Tuesday, February 27, 2018
No Post This Week (2/28/18)
If you were not able to join us Sunday, because I was a bit overwhelmed by the work that went into Saturday's workshop, we heard from Rev. Cathy Hamrick. Cathy is a local semi-retired, part-time chaplain and friend of mine; we will certainly be hearing from her again. Although we do not have a manuscript of Cathy's sermon, her Scripture text was from Mark 8:27-38.
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Yada, Yada
First Sunday of Lent
But surveys get that job done too, especially anonymous
ones. I don’t want to do things that
take people out of the worship experience, no one does; so if I can make
adjustments without lessening the worship experience for someone else, of
course I will. Besides, I don’t like
excessively long prayers any more than you.
I’ve got pastor friends; we are a wordy bunch. Telling me, “Hey, that prayer was really
long,” isn’t offensive; it’s helpful. I
don’t want to be that pastor.
But then again, I don’t want to say too little either. Take the sermon, for example: for some (and
remember, the surveys were anonymous so I don’t know who you are), but some
would rather I not write out my sermon ahead of time. I get that: you don’t want a robot-pastor;
you want someone who believes in and is transformed by God’s Word. But I’ve actually tried showing up with just
Scripture and some notes. For a message
longer than a brief homily, it’s a train wreck.
I go off on tangents. I miss
vital points to the Scripture texts. My
stories don’t seem to have endings. When
I don’t write it out, I don’t say enough.
It is a bit like our Scripture lesson this morning. I like the Gospel of Mark because it isn’t
too wordy; you can get through the Gospel of Mark maybe in one sitting. But doesn’t it seem this morning that Mark
isn’t quite wordy enough? Doesn’t it
seem that there are things here that we should be hearing more about?
I can certainly make a point, in a prayer and in a sermon,
without saying more than needs to be said (and I honestly appreciate the
encouragement to do so); but there are also times when it is spiritually good
for us to take as long as it takes. We
live in a society where we can have anything we want whenever we want: we can
even pick and choose the items we consume or don’t, based on whatever criteria
we choose; but it is not so with faith.
With faith, rather than expecting God to meet our specific needs and
wants, we need to have the patience to listen for what God wants for us.
There are ways that we can keep our conversations brief,
right? Like asking “right?” If you agree, I can skip the explaining
part.
Like the phrase, “Yada, yada, yada.” You’ve heard that before, right? I used to think that I knew where that phrase
came from, but it turns out that no one does.
I had thought before this week that it had Hebrew roots because it
sounds like the Hebrew verb “yadah,” but I was way off and I don’t know where I
got that idea. But it’s okay because no
one else really knows where the word came from either: I’ve seen theories this
week linking it to old English, to Scottish, and even to Norwegian. So, long story short, we don’t know where it
came from; all we know is how the phrase was popularized in the 90’s.
The Seinfeld episode titled “The Yada, Yada” has some
morally sketchy parts to it, so I won’t delve too deeply into the plot
points. Except to say that the humor of
the episode involved what can happen when we shorten our stories with the
phrase “yada, yada, yada.”
Ideally, it’s meant to skip us along to the interesting
parts of the story and “yada, yada” past the less important parts. “I was super stressed out about the workshop
next weekend and how I was going to put everything together and get a sermon
done; yada, yada, yada, I got a guest preacher for next Sunday.” You get the point. But the Seinfeld episode was more about those
times when we “yada, yada” past the important stuff; that we assume people know
things they don’t know. For example,
there is a wedding scene toward the end of the episode and George comes in
without his date (the date that we found out earlier was a habitual
shoplifter). They ask him where she is
and he says, “She was getting shoes for the wedding, yada, yada, yada, I'll see
her in 6 to 8 months." You get the
point, but it seems he yadad past the interesting part of that story. Sometimes we yada, yada past the good stuff,
past the seemingly most important stuff.
Our Scripture lesson today is seven verses long. In those seven verses, Mark tells us about
the baptism of Jesus, his forty days of temptation in the wilderness, John’s
arrest and the beginning of his ministry.
That beginning, but the way, has some heavy theological concepts: the
nearness of God’s kingdom; repentance and belief; and what Jesus means by “Good
news.” All of this, in seven
verses.
As we begin this Lenten season, I’m struck by the thought:
did Mark just “yada, yada” past forty days?
“And the Spirit immediately drove Jesus out into the wilderness. Forty days later, yada, yada, yada, and the
angels waited on him.” We know from
other Gospel accounts that there was a lot that went on in that wilderness for
those forty days. Mark zips past it in
two verses.
Throughout Lent, I’m trying to center my attention on
Jesus. Lately, I’ve been focused
inwardly on who we are as a church and I’ve been encouraging you to listen for
God’s guidance in this as well. So it
occurred to me, as we journey through this season leading us toward Easter, it
might be a good reminder to look outside myself for a while; to keep our eyes
focused, not just on ourselves, but on Jesus.
So, personally through my own Lenten practices and professionally
through my preaching and teaching, my goal is to keep our focus on the life,
and words, and work of Jesus.
So it may seem strange that I picked a passage that seems
to “yada, yada” right past so much of that life, those words, and that
work. Well, there is a method to
it. I picked this passage to remind us
all that forty days is not so long. Now,
if you’re one to take on a fast for Lent then forty days seems like forever; at
least at first. But I think you’ll find,
by the end of those forty days, you’ll wonder where they went. The glory and joy of Easter morning will be
here soon enough and my hope for us is that we not just let this season yada,
yada by.
I encourage you this season to make the most of it: get to
know Jesus on a deeper level. Study his
life as it’s told in Scripture; maybe in other Gospels that don’t yada, yada as
much as Mark. Seek to better-know Jesus
in his Baptism as you reflect on the meaning of your own. Seek to better-know Jesus in his fasting and
temptations, perhaps as you take on a fast and reflect on what tempts you. Seek to better-know Jesus as the Good News of
God as you reflect on how God is calling you to be Good news to the world. Seek to better-know the kingdom Jesus
proclaimed as you look for it all around you.
Seek to better-know his call to repent and believe as you seek
repentance and deeper belief.
Easter will be here sooner than you think. May we make the most of this season and may
we know our Savior’s presence as we do.
Monday, February 12, 2018
Overruled
Transfiguration of the Lord
I am
terrified of mountain lions; the thought of being eaten by something is just
the worst. But I like walking, and
sometimes I find myself out walking before the sun is even up. So of course, every twig snap or rustling
bush I hear is terrifying to me.
Around here,
that may not be the most irrational of fears.
I confess this fear to you because that’s what we’re doing today, we’re
confession our deepest fears, and I went first.
Who’s next? Just kidding. No one likes to admit their fears. Admitting to one another the things that
scare us is scary in itself. We won’t be
sharing our fears with one another this morning, but I think we can at least
agree that we all have them: things like public speaking, or spiders, or change. Fear is unpleasant, but fear is normal; fear,
to a point, is good for us; and as we’ll explore this morning, fear at times can
be useful to teach us.
We read today
that the transfiguration of Jesus was terrifying to the disciples. In the Gospel of Mark, there are only three
times when they are this kind of terrified: when they see Jesus walking on
water; here at the Transfiguration; and when they find the Tomb empty on Easter
Morning. Each time, the kind of fear
that Mark describes is not the kind of fear one might heroically overcome (like
walking in the dark in mountain lion country).
No, this is the kind of sheer terror that might, if unchecked, make you
do something you’re not going to be proud of like running away, or acting out,
or even getting frozen in place.
It strikes
me that, every time the disciples were so terrified, it was because they had
been exposed to the glory of God in Jesus.
It also strikes me that terrifying us might not be what the revelation
of God’s glory is supposed to do. The
evidence of God’s presence and power ought to be a joyful thing, right? But then again—and I’m just throwing this out
there—maybe God does scare us on purpose sometimes. Sure, it is not the will of God that we live in fear; but you have to admit, fear
can motivate us to get moving sometimes.
I think that
a good place to start with this well-worn Transfiguration story is to ask this
question: what do we actually believe about the Transfiguration? Now, I ask this not to cast any sort of doubt on the historical accuracy of the
Transfiguration; quite the opposite.
There are good reasons to believe that this fantastic story actually happened,
and that it happened in the way Mark describes.
Although account
of the Transfiguration in the Gospel of John is only alluded to, the other
Gospels tell it in exactly the same way.
With small variations, it is told with almost identical details and it is
always told in exactly the same context.
That’s surprisingly rare in the Gospels: even when the they tell the
same stories, often these stories are told with different details, in different
contexts, and have a different point, depending on who is telling it. But not the Transfiguration; here the Gospel
writers are almost-literally on same page.
It is as if—as Jesus commanded—they kept this story a secret until after
the Resurrection; then, I imagine, these three told it all over the place!
I mean, can
you imagine seeing something spectacular like that and then have to keep quiet about
it? If nothing else, I’d want to talk
about the many question I have about it.
What were Moses and Elijah doing there?
How did they even get there? What
made Jesus’ appearance change? Did we
really hear the voice of God? I think
that keeping all of that stuff bottled up would just make a person crazy.
That aside,
we remember that it’s in the context and wonder of the Empty Tomb that this
story was told to the other followers of Jesus; and most importantly, it was
told by those three eye-witnesses to the event.
Now, you can read “poetic license” into other parts of Scripture if you
want to, but I wouldn’t doubt the Transfiguration if I were you.
So I’ll ask
my question again: what do we believe about the Transfiguration? Well, we believe it happened and it happened in
the way that Mark describes it. And we
also believe that it was meant to be told in the context of the Resurrection;
in the context of the new and terrifying thing that God was doing through the
Risen Messiah. These fearful, bewildered
followers of Jesus, were meant to hear a story about a time that these three
were once fearful and bewildered. We
hear a story of when we were once terrified, when we are again afraid, to
remind us that, by the power of God, it might just turn out okay once more.
It’s a bit
like what I hope our annual reports will do for future generations of this
church. An annual report is a snapshot
of who we are as a church; a kind of family portrait that we take every year as
the children of God. I think, as you
read through the reports, you’ll agree that we take a good picture. We are a handsome bunch. We have every reason to hear the Voice of our
Savior telling us, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” But as you read these reports, you may also
get the sense that things are not all rainbows and unicorns, if you know what I
mean. You may hear in these reports, the
feeling that we are not thriving like we should. In spite of all the good we do in Christ’s
name in this world, we are not growing.
I refuse to
believe that the Spirit of God planted this church in this community, only to
sputter out 120 years later. No, we are
meant to thrive and our community is meant to hear and celebrate with us the
Good News of our Risen Savior. Who we
are today is not who God intends us to be.
So our reports might also reflect an uneasy feeling at this point in our
history; one might even call it “fearful;” fearful for an uncertain future. But maybe what we ought to be afraid of is that
God might just do something about it; that the glory of God might just be
revealed in this.
Now, I
mentioned that this story was meant to be kept secret until after the
Resurrection, but I haven’t yet explained the context of the story itself. In every telling of this story, it always
begins the same way: they say, “About a week later, they go up the mountain.” That thing that happened, about a week
earlier, was that the followers of Jesus recognized him as the Messiah. Jesus then goes on to explain that their
understanding of “Messiah” is wrong: that what Messiah really means involves suffering
and dying, but ultimately rising again. They
of course, don’t understand what he’s talking about. And then about a week later, the
Transfiguration happens. This is
important. It’s important because this
story is all about how they have misunderstood who Jesus was and what he was talking
about. This is important because we
might still.
No doubt, at
our upcoming Church-Wide Workshop, we will talk a bit about our core values;
values like being a welcoming and open congregation. Historically, this church has prided itself
in being open to anyone. There is no
doctrine you have to agree to before you join; you only need to affirm that
Jesus Christ is your Lord and Savior.
What you mean by that is for you to work out every day. But having said that, what we understand
about Jesus is no light thing. What we
believe about Jesus doesn’t change him at all, but it changes how we serve him
in the world.
About a week
before, the disciples affirm that Jesus is the Messiah, but they don’t really
know what that means. Can you imagine if
the disciples never learned what “Jesus as the Messiah” meant? Can you imagine if they forged ahead and
began a church that thought Jesus the Messiah was a conquering hero and a
political leader? You don’t have to
imagine it; it happened anyway and it still happens today. The larger church still has a hard time
getting its head around what Jesus meant by “Messiah.” Perhaps that’s why we don’t always embody his
self-giving love. Perhaps that’s why we
try to rule the world instead of trying to bring the Gospel to it. Perhaps we need God to put terror in our
hearts once more.
If you look
closely, the disciples actually get frightened twice in this story. Each illustrates what terror might do in our
lives. The first time is the obvious:
they see the glory of God literally shining in Jesus and they literally get
scared silly. I can just imagine the
three disciples talking about this after the Resurrection: John says to Peter,
“Hey Pete, remember how you wanted to build cabins.” Then they all laughed. In his terror, Peter not only says something
he would later not be proud of, but it’s rooted in something else we do when
we’re afraid: he wanted to stay put.
Sometimes when we’re afraid, that fear freezes us into not wanting to do
anything at all. We’re not meant to live
like that; not as people and not as a church.
Fortunately,
God scares them again. No sooner has
Peter asked his silly question does a cloud descend upon them like it did on
Moses. The Voice of God answers Peter’s
question: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Perhaps we could read the word “finally” into
that as well. Listen to him, finally,
when he talks about himself. Listen to
him, finally, when he says being the Messiah means giving his life for the sake
of the world. Listen to him, finally,
because there is work to be done.
Mark doesn’t
tell us that the Voice of God scared them, but of course it did. This time their fear does the other thing
that fear will do: the next thing we know is, they are all alone with Jesus and
coming back down the mountain. This
time, the fear moves them into action. The
fear God sets on us, even on the verge of God’s new and terrifying thing, is
not meant to freeze us up or make us act out.
The terrifying Voice of God is meant to get us moving again.
This
story, meant to be told in the light of the Resurrection, is meant to scare us,
in a good way. This story is meant to
remind us of what our Savior’s glory really means: to listen and hear him when
he says that it’s not about shinning white clothes, but about self-giving
love. May we hear the terrifying Voice
of God, just enough to move us into action; to move us toward whatever our
Savior has for us next.
Monday, February 5, 2018
Have You Heard?
5th Sunday of Ordinary Time
[The choir
has just sung “How Long Has It Been?” as an anthem.]
I really
needed that song this week, in a weird sort of way. Yes, I especially needed its message about
our need to spend time with our Savior, but it helped me in another way as
well.
You see, on
Wednesday, my wife was playing the song “Killing Me Softly with His Song” around
the house. You may remember it; it was a
number one hit for Roberta Flack back in 1973.
I suspect that the song’s popularity was why I was taught it in school
when I was in the fourth grade. Yes, you
heard me right: a music teacher thought it would be a good idea to teach fourth
graders to sing “Killing Me Softly” as a choir.
To this day, I’m not entirely sure what that song is about, which is
strange because I distinctly remember her trying to explain it to us. One thing I know for certain is that a fourth
grader should not know that song.
Sherry knows
that story, so I’m not sure if she was she was trying to be funny or not. (If you’re familiar with my wife’s sense of
humor, you know it’s hard to tell sometimes.)
At any rate, for a good portion of Wednesday, I had that traumatizing song
rattling around in my head against my will.
That is, until choir practice.
Literally,
thank God for choir practice! Thank God
for, not only helping me rid my brain of a song I didn’t want there, but for
replacing it with a song I desperately needed in there. For that matter, thank God for a place—this
place—that we can gather together and fill one another’s hearts and minds with
better things. Thank God for this place
and God’s Spirit in it to set our minds on things that are true: namely, that
our God is bigger than all our problems and that our God cares about those
problems and has a plan for our Salvation.
Thank God that we have this time in God’s word to remember, that no
matter how long it’s been, you can call Jesus your friend and know that he
cares for you.
Becky asked
me on Wednesday, when we figured out that we would be singing that anthem, if
it fit in with the message. Becky and I
like to look for the ways that God uses her process and my process to come
together and say the same thing. It’s a
bit like what I was talking about last week: how one of the ways I hear God’s
Prophetic Voice, is when I notice that God is saying the same thing through
different people in different situations.
It’s one of the things I’ll be looking for in the surveys I hope you’ll
be turning in today. When we hear God
speaking the same thing through different voices, it’s wise to pay
attention.
By the way, I’m
still not sure if the message of the anthem and the message of the Scripture
lesson overlap. But I do notice one obvious
thing they have in common: they both ask great questions. The anthem asks, “How long has it been since
you talked with the Lord?” A great
question: a great reminder that we are so much better off when we take
deliberate time to be in the presence of our Savior in prayer. But then, our Scripture lesson asks an
equally good but very different question: Isaiah says, “Have you not known?
Have you not heard?”
I had a colleague, back when I was involved in
junior high youth ministry, who would sometimes ask a kid, “What, are you
new?” It was his playful way of getting
a student’s attention when they were getting out of line; as if they were
unfamiliar with our group’s rules; as if they were new to the group. That
almost sounds like the tone Isaiah is taking today, doesn’t it? “Have you not known? Have you not heard? How could you not know about the God who made
and maintains the universe? How could
you not know about the God who raises you up as on wings like eagles? What, are you new?”
Of course,
it isn’t that we haven’t heard it before; we know. Isaiah isn’t saying anything to anyone who
hasn’t heard these things before; but he is talking to people who are having a
difficult time remembering it; as sometimes we all do.
At this
point in their history, the Israelites were in exile: literally in Babylon and,
in some ways, spiritually too. Psalm 137
captures their mood: “By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and there we
wept when we remembered [Jerusalem].”
They were a defeated and displaced people. They had been driven out of their land of
promise and could see no hope that they would ever return. It isn’t as though they didn’t know of the
God of the Universe; it isn’t as thought they had never heard of the God who
loved and cared for them; but we lose sight of those things when everything is
going wrong.
We’ve all
been there. I’ve been there this week. The theme of this message took an unexpected
turn this week. Good things happened
this week—don’t get me wrong—but as it went on, it just started unraveling more
and more. It could have been a lot
worse, but I am well aware of the irony: I proclaim to you today, a message
about not losing sight of the God we serve with a knot in my neck that won’t go
away (and it’s been there for a while), because that’s where I store my
stress.
This week
chewed me up and spit me out. It was the
kind of week where, after a while, I start to wonder if maybe I did something
to upset God. I don’t really believe
that that is where bad weeks come from, but that thought does tend to pop into my
mind. After all, that is kind of the
point of why the Israelites were in exile: they had disobeyed and betrayed God
so much that God sent them to a “time out” in Babylon for about 70 years.
But does God
sometimes show us things through the situations in our lives? I believe we are coming to the end of our
series on prophecy; an important conversation to have because, as many of us
believe, God is doing something important among us. So we’ve talked about the importance of
listening for God’s Voice. We’ve talked
about the ways we listen for that Voice in prayer, in Scripture, and through
one another. So I would say, we have
reason to believe that God can and does speak to us in all kinds of ways; even
the situations of our lives. The
accident we narrowly avoid; the rock-bottom that turns our behaviors around;
and even a horrible week can be used by God to help us hear the things we need
to hear. Now, this kind of discernment
is tricky because not all situations are heavenly signs—sometimes a rainbow is
just refracting light—but if we’re listening, there might just be something to
it. It gets even trickier because, when those
situations get stressful and difficult, that is often when we get panicked and
stop listening.
So if God
had something to tell me through a rough week, what might it be? Well, several things, actually; but one thing
stands out as important for us this morning.
There was one big thing that made this week a little bit better: several
people asked me the same question; in different places at different times, as
though spurred on by the same Spirit.
Several people, noticing that I was in over my head and asked if they
could help. Frankly, the most helpful
part was just being asked. The asking
reminded me that I’m not alone in this; a thing I might otherwise have
forgotten. And sure, you could have
quoted Isaiah 40 to me and, in an intellectual way, I would have believed it to
be true; I would have even appreciated the encouraging sentiment. It’s always nice to hear that God is in
control of the universe and that God cares even for me; but it was nice to have
that embodied for me too. The kindness I
was shown this week told a Truth that went beyond words.
So I suppose
there are two points to take away from our message today, depending on where
you are coming from, and I think they are both found at this Table. If you are struggling this day, if the
situations of your life are more than you can bear: here we remember that the
God of the Universe loved you so much, that in Jesus, he gave his life that you
might have eternal life. And if today
you are doing just fine: here we remember that by our Savior’s work, we are
sent to be the very Body of Christ to this world.
We
speak of prophecy as telling the Truth God sends us to tell. And certainly, that Truth is proclaimed
through our words; but sometimes it comes through clearer in our actions. What we say and even what we do are a
proclamation of our Savior’s work wherever we go. As we are sent by him into this world, may we
share his power and strength to those who need it most. As we are lifted by his Spirit, may we be
used by him to lift those around us as with wings like eagles. And may they know, may they hear of God’s
power and love through our words and through our actions.
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