, God’s love for us is like a parent’s transcendent love for a
child. And this love is the glory of Israel and the light that will lead
everyone, Israel and the nations alike, to God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t know what Simeon saw in Jesus. I only know he saw a
baby—and that was enough.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">The Nunc Dimittis:</div><div style="text-align: center;">An Evening Prayer</div><div><br />Simeon’s short song of praise quickly became an early
Christian classic known as the <i>nunc
dimittis</i>, which is the Latin for the beginning of the song, “Now you are
dismissing.” Throughout the centuries, followers of Christ have recited it as
part of their evening prayers. This prayer practice is a wonderful reminder
that God’s salvation is happening on a daily basis, and we are invited to bear
witness to it. In my own practice, I find the prayer to be a healthy challenge.
In particular, the assertion, “My eyes have seen your salvation,” invites me to
reflect on what has happened during the day and in what small, inconspicuous
ways God’s salvation has been revealed to me. I am invited to look for seeds of
God’s kingdom. Perhaps it was a boy pointing to a hawk, drawing me out of
myself and restoring me to God. Perhaps it was a quiet look of sympathy from a
friend. Perhaps it was a moment of vulnerability from someone else that allowed
for a genuine connection to be made.</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Looking Back on the
Year<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we find ourselves on the last day of the year, I find
myself wondering if the <i>nunc dimittis</i>,
Simeon’s song, might not invite us to reflect similarly on 2023. Most of the
time, we wave farewell to a year with a tongue-in-cheek “Good riddance! Let’s
hope the next year’s better.” To be sure, every year will have its own share of
difficulty. But our faith in Christ invites us to look for the seeds of God’s
kingdom growing in our midst. Our faith invites us to give thanks and praise
God. Not necessarily with a hymn or theological language. It could be as simple
as pointing to a hawk and saying, “Look!”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Or it could be pointing to stories of redemption in the
disaster relief work of God’s Pit Crew. Or stories of healing—and by healing, I
mean something much more than a physical cure. I mean the strengthening of a
soul through the love and support of others, as I see happening wherever a
community gathers in prayer. (Here I find myself thinking of Donna’s regular
reports about Hudson, a baseball teammate of her grandson.) Paul tells us to
give thanks “<i>in</i> everything,” so we’re invited to look even amid evil and
loss and difficulty for seeds of God’s kingdom. I have a close friend who lost
her father recently and suddenly to cancer. There is no way I can call that
event itself good. It is suffering and it is loss and I do not believe it is
God’s will. But <i>in </i>that event, I have seen a host of people surrender
their own time and personal ambitions in order to support my friend and her
family. If like Simeon I am looking forward to God’s consolation, then here I
catch a glimpse of it. In the selfless love on display, I catch a glimpse of
God’s kingdom and am inspired to live more like this in my everyday life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A People of Good News<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In our Old Testament lectionary text today, Isaiah insists,
“As a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause
righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations” (Isa 61:11). God’s
kingdom springs up through praise. In our Psalm lectionary text today (Ps 148),
the psalm declares that all of creation sing God’s praise—the sun, the moon,
the mountains, the trees. The not-too-subtle implication is that, as part of
God’s creation, we are invited to join their song of praise.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Why is praise so important? Here I speak from experience. It
is infectious. It is how the Spirit catches on from one person to the next.
When I was running through the park under a cloud of self-concern, the boy’s
praise for the hawk broke me out of the prison of the self and restored me to
God and a world of beauty and goodness and possibility.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Psychologists tell us that rage and anger naturally attract
our attention more than anything. The news and social media know this all too
well. Outrage sells. Left to its own devices, I’m afraid the world moves toward
division and violence.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But the good news of this Christmastide is that we are not
left to our own devices. God’s kingdom is already among us. Often in small,
unspectacular ways, whether that’s a baby in a manger, a man disposed of by the
empire on a cross, a boy pointing to a hawk. And the good news is that God’s
kingdom grows when we tend to it. When we see it, point to it, praise it, and
live in its way of grace and love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This Christmastide, let us remember: we are a people of good
news.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">May the world know us so, and may the Spirit be contagious.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
God of salvation,<br />Whose love is sown all over the world <br />In ways that are not observed: <br />Help us to learn from Simeon <br />And other faithful followers of your way <br />How to look for your consolation <br />And the wonders of your love <br />… <br />Make us into a people who trust in your salvation. <br />Make us into a people of good news. <br />In Christ, who is with us: Amen.<p></p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-34515909993446429802023-12-24T09:38:00.000-08:002023-12-24T09:38:10.753-08:00Embraced by God (John 1:1-5, 10-14, 18)<p style="text-align: center;">“Like a Hug from Your Grandma”</p>“They call it [a] hug,” Scott said.<div>“And they said you know, <br />The first time you do it, <br />You just get this secure feeling. <br />It’s almost like a warm embrace, <br />Like a hug from your grandma. … <br />And they said once you feel that <br />You crave it constantly.” <br /><br />Scott, an EMS paramedic in Winston-Salem, <br />Is talking about his encounters with heroin addiction.<br />Canadian physician Gabor Maté shares a similar story</div><div>From a twenty-seven-year-old woman living on the streets:<br />“When I first did heroin,” she says,<br />“It felt like a warm soft hug, <br />Just like a mother hugging her baby.” <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Dying for a Hug</div><br />The opioid epidemic in America <br />Has taken more lives <br />Than the wars in Vietnam and Iraq combined. <br />“Every 11 minutes, another life is lost.” <br /><br />I wonder:<br />Would it be an overstatement to say that<br />Our world is dying for a hug—<br />Literally dying for a hug?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Christ Is in Our DNA</div><br />“In the beginning,” begins the gospel of John,<br />Launching into his version of the creation story,<br />Which is also his version of the Christmas story.<br />Poetically he proclaims:<br />Christ was with God before the world began.<br />All things life and light came into being through Christ (1:3-4).<br /><br />Which is to say, <br />Christ is not only born in Bethlehem.<br />Christ is in our DNA.<br />Christ is in everything’s DNA.<br />Christ is the fabric with which our world is woven.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Jesus, Our Brother</div><br />“He came to what was his own,” John says (1:11).<br />You are his own.<br />I am his own.<br />Our neighbor, our enemy, every stranger is his own.<br /><br />“To all who received him,” John says,<br />“He gave power to become children of God” (1:12).<br />Which is to say,<br />Jesus is our brother.<br />To receive him as such is to become aware of our divine heritage, our DNA:<br />We too are children of God!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">In the Father’s Bosom</div><br />Children need hugs, you know.<br />(Hugs from grandma are the best, of course—<br />The finest hugs out there.) <br /><br />Our brother Jesus knows the importance of hugs.<br />Jesus, John says, “is close to the Father’s heart” (1:18).<br />The Greek literally says “bosom.”<br />Jesus is close to God’s bosom.<br />Jesus knows God’s embrace.<br />God’s hug.<br /><br />I don’t know about you.<br />But for me, much of the time,<br />It is hard to feel God’s hug.<br /><br />“No one has ever seen God,” John says (1:18).<br />Amen.<br />It is hard to feel the hug<br />Of someone you cannot see.<br /><br />But Jesus feels it. <br />Jesus knows God’s embrace,<br />And it is he, John says, <br />“Who has made [God] known” (1:18).<br /><br />In other words,<br />Jesus shows us what it looks like to be hugged by God.<br />Jesus makes us known what it feels like to be hugged by God.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Learning God’s Embrace</div><br />John’s good news is not trite.<br />He does not say to a world<br />That is dying for a hug,<br />Quite literally,<br />“You’re looking for embrace?<br />God’s already hugging you,<br />Can’t you feel it?”<br /><br />John knows our world doesn’t feel it.<br />More importantly, God knows our world doesn’t feel it.<br />The good news of Christmas is this: <br />Jesus, our brother, does feel it.<br />“Close to [God’s] bosom,”<br />Jesus, our brother, feels the warm, eternal embrace of God.<br />An embrace that brings not death but life.<br /><br />And the good news is this:<br />Jesus, our brother, insists that we can know this warm embrace too.<br />He is here to show us the way (cf. 1:18).<br />And it is a way. A process. A journey.<br />A lifetime of learning and growing and transforming.<br /><br /></div><div>…<br /><br /></div><div>But that’s getting ahead of tonight’s story.<br />Let’s take it one day at a time—<br />Just like baby Jesus did.<br /><br />Tonight, we see Jesus in the embrace<br />Of an obscure, poor couple, Mary and Joseph;<br />We see Jesus in the embrace <br />Of a feeding trough, maybe occasionally nuzzled by curious creatures;<br />We see Jesus in the embrace, perhaps, <br />Of the shepherds who come to witness this mystery.<br /><br />Come, let us embrace him too, <br />Our brother;<br />And let us stay with him,<br />To learn the good news <br />He has come to share.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Prayer</div><br />Jesus, our brother, <br />Kind and good,<br />We wonder at this news<br />That we, like you, are children of God.<br />…<br />Tonight, we embrace you,<br />Hoping that in the days to come<br />We might know the divine embrace<br />That gives us the fulness of life<br />For which we long.<br />Amen.<br /></div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-48241034137799357102023-12-17T05:48:00.000-08:002023-12-17T05:48:20.157-08:00Road to Joy (Matt 1:18-2:6)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Real Communion<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember hearing the door open. Footsteps coming down the
hall. I was sitting in my office, about a year into my first pastorate. I knew
the sound of those footsteps. Uncertain. Pausing at every door. This was not a
church member. This was a solicitor of some sort, snooping around for the
office to make their pitch. Finally I heard a knock on the open office door and
an inquisitive, “Hello?” I got up and welcomed a young woman wearing a polo
shirt and a name tag. She was the new activities director at the assisted
living facility across the street, and she was looking for volunteers to help
fill the facility’s calendar.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As she was making her pitch, I was mentally scrambling. I
had already committed to several other projects and resisted the thought of
another ministry venture. But when she finally finished, God’s grace got the
better of my resistance, and I heard myself say to her, “Thanks for sharing.
I’ll pass along the request, and if we have folks who are interested in helping
out, I’ll get back to you.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Long story short, we <i>did</i> have folks interested in
helping out. There was Becky, who loved to sing—and even more loved a captive
audience. There was Virginia, a retired missionary to the Congo, who loved to
share communion at every opportunity. There was Carol, who was a great pianist
but reticent to play in front of large crowds. A small, quiet crowd, however, would
be just right. This motley crew would become our memory care ministry. It was
simple. We would visit the facility’s memory care unit, sing old, familiar songs,
and then share a simple, open communion with anyone who would join us. What had
first struck me as an annoyance would become one of my greatest joys in that
pastorate.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember Richard, a retired Methodist minister who had the
most serene face. I don’t know if his calm came from memory loss or something
deeper, like years of learning to let go and trust God, but I know that when I
am his age, I hope I can be as content with life as he seemed to be. I remember
Eva, a woman with Caribbean roots and a vibrant spirit, always smiling, always
asking me my name, always asking when we would be coming back. I remember
feeling that this was real communion. There was no pretense or posturing in
that memory care unit, no striving to keep up with appearances, no ambitions
for something bigger or better. There was nothing there but grace. Acceptance.
If I looked disheveled, if Becky had gotten the words of a song wrong, if Carol
had missed a note on the piano, it wouldn’t have colored the experience one bit.
Eva would still ask when we were coming back. Richard would still receive
communion with a deep smile that knew more than the mind could ever know.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt; text-align: center;">Matthew,
Giddy with Joy<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">Today we’re looking at Matthew’s
telling of the Christmas story. I think Matthew himself is giddy with joy as he
tells the story. To be sure, he is not as dramatic or emotional as Luke. Luke
has characters breaking into song left and right, Mary singing praise to God, a
host of angels singing in the heavens. Matthew tells the story in a more
straightforward manner, but he has a unique quirk that reveals his joy. Again
and again and again, he points out the fulfillment of scripture. In the first
two chapters, he refers five times to the Jewish scripture and claims that the
events of Christmas are their fulfillment. A child born to a young woman who
shall be a savior called Emmanuel? A fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy (Matt
1:23; cf. Isa 7:14; 8:8, 10). The Messiah’s birth in Bethlehem? A fulfillment
of Micah’s prophecy (Matt 2:5-6; cf. Mic 5:2). </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">I think of the way that my nephews
excitedly point to colorful leaves as a sign that fall has arrived, or snow as
a sign that winter has arrived. I think Matthew is doing the same thing with
scripture. “Look at all these signs!” he’s saying. “The messiah has arrived!”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt; text-align: center;">A
Mixed Response<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">Matthew’s joy, however, is not
shared by the characters in the story, at least not in any way that we can see.
Their response is mixed at best.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">Let’s start with Joseph, who plans
to divorce Mary quietly after he learns of her pregnancy. When the angel visits
him in a dream and informs him about Jesus, he responds obediently and takes
Mary as his wife. But Matthew does not give us any glimpse into Joseph’s heart.
There is no Magnificat, no song for joy, no excited chatter with his loved
ones. Joseph does what he is told, but his feelings remain a mystery. Perhaps this
veil over Joseph’s feelings—this lack of information in the story—is itself reflective
of Joseph’s heart. Perhaps even he doesn’t know how he feels. Have you ever sat
stunned after a big revelation, unable to digest it completely?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">If Joseph’s feelings remain
veiled, Herod’s do not. When the religious leaders confirm that the magi’s
reports correspond with the ancient prophecy of a messiah, Herod is afraid. It
is an ironic response. What is meant as a promise of good is heard as a threat.
What is meant for joy fills Herod with fear. A messiah is a threat to his power
and must be eliminated.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt; text-align: center;">Receiving
God’s Promise<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">Matthew’s Christmas story teaches
me the surprising reality that joy is not always our first response when God
comes good on a promise.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">Herod’s example shows that God’
promise may actually strike us as a threat. God’s promise invariably means
change, and sometimes we’re quite comfortable with the way things are, even
with our own misery or despair. At least we know what we’re facing. It’s common
to grow attached to possessions, yes, but also to ideas and to feelings. But I
know that the more attachments I have, the more difficult it will be for me to
receive God’s promise with joy.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">Joseph’s example is a more
positive one. At least he responds willingly. He is not ruled by his feelings,
but by his faith. I wonder if Joseph’s example shows us that joy takes time.
It’s not always immediate. The feeling of joy is not the foundation from which
we act, but rather what follows from faithful action. Surely Joseph later
shares Mary’s wonder and praise, as he looks into baby Jesus’ eyes and whispers
to himself the name the angel proclaimed, “Emmanuel. God is with us.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">When the activities director of
the assisted living facility made her request for volunteers, my first response
was not joy. Jesus promises that he will be with us in the so-called least of
our society, the people pushed to the margins, like the sick and the
imprisoned. Are not the residents of a memory care unit such people? Pushed to
the margins? Locked away and dependent on others? All of which is to say, I was
on the cusp of God’s promise, just like Joseph and Herod were. I had Jesus’
word, saying, “Here you will find me.” But just like Joseph and Herod, my first
response was not joy. It was a mixture of doubt and resistance. Joy was not my
first feeling. It is what I felt only after I let go of my own kingdom and
received what God was giving me.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">There are other similar promises
that Jesus makes, besides meeting us in the so-called least of our society.
Another one that convicts and challenges me is when he says, “Sell your
possessions, and give alms,” as a part of his promise that it is God’s “good
pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32-33).</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">The joy of Advent is not the bright
and flashy joy of a present we’ve coveted. It’s not something we can unwrap in
an instant. It is a deep and genuine joy that takes time, that follows upon responding
faithfully to God’s promise rather than resisting it. God promises to meet us
in the needful. God promises to give us the kingdom when we give up our own kingdoms.
God promises to be with us at tables of grace and acceptance. I can only speak
for myself, but sometimes these promises sound more like a threat. They
threaten my plans, which generally are oriented around my wants rather than the
needs of others. They threaten my sense of the world, my judgments of others,
who’s good, who’s bad, who’s in, who’s out.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;">The good news is that on the other
side of the promise, which may be heard as a threat, is real joy—a bigger world,
a better life, and beloved community. What I discovered in the memory care unit
was a goodness I never would have found on my own.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 186.0pt; text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
God of good news,<br />Whose promise sometimes threatens our way of life— <br />In this season filled with expectations and plans, <br />Help us to relinquish our attachments, <br />Which promise happiness but leave us feeling empty <br />… <br />May we receive your promised presence <br />In the needful <br />And in giving <br />And in grace, <br />And may we know the deep joy <br />Of your kingdom. <br />In Christ, who is eternally fulfilling your promise: Amen.<br /> Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-30020249326968832832023-12-16T12:55:00.000-08:002023-12-16T12:55:08.114-08:00Book Review: Creating a Life with God by Daniel Wolpert<p>I learned as a child to be the perfect student. I have
learned as an adult, however, the truth of which Walker Percy spoke. You can
make straight A’s and then go out and flunk life. There is a fundamental
difference between ideas and their practice, between abstract knowledge and
experience. Daniel Wolpert writes with the wisdom of someone who has lived what
he teaches. His book on prayer, <i>Creating
a Life with God: The Call of Ancient Prayer Practices</i>, is less an
explanation and more an invitation. He doesn’t want the reader to get all A’s.
He wants the reader to live.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On the surface, <i>Creating
a Life with God</i> reads like a primer and manual for a host of prayer
practices that have deep roots in the Christian faith. The book progresses
thematically from prayer within to prayer without; that is, from prayer that
primarily employs heart and mind to prayer that employs the body, connects us
with creation, and fosters community with others. This progression is
purposeful and hints at a central thesis. Prayer is not just an activity but an
orientation, not just a thing we do but a way of being in the world. Seeking
God’s will is not limited to a mental exercise. It naturally spills over into
all of our life. It progressively changes the way we bear ourselves and relate
to the world around us. As Wolpert summarizes, prayer is “a deep conversation
with God beginning with communion and leading to transformation”(25). <i>Creating a Life with God</i> is therefore
not just a primer or a manual. It is also good news. Its aim is not just that
readers will understand and practice these different forms of prayer, but that
readers will awaken and respond to God’s presence in all corners of their life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wolpert grounds each prayer practice in a historical figure
or tradition, not to define and police the practice according to its original
bounds, but to remind readers that these practices, despite their seemingly
newfound popularity, are ancient and time-tested. For readers who have grown up
in the narrow confines of a single tradition, learning about the historical
roots of these practices may ease any fears of what seems strange or
unfamiliar. A happy side-effect may be the broadening of one’s spiritual
horizons. Indeed, Wolpert indicates that prayer is an experience that
invariably opens us up. Throughout the book, prayer is likened to eyes opening,
hearts opening, minds opening, doors opening, ripened fruit opening and
spilling seed—the world opening and being transformed into the kingdom of God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The specific prayer practices and historical figures that
Wolpert reviews are as follows: solitude and silence as practiced by the desert
fathers and mothers; <i>lectio divina</i> as
practiced by Benedict; the Jesus Prayer as practiced by the pilgrim in <i>The Way of the Pilgrim</i>; apophatic prayer
as practiced by John of the Cross and the author of <i>The Cloud of Unknowing</i>; the examen as practiced by Ignatius of
Loyola; creativity as practiced by Hildegard of Bingen; journaling as practiced
by Julian of Norwich; body prayer as practiced by characters in the Song of
Solomon and as reflected in the story of Abelard and Heloise; walking as
practiced in ancient pilgrimages and in the labyrinth; praying in nature as
practiced by Francis of Assisi; praying materially as practiced by the
Beguines; and praying as a community as reflected in the <i>Rule of Saint Benedict</i>. The final two chapters, which are new
additions in this twentieth anniversary edition of the book, pertain less to
prayer practices and more to particular orientations of prayer. The first
orientation is one of fearless imagination as practiced by Brigit of Ireland.
The second is one of freedom as practiced by Howard Thurman.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wolpert’s exploration of each prayer practice is
unapologetically practical rather than scholarly. He desires to provide not a
comprehensive “history” of the practice but a “story” that conveys the
“spiritual essence” of the practice and its practitioners (30-31). I found his
approach to be well suited to its purpose, namely to inspire and invite readers
to seek God. Wolpert shares a host of stories, drawn not only from history but
also from his extensive experience as a spiritual leader. Through story, he relays
relatable experiences, illustrating how a particular prayer practice looks in
the flesh and cautioning against common misunderstandings and pitfalls. Wolpert
rounds out his practical approach by including an appendix with simple,
step-by-step guidelines for each prayer practice, for both individual and group
use.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One strength of Wolpert’s work is the range of practices
that he surveys. I imagine that different readers will gravitate toward
different chapters according to their present need or desire. Personally, I
found myself drawn to his chapter on praying as a community—“or rather,
community as prayer” (162)—in which he speaks a prophetic word about the
juncture at which the church finds itself. He lays the groundwork for this
chapter in his note on the 20<sup>th</sup> anniversary edition, which appears
at the beginning of the book. There he observes with interest how contemplative
practices have become more widespread at the same time that religious
institutions have declined. He points out that when he first published the
book, many church leaders had seized on the popularity of contemplative prayer
practices. These practices became “the next shiny object that was going to save
the church” (20). But they did not save the church, and Wolpert insists that
this is no surprise. “[T]he human institutions that call themselves church are
not the spiritual reality they purport to manifest” (21). The church does not
need saving. As “the mystical body of Christ,” it is alive and well (21). But
those who fly its banner might learn something from the communal practice of
prayer, not as yet another program to attract new members and save the
institution, but as a way of being in the world that brings us closer to God
and fills us with life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes in a church it is wisely said that we are not
called to be successful but to be faithful. Yet moments later, we are worrying
again about how to be successful: how to attract young people, what programs
are most relevant, which style of worship will resonate with the neighborhood.
In his chapter on praying as a community, Wolpert effectively outlines how the
church might be faithful again. The subject is how a community might live in
prayer together, but the resulting sketch is a healthy spiritual community.
Wolpert takes as his guide <i>The Rule of
Saint Benedict</i> and suggests that modeling a community on its general themes
and principles would yield a “structured environment within which everything
points to the mind of Christ” (164). I found this to be a compelling point in
the light of our society’s dawning awareness that the means often becomes its
own end. Because the institutional church has privileged structures borrowed
from politics and business, structures that take for granted the values of power
and logic, competition and efficiency, the result is often a collection of
well-intentioned individuals who find themselves frustratingly embroiled in
power struggles and budgetary concerns.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wolpert invites readers to imagine an alternative structure
for community with prayer at its center. He gleans from <i>The Rule</i> a number of fundamental spiritual principles, including
humility, rigorous honesty, a spirit of listening, a certain willingness (or
“obedience”) that yields the fruits of the Spirit, mutual service, the practice
of hospitality, living simply with few possessions, and of course the
intentional practice of prayers, both individually and communally. While
Wolpert occasionally speculates what these principles might look like in
practice, he wisely refrains from concretizing them into a distinct blueprint
from a spiritual community. Rather he offers them as guidelines. Each community
would need to apply them thoughtfully “in a unique manner” according to its
context (164). “My working hypothesis is that if enough of these themes are
consistently applied in some fashion, in some place, then a new type of
spiritual community will arise” (164).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wolpert’s musings on the character of a spiritual community
helped me to make sense of my own experience. I have found that communities
outside the church walls often seem more spiritually alive than the church
itself. Twelve-step groups, L’Arche communities, and ministries to elderly
persons and those who live without homes have all impressed me with their
vibrant spirit of grace, honesty, and companionship. I am now inspired to look
more closely at them alongside <i>The Rule
of Saint Benedict</i>, as I ponder new possibilities for the way a church
community might share life together.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The days of church as a center of social and community
life are gone,” writes Wolpert, “and so congregations are groping about in the
dark trying to decide if they are community centers, old-age homes, spiritual
Wal-Marts, or filling stations for the soul. This searching is made all the
more difficult by the individualism permeating every aspect of our lives. For
people to commit to a life of prayer with a particular community is a huge
challenge, maybe impossible” (163). I am inspired to paraphrase Wolpert’s
insight in this way. The days of successful churches are gone, and yet
congregations keep looking for a way to achieve this end. To live in a
community centered on prayer seems foolish and weak. Such a community could not
possibly be “successful.” But perhaps that is not the point.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;">In <i>Creating a Life
with God</i>, Wolpert offers readers not only a valuable resource but perhaps
even more importantly a call back to “the heart of the matter” (25). I would
earnestly recommend it to anyone seeking more life.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">- - - - - </span></p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the author and/or publisher through the Speakeasy blogging book review network. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, <a href="http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html">Part 255</a>.</span><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-shadow: yes; mso-padding-alt: 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-65960860949082482182023-12-10T06:17:00.000-08:002023-12-10T06:17:03.772-08:00"Let It Be with Me According to Your Word" (Luke 1:26-38)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“Peace at Last!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In 2020, I was writing my commentary on Leviticus and
Numbers and teaching a course called the Bible as Literature at VCU. I remember
when I first heard the news about COVID-19. It was the beginning of Spring
Break. At first, the threat seemed distant. I didn’t even think about how it
might affect my course. But over the span of just a few days, a distant threat
became a serious concern, and VCU cancelled in-person learning for the rest of
the semester.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know that for many people COVID-19 was a serious
disruption and caused real havoc. Caring for children at home, working
remotely, securing various needs in an uncertain market—these problems were
just the tip of the iceberg. And then there was the disease itself, which
proved fatal in many tragic cases. I do not want to trivialize these very real
problems. But I do want to be honest about my own experience. When COVID-19
first struck and in-person classes were cancelled, there was a little child in
me rubbing his hands together with glee and dancing for joy, thinking,
“School’s out!” For the rest of semester, all I was required to do was record
lecture and grade papers. Now, I am a serious introvert and left to my own
devices I will gladly retreat and explore the inner world of thought and
imagination. Initially I thought that this turn of events would be beneficial.
I thought it would provide a foundation for making some serious progress with
my commentary. “Peace at last!” I thought. Gone were so many distractions, from
navigating campus to extracurricular and administrative responsibilities. I
envisioned myself enthroned at my desk, doing work quietly and contentedly on
my own terms.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As perhaps you would guess, the reality was quite different
from my expectations. The absence of demands on my time and of the other
regular challenges of life did not afford me the peace I thought it would. Inwardly,
I was beset with distraction and worry. Without any real interaction, I
occasionally despaired about the worthiness of my work. It’s difficult to
sustain a sense of purpose when you’re not regularly in relationship and
receiving occasional validation. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 165.9pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Peace Outside and
Peace Inside</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What I learned that semester is that there are different
kinds of peace. There is outside peace, which we might describe as the absence
of difficulty or challenge. When I hear the words, “All is calm, all is
bright,” I’m usually thinking of outside peace. No demands on my time. A quiet
environment allowing for rest and relaxation. Harmony with others.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But outside peace, I learned, is very different from peace
inside, what we might call spiritual peace. I had a lot of outside peace but
very little spiritual peace at the beginning of COVID-19. My heart was all over
the place, unsure of its purpose, flitting from one worry to the next.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This week, we’re looking at Luke’s version of the Christmas
story. Luke is a dramatist. His version of the Christmas story is the most
colorful. It is filled with characters, each with their own backstory, their
own hopes and fears. Elizabeth, Zechariah, John, Joseph, Mary, the shepherds,
Simeon. But there is one character whom we often overlook: the Holy Spirit. In
Luke’s gospel, the Holy Spirit orchestrates nearly everything that happens. In
the Christmas story alone, the Holy Spirit fills Elizabeth and Mary and John
(even before his birth) and Zechariah and Simeon.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If we’re looking for the difference between outside peace
and inside peace, spiritual peace, then Luke is the place to look, because Luke
is all about the Spirit. Luke looks within.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Peace of Mary</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Consider for a moment the conditions in which Mary finds
herself in Luke’s Christmas story.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">First, she lives in Nazareth, a territory heavily occupied
by the Roman military. We know that around the time Jesus was born, in the year
4 BCE, the Roman legions descended swiftly and brutally upon an uprising only
four miles away in the town of Sepphoris, burning the city and reducing its
inhabitants to slavery.<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/121023%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> The
Roman historian Tacitus would later say of the Roman military, “They make a
desert and call it peace.” We can imagine that, at the very least, Mary lives
in a world of fear, a world that sleeps with one eye open, wary of what the
Romans might do next.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Add to that constant background static of fear the news that
Mary receives from Gabriel. Even if every word the angel says is true, it only
makes life more difficult for Mary on the outside. Now she will know the
disgrace that is reserved for infidelity. She will know raised eyebrows and
wicked gossip from people who take a small, perverse pleasure in the
shortcomings of others.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And the cherry on top is the simple, physical reality of
pregnancy. For this will not be a normal, straightforward pregnancy. Toward the
end of her term, Mary will be forced to travel on a bumpy road to Bethlehem,
where she will then need to deliver the baby in the cramped accommodations of a
stable, surrounded by animals and a band of stinky shepherds.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think it is safe to say that Mary does not know outside
peace. The looming threat of Roman violence, the constant buzz of shameful
rumors, and the bumps and bruises of a road trip to Bethlehem make certain of
that.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And yet, despite all of this, we hear Mary say, “Here am I,
the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word” (Luke 1:38).</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Real Peace Does Not
Make Sense</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mary’s peace was true peace. It was not dependent on the
conditions around her. She lived in a storm, but in her heart there was calm.
Like Jesus in the boat amid the wind and the waves, she was not troubled.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paul would later refer to this peace as that which
“surpasses all understanding” (Phil 4:7)), which I think is his way of saying
that real peace does not make sense. It is not logical. Everything in the world
around us could be going wrong, yet—illogically, irrationally—there is a peace
within.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This week I tried to remember the moments in my life when
I’ve experienced real peace. Surprisingly, what came to mind were not moments
where I had it easy, as in the early stages of COVID-19. Instead, what came to
mind were moments of difficulty. Moments when I made a difficult decision,
whether it was finally owning up to my own fault in a situation where I had
been avoiding it, or resolving to do something that I knew needed to be done. In
all of these cases, there was a moment of acceptance. A moment where in my
heart, I knew what I needed to do. I believe God is in all the world, in all
things, in all our lives, whether we’re aware of it or not, and so I believe
that in these scenarios it was God speaking to me in my heart. And when I
finally said, “Let it be with me according to your word,” that was when I knew
real peace. It doesn’t always make sense on the outside, where the immediate
result might be some challenges or difficult feelings. Real peace surpasses all
understanding.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Resignation or Acceptance?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Augustine once suggested that the cynics of his day were to
be pitied, for all they do is make peace with their own misery. This idea helps
me to understand that acceptance is different from resignation. Resignation is
making peace with your misery. When Mary says, “Let it be with me according to
your word,” she does not say so in resignation. She does not retreat with a
furrowed brow, thinking, “Oh, what a mess I’ve gotten myself into.” No, it’s
only a few verses later where we find her singing the Magnificat, her song of
praise to God, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my
Savior” (Luke 1:46-47).</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mary’s peace is not resignation to a difficult life. It is
acceptance of a sacred role. Her peace is an active ingredient in her life, not a passive resignation. It
inspires her (she is literally filled with the Holy Spirit). It emboldens and
empowers her. She looks forward to life, not away from it. She is strong enough
to endure all the difficulties. Why? Because underneath it all is a deep trust.
She trusts that in her God is doing something good, something beautiful,
something life-saving, for her and all the world.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I see this same peace throughout the ages in all the individuals
who have lived courageously in service to God’s love; in people like Francis of
Assisi who stood up to a church drunk on power and money and insisted on caring
for the poor and for creation, which has often been helpless in the face of
people’s greed; in people like Rosa Parks who sat down in the face of cruel
inequality and could not be moved.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Peace is a dangerous power. At times, it may take us
directly into the storm, but only because God’s love is stronger still and
capable of transforming anything. As Gabriel says, “Nothing will be impossible
with God” (Luke 1:37).</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer</p>
God of peace, <br />Born in a world of chaos— <br />Teach us by the example of Mary and countless others <br />Who have accepted your call <br />And discovered the peace that surpasses understanding. <br />Ground us and root us <br />In your call <br />… <br />May we live not from our worries or our expectations <br />But from the unshaken center of your transforming love. <div>In Christ, the peacemaker whose way we follow: Amen.</div><div> <br /><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
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<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/121023%20Sermon%20Notes%202.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
Josephus, <i>Jewish Wars</i> 2.68.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div></div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-82877190284808961422023-12-03T06:38:00.000-08:002023-12-03T06:38:19.314-08:00What Brings Us Home (Mark 1:1-8)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Lost</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I was about thirteen, my brother and I went for a hike.
We were out at a retreat center in New Mexico, not far from Santa Fe. I had
hiked before with my family, but this occasion felt special because it was just
my brother and me. You feel big, as a child, when your parents trust you with
something.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Exhilarated, I bounded up the side of the mountain with my
brother. Hiking in the southwest, we would learn, is a bit different than here
on the east coast. The trees are not densely packed. Sometimes the trail is
less obvious. I’m not sure we ever reached the destination of our particular
hike. Somewhere on the way up the mountain, we lost track of the sporadic trail
markers. Suddenly, it seemed like there were many trails, like every step was a
fork in the road.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We chose this way, then that way, but everything looked the
same. Worry crept into my thinking, and it grew with each passing minute. What
if we missed dinner? What if we never got home?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My brother reassured me. He began with the obvious. We had
started at the bottom of the mountain, so we needed to go down, not up. As we
scrambled down the mountain, we would occasionally catch a glimpse through the
scraggly trees and rocky outcroppings of the valley below. We never saw the
retreat center, but we saw other features that clued us in to our surroundings.
At one point we stumbled upon a dried-up creek bed. My brother reasoned that
water generally leads to civilization, so it wouldn’t hurt to follow the creek.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just as the sun was beginning to set, we wandered into what
seemed like a more planned environment. It was lusher and greener, and there
were flowers spotting the ground here and there. Soon it became apparent. We
had reached a cemetery that was on the outskirts of the retreat center. An
ironic symbol of life, perhaps—but my fears were relieved. We would not miss
dinner.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Mark’s Minimalist
Christmas<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This Advent, I want to look at how each gospel tells the
Christmas story. Each gospel tells it a little bit differently in a way that
reveals the gospel’s own personality and reminds us about an important part of
our faith. Today we read from Mark and learn a little bit about hope.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You will have noticed in our scripture that there was no
mention of Mary or Joseph or the angels or the shepherds watching their flocks
by night. Here, it may help to remember that the gospels weren’t written down
until a generation or so after Jesus’ lifetime. The gospel writers—Matthew,
Mark, Luke, and John—are recording in writing the sayings and stories that had
been faithfully handed down to them from other Christ-followers. Historians
tell us that it is likely that Mark had never received a story or tradition about
Jesus’ birth.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even so, Mark’s introduction and opening scene—his
“Christmas” story, if you will—are fitting for his style. Mark is the shortest
of the gospels. His style is minimalist. If you visited Mark’s house for
Christmas, you might find candles in the window or a simple wreath on the door.
Maybe even a small tree. But I doubt that it would be filled with sentimental
ornaments from years gone by. He is so focused on his central point that he
simply doesn’t have the time or interest to decorate it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mark’s gospel is perhaps a tonic for our world today, which
can get so caught up and distracted in the decorations and festivities. Mark
keeps it simple.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ…” (Mark
1:1). Right, so this is about good news. And what is that good news?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Good News of Home<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In a word, home. Mark frames his entire gospel with a
prophecy that Isaiah gave to the Israelite people who were living as exiles in
Babylon. The prophecy was a simple one: This exile is not forever. Soon, God
will bring you home! Get ready. “Prepare the way of the Lord.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then Mark fast-forwards from Isaiah to John the baptizer and
suggests that John is the final herald of this homecoming. Which is a little
odd, perhaps, given that the people of Israel have already returned to their
homeland and rebuilt their temple. They’ve been “home” now for about five
hundred years.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And yet, if truth be told, their experience is otherwise.
Even on home soil, they have continued to live under the thumb of foreign
empires: Persian, Greek, Roman. Soldiers wander their streets and do as they
please. The temple has been desecrated more than once. This does not feel like
home at all.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Imagine entering your home…only to find an armed stranger
inside, telling you what to do.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Hope Is Not a Plan<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Isaiah and John the baptizer both proclaim the hope of
homecoming. But neither provides a roadmap. There is no blueprint. No plan. No
campaign strategy. Instead there are these nebulous invitations. “Prepare,”
says Isaiah. “Repent!” shouts John. And it might help to remember that “repent”
does <i>not</i> mean groveling in self-accusation and shame. The “pent” in
“repent” comes from the same root we see in the word “pensive,” which means
thoughtful. Repent literally means something like “rethink,” “think again,” “have
a new mind.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What are Isaiah and John getting at?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To me, it sounds like they’re inviting us to make room for
God. To let go of our own plans and expectations long enough to hear what God
might be saying, long enough to see what God might be doing.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Part of me wonders if hope does not become a more endangered
experience, the more control we have over our lives. What need do I have for
hope when I’ve got a secure bank account, a comfortable home, some loyal
friends? When I’ve got the world at my fingertips in a glowing screen? When I
can buy a plane ticket at the click of a button and be on the other side of the
globe in a day?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Of course, even with all the comforts and conveniences we
have at our disposal today, it only takes a second for that illusion of control
to be shattered and for all our plans and expectations to be thrown out the
window. Maybe it’s a bleak prognosis from the doctor. An unexpected bill. A
sudden betrayal. For me, twenty-five years ago—and yes, rather trivially—it was
feeling lost on the side of a mountain. I think back to that time. What brought
me home? It was not a map. It was help. From outside. It was my brother. It was
clues from our surroundings that we got one step at a time. It was an openness
of heart and mind.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What brought me home—what always brings us home in the end—is
hope. Hope is not a map, a plan, a strategy, a calculated expectation. Hope is
an openness of heart and mind to help from outside.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As Paul puts it, “Hope that is seen is <i>not</i> hope” (Rom
8:24). Hope never knows the way. But it always trusts that there <i>is</i> a
way.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Hope can only walk one step at a time, taking direction each
moment.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Returning to the Home
That Is Always Ours</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The hope that John proclaims to the Judeans in the
wilderness is both frustratingly vague and disarmingly simple: “a baptism of
repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Mark 1:1-8). On the one hand, there is
nothing in this message that promises the Judeans immediate relief for all
their troubles with the Roman occupation. There are no battle plans, no schemes
for liberation, no diplomatic maneuvers, no strategies for independence. On the
other hand, there is a much greater promise. Remember how earlier we noted that
“repent” means “rethink” or “think again.” When your plans have gotten you in a
jamb, or when your selfish thinking has hurt others or yourself, you might
repent. Well, the Hebrew word for repent has another meaning as well: “Turn
around” or “<i>return</i>.” Turn around to whom? Return where?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John’s baptism makes it clear. “A baptism of repentance for
the forgiveness of sins.” To repent is to know God’s forgiveness. It is to
return home. Some people like to make God’s forgiveness conditional upon
repentance, as though God is holding out until a person says, “I’m sorry.” But
I like to think that God’s forgiveness is as unconditional as Jesus’ eating
habits. (Remember how he made such a scene eating with the people whom society
had excluded.) I like to think that God’s forgiveness is always there;
repentance is just how we open our hands and receive it. Repentance is how we
come home to the home that has always and will always be ours.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Hope in the Flesh</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think back one more time to my thirteen-year-old self. And
to all the scenarios when we are thrown overboard from the cruise ship that is
our plans and expectations. Of course, I like the happy endings best. My
brother and I found our way home. A cure is found. A debt is forgiven. But in
the darker scenarios, where things do not turn out quite as we would wish,
where is God? The good news that John proclaimed in the wilderness is that,
somehow, God is there too. Nothing can separate us from God’s love. I think I
knew that in a very small way on the side of that mountain. Whatever would
happen, I would not be alone. My brother was there beside me. Those who receive
a difficult prognosis in the quiet company of a loved one—they are not alone on
that hospital bed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 6.0in;">The hope that John proclaimed in the
wilderness would soon take on flesh. This hope-in-the-flesh would go to be with
people, to show them the way home—or rather, to show them that they were <i>already</i>
home, already with God: tax collectors and sinners, the poor, the blind, the
lame, Pharisees, Samaritans, centurions. He showed them all that home was not
on the other side of a military victory or in some distant utopia—but sitting
right there, across the table.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 6.0in; text-align: center;">Prayer</p>
O God our hope, <br />In whose love we are safe: <br />Help us this Advent <br />To let go of old ideas and tired thinking, <br />Of selfish ambition, shame, <br />Worry, and fear <br />… <br />Open our eyes to your coming <br />That we might welcome Christ <br />And know ourselves already home. <br />In Christ, who makes himself our companion: Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-45780193435275661552023-11-27T08:40:00.000-08:002023-11-27T08:40:08.370-08:00A Different Kind of Shepherd (Ezek 34:11-16, 20-24)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A Shepherd or a
Sheep?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the ancient Near East, the shepherd was a metaphor for a
king. The people believed that a good king was like a shepherd. A shepherd
looked out for the weakest in the flock. A shepherd took care of the injured in
the flock. A king would do likewise with his people.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Israel had a number of bad kings. Consequently, corruption
and injustice had flourished, and society had become lopsided, divided between
the very rich and the desperately poor. The fabric of society wore so thin that
eventually the people were overtaken by the neighboring kingdom of Babylon. In
today’s scripture, God promises a better future. God promises to be Israel’s
king. “I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep” (Ezek 34:15). God explains
how this will happen: “I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant
David”—which is to say, a descendant of David—“and he shall feed them” (Ezek
34:23).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For us followers of Christ, the identity of this promised
shepherd is obvious: Jesus! We believe that Jesus is the shepherd whom God had
promised Israel.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And yet I’m perplexed this morning. Why is it that God’s
shepherd is continually identified as a sheep? Not only is there John the
baptizer’s familiar proclamation, “Behold, the lamb of God!” (John 1:29, 36)
and Revelation’s repeated identification of Jesus as the lamb, but also Jesus
himself identifies as a sheep. In today’s gospel lectionary text, Jesus tells a
parable in which he identifies himself as the least among the people, the
weakest of the sheep (Matt 25:31-46). I tried to capture this paradox in our
call to worship.<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/112623%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span></span></a> In
Ezekiel, God had promised to bring back the strayed and care for the injured
and the strengthen the weak. In Jesus’ parable, <i>he</i> is the stranger; <i>he</i>
is the injured; <i>he</i> is the weak.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What is the meaning of this reversal? Why does God’s promised
shepherd look more like a sheep?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">On the Side of the
Wounded<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Recently I was talking with a friend who has struggled for
the last ten years with undiagnosed chronic pain. Doctors have explored many
different angles, but so far there has been no diagnosis to explain all she has
suffered. She shared with me that, although she doesn’t like to acknowledge it,
she bears some serious resentment toward God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In years past, my kneejerk reaction would have been to
defend God. But who am I kidding? God doesn’t need me to defend him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if what God needs is the
opposite. Not for me to <i>attack</i> God, but rather for me to place myself on
the side of the wounded rather than on the side of God. Because what I read in
today’s scriptural paradox, is that God himself is on the side of the wounded.
God looks more like a sheep than its shepherd.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If I could imagine another verse added to today’s gospel
text, it would be Jesus saying this, “I was aggrieved and resentful, and you
listened to me.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A Parable<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In response to the question, “Why does God’s promised king
look more like a sheep than a shepherd?”—which could also be asked in this way,
“How can a sheep be a shepherd?”—I’d like to conclude with a parable. I’m
reminded that Jesus himself, when he was asked questions, would often respond
with a story. It is almost as though Jesus refuses the final word. He wants us
to keep asking, to keep thinking, to keep seeking.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">…</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There once lived a strange prince. He was the king’s only
son, but people had grave doubts about his suitability for the throne because
this prince seemed awfully forgetful of his own royalty. He commonly neglected
the imperial customs. He forgot to wear his princely coat when he attended
royal events. He used the wrong silverware at banquets. He would stand he was
meant to sit and sit when he was meant to stand.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some people said he was just a dreamer. His head was in the
clouds. Others questioned his sanity. “Something seems off,” they said. A few
commented that it was as though he were living with one foot in another
world—as though his “kingdom not from this world” (John 18:36).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When the king finally died and the strange prince became
king himself, he inherited a kingdom that was falling apart. There were
numerous land disputes among the nobles. Crime was on the rise in the cities.
And border skirmishes happened more and more frequently, as neighboring
kingdoms sensed weakness and sought retaliation for past offenses. The people
all looked to the king for solutions, but they had their doubts.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As it was, the king himself had doubts. He lamented to his
trusted advisor that there was nothing he could do to solve the problems of the
kingdom as long as people were looking for a strongman to swoop in and secure
their desires. He said that even if he had enough swords in the kingdom to do
just that, the people would never be happy. “In the end, force does not fix
things,” he said. “It only fractures us. It is not control that will make us
whole. Only care can do that.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then one day the king left his palace, never to return. At
first, the people thought he had abdicated his throne and fled. But then there
were reported sightings of him throughout the kingdom. One day a noble said he
had seen a man wandering his orchard, eating an apple. He mistook him for a
homeless man, but when he came near to reproach the drifter, he recognized him
as the king. “What delicious apples!” the king said. “Would you like one? The
earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it. What a gift we have! God has been so
rich toward us, hasn’t he?” This same noble had been involved in several land
disputes. But that encounter planted a new seed in his mind. Was the land
really his?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another day the king was spotted in one of the poorer
districts, eating and drinking with men and women who were known to be
criminals. The passerby who spotted the king drew near and eavesdropped. The
king was asking the others about their lives, and listening with interest and
compassion as they shared stories of tragic upbringings, of poverty and
abandonment and shame. The strange thing was, at the end of the gathering, their
faces almost glowed with the acceptance they had found. As they departed, there
was no whispered plotting of plans to steal or deceive. The only talk was of
when they would meet next.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yet another day the king was spotted near the border. He was
surrounded by a small band of warriors from a neighboring kingdom. Their swords
were drawn but had fallen down to the side. They stood with rapt attention as
the king, who was unarmed, asked for forgiveness on behalf of his kingdom. “I
know what your families have suffered. I know about your children who have been
lost to war. Nothing can bring them back. Please, know that my heart is broken
for you. I cannot speak for others, but on their behalf I beg your forgiveness.
Our violence toward you has left an unspeakable wound.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As you can probably imagine, it was not long before some of
the more ambitious nobles in the kingdom had conspired together. They arrested
the king on charges of treason and imprisoned him for the rest of his life. But
even in prison, he went on living as he had before, sharing what little he had,
receiving what others had to give, and seeking companionship with all he
encountered. Some citizens visited him in prison, bringing him clothes, food, and
drink.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To this day, some citizens in the kingdom still refer to him
as “our true king, whose kingdom will never end.” The good news they proclaim
baffles the leaders around them. The good news they proclaim is not that God is
in control, but that God cares—and so do they.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
God-with-us,<br />Who comes not with a fix <br />But with friendship— <br />Grant us the courage <br />To accept what we cannot control <br />… <br />And to discover your reign <br />In care shown to others <br />And to ourselves. <br />In Christ, the lamb of God: Amen.
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><br /></p><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/112623%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> God,
the shepherd, says: “I will bring back the strayed.” / Christ, the lamb, says:
“I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” / God, the shepherd, says: “I will
strengthen the weak.” / Christ, the lamb, says: “I was hungry and you gave me
food.” / God, the shepherd, says: “I will bind up the injured.” / Christ, the
lamb, says: “I was sick and you took care of me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-19830470433036607522023-11-19T05:37:00.000-08:002023-11-19T05:37:58.571-08:00"They Cried Out for Help" (Judg 4:1-7)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Getting Honest at
Rock Bottom<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John Crist is a popular comedian who has developed a strong
Christian fanbase. His jokes regularly poke fun at the church in the sort of
way that a person might make fun of his own family. His humor is not meant to
tear down the church but to illuminate its peculiarities and especially the
ways we sometimes cover up or hide from the truth with pious-sounding
sentiments.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Here are a few one-liners from his bit, “Christian ways to
say no that will make you sound way more of a spiritual person than you are.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t think it’s God’s will.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s just not his timing.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m feeling led in a different direction.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s a closed door.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I just don’t feel peace about it right now.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And, of course, everyone’s favorite: “Let me pray about it.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/111923%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The twist in John Crist’s story is that, four years ago,
right around the height of the Me Too movement, several women made allegations
that he had exploited his popularity and interacted with them in sexually
inappropriate and emotionally manipulative ways. John Crist was swiftly
canceled. He’d been working on a Netflix special, but that was binned. He
retreated for a while. Apologized. Went to rehab.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now he’s back performing. As you might imagine, his fanbase
is split over the sincerity of his repentance. I’m not a fan, so I have no
comment there. But what has captured my attention is his story. He describes
his downfall as many addicts do. His “rock bottom” was not a day of decision.
He didn’t wake up one day and get honest with himself and say, “I need some
help.” His rock bottom was a day of intervention. It was an apocalypse (which
literally means revealing), when others had to hold a mirror up to him and
said, “This is what you are. Look!”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Since we’re not far off from the Christmas season, we might also
compare this experience to what happens to Scrooge in <i>A Christmas Carol</i>.
Scrooge doesn’t simply wake up one day and decide to change his ways. His rock
bottom involves an intervention: three ghosts, who each in their own way forces
him to confront his own reality. Only after their visit does he become honest
enough with himself to say, “No. This is not who I want to be.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Israel Gets Honest: “Help!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In our scripture today, the people of Israel hit their own
rock bottom. Our storyteller summarizes, “The Israelites did what was evil in
the sight of the Lord” (Judg 4:1). There are no further details. But we might
imagine some. A recurring theme in Israel’s covenant with God is that the
people will look after the needful: the widow, the orphan, the stranger. And according
to the prophets, what is evil in the sight of the Lord is not bungling a
sacrifice or getting the rituals wrong. No, what is evil in the sight of the
Lord is the mistreatment of people who need care. What the Lord desires is not
sacrifice but mercy. Hosea said this (Hos 6:6). Jesus as well (Matt 9:13). The
problem in ancient Israel is that the rulers and business leaders often pay
close attention to sacrifice and piety while at the very same time they not
only neglect the needful but also exploit them (e.g., Amos 4:1-5).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In other words, the problem is that the people of Israel are
living a lie. The people of God are living ungodly lives, and they are hiding
from this truth under the cover of religion. As with John Crist, as with
Scrooge, their rock bottom is not a simple day of decision. They do not come to
their senses on their own. Notice when it is that the people of Israel finally
cry out to God for help: only after twenty years of cruel oppression under King
Jabin and his army’s nine hundred chariots of iron (Judg 4:2-3).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That is some intervention. Twenty years of cruel oppression.
Perhaps without it, the people of Israel would have gone on living a lie, people
exploiting the needful rather than caring for them, the gap ever increasing
between rich and poor. But the consequences couldn’t be ignored forever. They
had become a feeble, selfish people, lacking a commitment to the care of others
and thus falling prey to an oppressive tyrant. So finally, after twenty years
of living in the miserable state of foreign occupation and cruel oppression,
they wake up to their reality and get honest with themselves. They need help!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A Woman Sitting Under
a Tree<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There is a pattern in the book of Judges. It’s simple, and
it goes like this. First, the people do what is evil in the eyes of the Lord. Second,
they cry out for help. And third, God raises up a judge to deliver them (cf.
Judg 2:10-17). (This is before the time of kings. The leaders, who were called
“judges,” were charismatic individuals who periodically unified the people and led
them to care again about one another and about God.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The fascinating thing in today’s scripture is that when God
raises up a judge, we do not find ourselves looking at a warrior or a rousing speaker
calling people to arms at the town gate. We find ourselves looking at a woman.
Who is sitting down. Under a tree. It’s about as passive an image as you could
imagine. Yet something about this woman draws the Israelites to her (Judg
4:4-5). They come streaming to her “for judgment,” we are told, which is
perhaps a way of saying, that the people of Israel are hungry for honesty,
desperate for truth. They know deep down that they are living a lie and are
suffering the consequences—in the same way that Scrooge, deep down, was haunted
by his greed, literally so; in the same way that John Crist felt like a fraud,
calling the church to account even as he was selfishly exploiting others.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The people of Israel know that they need what Deborah has. They
have been impulsive, living on autopilot, living for themselves, living a lie.
This woman is patient, waiting, listening. Honest.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Listening to the Cry
of the Heart<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s not easy to be honest. It takes real courage. I read
recently about a study conducted by a social psychologist at UVA, in which
participants actually chose to receive a small electric shock rather than to
have to sit alone quietly for fifteen minutes. I think it is telling that we
would prefer an electric shock to being left alone with our own thoughts.<a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/111923%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span></span></a> It is
frightening what we might hear if we actually stop to listen to ourselves.
Beneath all the surface chatter, we might actually hear the cry of our heart,
saying something we’ve been trying to avoid. “I’m not actually happy here.
Something feels off. I don’t feel right about the way I’ve treated my partner.
I don’t feel right about the work I’m doing. I don’t feel right about the
choices I’ve been making.” We might hear the cry of our heart, saying, “I’m
feeling hurt and alone, disconnected from others. Disconnected from God.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our scripture today ends with Deborah summoning an Israelite
commander, Barak. Our translation misses a small but significant piece of
grammar in the original Hebrew. Where our translation has Deborah say to Barak,
“The Lord, the God of Israel, commands you” (Judg 4:6), the original Hebrew
includes an interrogative marker, which is sort of like a question mark. In
other words, Deborah is really saying, “Has not the Lord, the God of Israel,
commanded you…?” The implication here is stark. God has <i>already</i> been
speaking to the commander, Barak, but he has not been listening. He needs a
second prompting from Deborah. Barak means “lightning” in Hebrew, but he is not
living up to his name. His sharpness has been blunted. Because he has not been
listening. Because he has not been honest with himself about what God is
calling him to do.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">An Honest Heart<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I read today’s scripture, this short chapter in
Israel’s history, I am inclined to see faith less as a set of beliefs and more
as a cry from the heart.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What brings Israel back to God (and back to life) is its
honesty. The people have been living in harmful and self-destructive ways for
twenty years. Only when they become honest with themselves and acknowledge
their need, do they cry out to God for help. It is the heart’s cry that brings
God to their side—or rather, helps them to realize that God has been at their
side all along.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What brings Barak back to God (and back to life) is honesty.
He has been ignoring the still, small voice of God within himself. But then Deborah
summons him and calls him to hear the cry in his heart that God wants to do so
much more with him.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the same way, what brought John Crist back to God (and
back to life) was honesty. And not just the honesty of a confession or an
apology. John has made clear that the real work of his recovery was becoming
honest about what lay beneath his behavior: his own wounds and needs. He had
misguidedly been trying to care for himself by winning the attention and
admiration of others. The cliché here rings true. Hurt people hurt people.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But when hurt people become rigorously honest, God is near.
Help is on the way. Healing is possible.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture reminds me of this good news: what brings
me close to God is not a set of beliefs but an honest heart. (David said it
more poignantly: “A broken and contrite heart, O Lord, you will not despise.”)
An honest heart: it is so simple…but not necessarily easy. It may mean sitting
for fifteen minutes alone with my thoughts. It may mean listening to someone
else’s observations about how I am living. It may mean letting go of plans I
have made or fantasies I have nurtured, which are the kinds of things that keep
me from being honest; they keep me in autopilot.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">God’s help may look different than I want, just as a woman
sitting under a tree was probably not what Israel expected for its salvation.
But I can trust that when I am honest, open, and willing, God is near. Help is
on the way. I can be who God made me to be.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">Saving God,<br />Whose real strength is not in the sword <br />But in the heart: <br />Grant us the courage <br />To sit. <br />To listen. <br />To hear the cry of our heart. <br />… <br />May our honesty <br />Open us up to your saving love <br />And help us to grow into our true selves. </div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">In Christ, of gentle and humble heart: Amen.</div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/111923%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3oc735Ay2k,
accessed November 13, 2023.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn2" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="file:///C:/Users/user/JAK/Work/Trinity/111923%20Sermon%20Notes%203.docx#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> https://www.science.org/content/article/people-would-rather-be-electrically-shocked-left-alone-their-thoughts,
accessed November 13, 2023.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-63141164062356212792023-11-12T05:36:00.000-08:002023-11-12T05:36:59.731-08:00"Choose This Day" (Josh 24:1-3a, 14-25)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">After Retirement<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When as a child I first learned about the idea of “retirement,”
I thought of it as a finish line. It meant you had “made it.” I thought of it
as the bell on the last day of school. It meant work was over and the fun could
begin.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Now, I’m nowhere near that bell. My race is not even halfway run. But many of
you have crossed that fabled finish line. And from what I’ve heard, retirement
is not at all what I as a child had thought it would be. You have discovered
(or perhaps you already knew) the work is never over. Whether it’s caring for
grandchildren, checking on your neighbors, building ramps for others, going on
trips and learning something new—whatever it is that brought you life before
retirement, is what still brings you life after retirement. When my dad
retired, it was not long before he had found himself enlisted again in doing
the same kind of work he had done, which was event planning. Secretly, I think,
he was happy to be working again. What gave him life before, still gives him
life now. (Of course, it is more enjoyable when you can work on your terms.)<br />
<br />
We’ve all heard stories of people who worked their entire lives, and then
shortly into a full-fledged retirement, in which they have absolutely nothing
to do, they die. I wonder if part of the reason is because they have lost a
reason for living. Our work—whether it’s our employment or other meaningful
tasks that we take on in our adult lives—is fundamentally about being in
community and sharing our gifts with others. Apparently this is a need for us
as humans. It’s part of the fabric of life. It doesn’t change at retirement.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Choosing God When
You’ve Made It<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In today’s scripture, God addresses the people of Israel
after they have come into the Promised Land and begun to settle there. Our
lectionary selection only features the beginning of God’s address (in verses
two and three), in which God reminds the people of their origin story. Their
ancestor Abraham had once served other gods in a land beyond the Euphrates, but
then God chose him to be the start of a new people and new way of life. The
point of God’s speech is to remind the people of Israel that they have not made
it into the Promised Land on their own. From the very beginning, God has been
with them, guiding them, teaching them, doing for them what they could not do
on their own. God has chosen the people of Israel. The question is, Will the
people of Israel choose God?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When God finishes God’s speech, the leader Joshua turns to
the people of Israel and invites them to respond in kind. “Choose <i>this day</i>
whom you will serve” (Josh 24:15). I hear a special emphasis on the phrase
“this day.” Because for Israel, “this day” is the day when they have finally
settled in the Promised Land. “This day” is the finish line. “This day” is the
bell on the last day of school. They have made it. Now they will live in houses
instead of tents. Now they will have land and their herds and flocks will
multiply. Gone is the wilderness. Now they are living in the land of milk and
honey.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is one thing to choose God when you are enslaved and
desperate. When God first made God’s covenant with Israel, they had just been
liberated from a lifetime of slavery in Egypt. Their covenant with God was
arguably more of a foxhole prayer than a deliberated decision. Of course, they
would take God as their God. Next to slavery, just about anything looked
better.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is one thing to choose God when you’ve got nothing else
to lose. It is another thing entirely to choose God when you’ve made it. When
you’re living securely in the land, happy and healthy. When you’ve got a roof
over your head and a barn filled with plenty and your past suffering and
desperation is a distant dream. In the wilderness, Moses warned the people
about this day. He said, “When you have eaten your fill and have built fine
houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks have multiplied, and
your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied, then
do not exalt yourself, forgetting the LORD your God, who brought you out of the
land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery… Do not say to yourself, ‘My power
and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealth’” (Deut 8:12-14, 17).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“Put Away the Foreign
Gods”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">According to Moses, the danger of having “made it” is the
illusion of self-sufficiency. When things are going well, it is easy to think
I’m in control. It is easy to think I have brought this about by my own hand,
through my own power.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Twice in today’s scripture, Joshua tells the people, “Put
away the foreign gods that are among you, and incline your hearts to the Lord,
the God of Israel” (Josh 24:23; cf. 24:14). The implication is that, at least
in their hearts, the people are still serving other gods. Serving other
gods—which is elsewhere called idolatry—is in fact a self-serving behavior. It
is a sort of deal or trade-off that we make for our own benefit. It gives us
the illusion that we have a handle on things. These gods we serve are actually
meant to serve us.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Think about the foreign gods we serve today. What are their
temples? Where do people turn their eyes? Where do people flock? I think of Wall
Street, Hollywood, Silicon Valley, the Capitol. Are they not temples to money,
appearance, technology, and power? We serve these other gods thinking that they
will secure the good life for us. (That they <i>have</i> secured the good life
for us.) We serve them thinking they will help us get the things we want, the
attention we want, the control we want.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Nothing Has Changed<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think back to the experience of retirement. Some of you
are experts in this matter of life, so it really should be you talking and not
me. But my observation is that in the later years of a person’s life, the road
diverges in one of two directions. And I’m going to paint here with very broad
strokes.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In one direction, the person looks back upon their life and
sees with pride all that they have accomplished and built. “My kingdom,” they
think. And then as their age slowly takes its toll, they begin to feel their
kingdom crumbling around them. And they become bitter and resentful and
grasping. It turns out that the foreign gods we serve will always disappoint us
in the end. They do not secure us life. Rather, they disorient us,
disconnecting us from God and others; and so when their short-lived treasures
begin to slip through our fingers, we find ourselves as we really are,
incredibly isolated and alone.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the other direction, and perhaps this is the road less
traveled, the person looks back upon their life and sees with gratitude all the
gifts they have been given. They see the hard times not as obstacles that they
had to mount, but as moments when God came to their side. They see the good
times as God’s grace, doing for them what they could never have done for
themselves. “This is my Father’s world,” they might think. God’s kingdom—<i>right
here</i>, on earth as it is in heaven. And they realize that, post-retirement,
after the finish line, after the bell has rung, after the River has been
crossed, nothing has changed. God is still here, still our Help. Life is still
a gift to be received in community with others and in meaningful work shared
with them. And so they can do now what they did before. They can choose “this
day” to serve God. When their life is going well, they can choose to serve God.
When all that they had gained in life is lost, they can choose still to serve
God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Because in the end, nothing has changed. All of life is a
gift. Not to be grasped and accumulated, but to be received, shared, and
celebrated.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Loving God,<br />Who is the same on both sides of the River, <br />In times of difficulty and times of ease— <br />This day we choose to serve you. <br />We look back on our lives <br />And we see your help, <br />Not magic or instant fixes <br />But steadfast presence and care <br />… <br />Make us servants of this love <br />That has brought us life. <br />In Christ, our companion and guide: Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-63477366574613240552023-11-05T05:34:00.009-08:002023-11-05T05:34:47.026-08:00"All Students" (Josh 3:7-17)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Not a Knower but a
Learner<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not long ago, I was on nephew duty at my brother’s house,
when the toaster oven suddenly failed. My nephew Nathan looked up at me and
said, “It’s alright Uncle Jonny. Daddy will know how to fix it.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think it is this kind of childlike trust to which Jesus
refers when he says we must become like little children to enter the kingdom of
God. Nathan has a reverential awe for all the things Daddy can do. He speaks
about my brother almost as though he were God himself. Daddy knows how to mow
the lawn. How to drive the car. How to do just about everything.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I smile, sometimes, when Nathan extols my brother’s
abilities, because I can remember when my brother and I looked up to our dad in
the same way. I remember when my brother learned how to mow the lawn from my
dad, how to prime the carburetor and yank the pull cord and push the mower in
even rectangles and triangles. I remember my brother’s first driving lessons in
the family car, cautiously coasting down West Creek on a quiet Saturday
morning.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In my nephews’ eyes, Daddy knows everything. They look up to
Daddy as they look up to God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In my eyes, my brother is not a knower but a learner. My
brother knows what we learned from our dad, and what our dad learned from his,
and so on.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">God Does Now What God
Did Then<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today’s scripture tells the story of Israel’s entrance into
the Promised Land by the crossing of the River Jordan. As we know from last
week’s scripture, Moses has died. Joshua is the new leader. God promises Joshua
at the beginning of today’s scripture, “I will be with you as I was with Moses”
(Josh 3:7). God wastes little time coming good on this promise.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For readers or listeners who are familiar with Israel’s
story, the crossing of the Jordan sounds familiar. The waters being raised up
into walls (Josh 3:13)? The people “crossing over on dry ground” (Josh 3:7)?
Where have we heard this before?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There is a rich symmetry in this scene. A miraculous
crossing of water is how the story of Israel began, remember? When God delivers
the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, God divides the sea for them and provides
safe passage into the wilderness. In today’s story, the Israelites’ wilderness
wandering comes to an end as God again divides the water for them and provides
safe passage into the Promised Land. In both instances, Israel’s leader guides
the people, but it would be a mistake to look upon the leadership as the reason
for the successful crossing. As God says to Joshua, “I will be with you as I
was with Moses” (Josh 3:7).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The common thread here is not a mighty leader, but a
faithful God. The good news is simple: God does now what God did then.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“You Have One
Teacher”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That is the good news that we celebrate today on All Saints
Sunday. God does now what God did then. So we remember our loved ones passed,
not in a hopeless way, as though they are gone completely and forever, but
instead in a hopeful way, trusting that the God who lived in them still lives;
that the God who gave us them, still gives; and that they still live in Him who
lives.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In today’s gospel lectionary text, Jesus warns his disciples
against the hypocrisy of religious leaders whose actions are superficial and
spring from the wrong motives, who do things to be seen by others and praised
by them rather than to be faithful to God. Jesus’ warning, which begins
sensibly enough with the desire that our deeds should match our words, escalates
rather quickly into a radical claim that the church seems largely to have
ignored: “You are not to be called rabbi”—that is, teacher—“for you have one
teacher, and you are all students” (Matt 23:8).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The danger with titles, such as pastor or pope or saint, is
that there is a tendency to elevate the person as a teacher and to forget that
they are just as much students as we are, and that we all have one Teacher.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think back to my nephews. They look upon my brother,
Daddy, as an almost Godlike figure, but I know that in fact he is just as much
a learner as they are. We are all learners. All students.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">Our Saints Are Not Saviors:</div><div style="text-align: center;">They Are the Saved</div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The invitation, then, on this All Saints Sunday is not to
glorify our loved ones as self-made individuals. It is to glorify God in them,
to remember them as gifts from a good Giver, as learners of a good Teacher, as
humans made of the exact same stuff as us, whose good example inspires us to
trust in the Love that made them who they were. The invitation is to remember
that God does now as God did then, that God does in us what God did in them,
that in God we may live as they still live.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As a little exercise, I would invite you to think about a
loved one passed who is on your heart this morning. What is it about them that
you are most thankful for? What is it about them that made them a gift to you
and others?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">…</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t know for certain, of course, but I would guess that
what you are thankful for has very little to do with the conventional pursuits
of life, wealth, property, prestige. I doubt your deepest thanks is reserved
for how much money they made or the professional recognition that they received,
even if you are proud of these things. My guess is that what you are most
thankful for has to do with their faith (whether or not they would have used
that term). My guess is that what you are most grateful for is something
spiritual. Maybe it was their compassionate attention, or their steadfast
faithfulness, or their unconditional acceptance, or their exuberant joy that
could not be quashed. Maybe it is as simple as a habit of theirs that you can
still see in your mind’s eye, like a smile or laughter or a certain look in
their eyes. What you are remembering, what you are thankful for—I think—is God
in them. It is what they learned from God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our saints are not saviors. They are the saved. They are not
the ones who parted the waters; they are the ones for whom, in whom, through
whom, God parted the waters. They are not knowers. They are students, learners,
just like us. We see in them not their own strength, but God’s salvation, which
gives us hope for today. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For God does now what God did then. Or as our psalmist today
proclaims, “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love
endures forever.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer<o:p></o:p></p>
Holy God,<br />Our one true Teacher, <br />Whose gifts and lessons we celebrate <br />In the lives of our saints <br />As well as in the life of Christ <br />… <br />Make us learners of your love, <br />Students of your Spirit, gentle and humble, <br />That we would trust in your steadfast care <br />And live with integrity, <br />Our deeds bearing witness to your good news. <br />In Christ, our brother: Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4995659494037964286.post-22050281346708908982023-10-29T05:45:00.004-07:002023-10-29T05:45:31.450-07:00"...Whom the Lord Knew Face to Face" (Deut 34:1-12)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“No Player Bigger
than the Team”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">About five years ago, the soccer club that I support,
Liverpool, were in the midst of a drought. It had been nearly thirty years
since the last time they had won the English Premier League. This dry spell was
not quite of the magnitude of, say, the Boston Red Sox going 86 years without a
World Series. But for Liverpool fans who were accustomed to greatness, it was
discouraging. It didn’t help that their noisy neighbors, their rivals
Manchester United, had won more than a handful of titles in the meanwhile.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Liverpool’s best player at the time was Philippe Coutinho, a
Brazilian international. And if you know anything about soccer, you know that
those Brazilians are pretty good. They’re practically born with a ball at their
feet. If a soccer player’s name ends with that special ending “-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">inho</i>”—like Robinho or Ronaldinho or
Fernandinho—you know they’re going to be magicians with the ball, maestros
conducting the orchestra. Many Liverpool fans loved Coutinho and hoped that he
would be the one to bring back a league title to Liverpool. They were
heartbroken when the famous Spanish club Barcelona came along with a record
offer, £142 million, and Coutinho’s head was turned. He left. Many Liverpool
fans saw this as a nail in the coffin. “We will always be a selling club,” they
said. “Our best players will always be stolen by the giants. There’s no title
in our future.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But as it would turn out, Coutinho’s departure was the final
piece to Liverpool’s puzzle. Without having all their hopes pinned on one
player, the team began to share responsibility more evenly. The front three
players all blossomed together and began to score buckets of goals. In 2019,
Liverpool won the European title, called the Champions League. And the
following year, they won the national title, called the Premier League. They
were back. And all without Coutinho.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Hindsight, of course, is 20-20, and many fans knowingly
nodded their heads and uttered that old sports adage, “There’s no player bigger than the team.” And even though these fans
may have been the same ones who complained when Coutinho left, there’s no
arguing with the truth of that proverb. What matters most in a team sport is
not the magic of an individual but the collective performance of the team.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“The Servant of the
Lord”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s a truth that translates pretty well into the broader
playing field of life. What matters most is not the power or greatness of a
leader, but the collective responsibility and integrity of the people. Our
scripture today tells the story of Moses’ death, and on the surface it can read
a little bit like hero worship. “Never since has there arisen a prophet in
Israel like Moses… He was unequaled…for all the mighty deeds and all the
terrifying displays of power that [he] performed in the sight of all Israel”
(Deut 34:10-12). But if we read a bit more closely, we might discover an
entirely different impression, namely that scripture
is actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">downplaying</i> the
individual significance of Moses.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To begin, we have God’s sobering reminder to Moses, “You
shall not cross over there” (34:4). God gently leaves it at that, but we might
remember the reason for Moses’ non-entry. Earlier he had struck the rock in
self-righteous anger, shaming the Israelites and not giving glory and thanks to
God for the provision of water (cf. Num 20:1-13, 24b). In other words, Moses is
human too. God’s decree that Moses should not enter the Promised Land may still
feel inscrutable, given all he’s done, but perhaps part of the reason is to
remind the people of Israel that, well, no player is bigger than the team.
Moses has led Israel in so many commendable ways. But at the end of the day,
Israel will not be able to look back on its history and say, “Moses led us into
the Promised Land.” No, as great as he was, he too would die in the wilderness
like the rest of his generation.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Immediately after God’s decree, the narrator refers to Moses
as “the servant of the Lord” (Deut 34:5). It is a subtle descriptor but
significant. Rarely is there a mention of Moses without a mention of the Lord,
and in this particular case, their relationship is made clear. Moses is a
servant. His greatness is a matter of his servant’s disposition. And this is
his final act of obedience. He dies, we are told, “at the Lord’s command” (Deut
34:5). It is one thing to die at God’s command when the body is completely
failing and craves its final rest. But Moses, the narrator tells us, is
healthy: “His sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated” (Deut 34:7).
To die in this state, is probably not an easy obedience for Moses. Yet he is
ever God’s servant. And he trusts that death is a part of God’s life—even
without any promise of an afterlife. A couple millennia later, Francis of
Assisi will tenderly sing, “Praised be you, my Lord, through our sister Death,
from whom no one can escape.” Only a servant of life, only someone who really
trusts in the Creator, could see goodness in death.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">“No One Knows His
Burial Place”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After Moses dies, we learn that “no one knows his burial
place to this day” (Deut 34:6). It is easy to overlook the importance of this
notice. In the Old Testament, people commonly build altars or pillars to
commemorate the site of an important encounter, whether it is a revelation of
God or a death. For instance, when Rachel dies, the storyteller says, “Jacob
set up a pillar at her grave; it is the pillar of Rachel’s tomb, which is there
to this day” (Gen 35:20). The absence of a burial place for Israel’s greatest
leader is incredibly conspicuous. Surely someone would have set up a pillar,
right? The implication here is that God has actually prevented such a
commemoration.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If we go back to the beginning of today’s scripture, we see
that God has led Moses up a mountain, presumably alone, to show him the
Promised Land. Then Moses dies at the Lord’s command. What happens next is almost
completely lost in our English translation. Our translation says, “He was
buried in a valley in the land of Moab.” But the original Hebrew says this: “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He buried him</i> in a valley in the land of
Moab” (Deut 34:6). Who buried Moses? The only other character in this passage
is God. The suggestion is that God buries Moses in secret on purpose <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so that</i> no one will know his burial
place. Why? God wants to guard against
that human tendency to worship heroes, which tends to weaken our own sense
of responsibility and integrity.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In ancient Israel, there seems to have been a special
concern against the worship of the dead, which was common in neighboring
cultures. For instance, the passage in Leviticus against making gashes or marks
in one’s own body has nothing to do with tattoos or the importance of honoring
one’s body. It has to do with a practice that was commonly performed in the
worship of the dead. God is concerned there that people will attribute too much
significance to a person who is gone and at the same time ignore the very
source of that person’s life. To worship
the dead is to miss out on life. And so God quietly, inconspicuously buries
Moses away from the sight of the people.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Memory of Moses
Is the Memory of God</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Next Sunday is All Saints Sunday, when we remember our loved
ones who have passed. Our memory of them, however, is not limited to the deeds
they did or the words they said. Our memory of them is inflected with
gratitude, recognizing that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who they were is inextricably connected with
who God is</i>. We cannot look at their life and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> see God. Whether it was their laughter and a spirit of
hope, or their quiet demeanor and a spirit of trust, or their ability to move
on and a spirit of forgiveness—we see in them the spirit of God, and we know
that the God of the living is with them still and they still live in God (cf.
Matt 22:31-32). And while all of this does not erase our grief, because they
are gone in a very real way, it does somehow accompany and perhaps even
transcend our grief, because they are also still here in a very real way, in
the abiding presence and love of God. We can say with today’s lectionary psalm,
“Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.” You are our home
at all times.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That line in today’s scripture that sounds a little bit like
hero worship now sounds different to me: “Never since has there arisen a
prophet in Israel like Moses, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whom the
Lord knew face to face</i>” (Deut 34:10). The
memory of Moses is in fact the memory of God—the God who gave life to Moses
and who called Moses and who worked wonderful deeds through Moses, all because
God <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knew</i> Moses. And the good news we
have in Christ, is that this extraordinarily special relationship between God
and Moses is in fact the relationship we all enjoy with God if we open
ourselves up to it, if we make ourselves, like Moses, a servant of life and the
God of life. We and Moses are made of the same stuff. We are human, frail and
finite, and we are caught up in an extraordinary loving relationship with the
Creator.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The translation of our scripture today says that Moses dies
“at the Lord’s command.” The original Hebrew is more literally rendered that
Moses dies “at the mouth of the Lord.” A rabbinic tradition expounds on this
scene to suggest that when Moses breathed his last, it was in fact God kissing
Moses, drawing from him the same breath that God had earlier breathed into him.
Maybe it’s just a fanciful interpretation, but it resonates with my faith in a
God who calls us his own. And so I trust that this intimacy with God that Moses
knows in his last moments, is for all of us. God is our home, now and forever,
as the Psalmist says.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so I’m left with a lot to ponder. And while this
pondering is on death, it is also fundamentally on life and the God of life.
When I remember loved ones passed, how am I remembering God? How is God’s life
manifest among theirs? And what about me? How is God’s life being manifest
within my life? When people remember me, how will they be remembering God?</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Prayer</p>
God of life, <br />Whose love puts on quite a show <br />In Moses, your servant, <br />But also in others whom we have known <br />… <br />Open our eyes to see, <br />Beyond the surface, <br />Your Spirit doing great things <br />In our loved ones, in strangers, in enemies even… <br />And in us. <br />In Christ, who calls us your beloved children: Amen.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14666936448854203875noreply@blogger.com0