Defeating the Purpose

Mark 2:23-3:6
Second Sunday after Pentecost

Let’s start with a “full-disclosure” moment.  There is an aspect of our message this morning that involves Sabbath-keeping; and there will come a point where I will encourage you to do what the Bible tells you and keep a Sabbath.  But in full-disclosure, you should know, I am the worst at that.  It’s like having a vegetarian tell you how to cook your steak.  This is one of those “do as I say, not as I do” moments.  I don’t know if it’s a hazard of my profession or a hazard of someone who doesn’t know how to manage his time wisely, but I am consistently doing some sort of professional work on what ought to be my day off—my Sabbath.  In all fairness, you should also know that I’m working on it.  In fact, in anticipation of this sermon, I got great Sabbath rest… this week.  

I don’t make light of my lack of Sabbath-keeping.  I know that when I don’t, I am being disobedient to God’s Command, so I am trying to do what God’s Word tells me to do; but at the same time, my disobedience makes me acutely aware of why God made Sabbath-keeping a commandment.  It is a difficult thing to do.  It’s a bit like our Savior’s Command to love one another: if it were an easy thing to do, it wouldn’t need to be a commandment.  

In fact, in a way, I see those two commands as connected.  As Jesus reminds us today, Sabbath was made for humankind.  The Sabbath is not just a command; the Sabbath is a gift.  God loves you so much that God demands you take some time to not work.  If God loves you that much, how much do you suppose God loves the person next to you?  It turns out, if we understand why we take a day off, it might also help us remember why we love.  

In Jesus’ day, the religious people were very specific about what they meant by “Sabbath.”  I mean, really, really specific about what they meant by “Sabbath.”  It seems that it was a sort of a pastime for the religious scholars of the day to debate and argue over things like the precise moment that the Sabbath began and ended and what constituted “work.”  They took the Fourth Commandment, “Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy,” and spent more time defining what that specifically meant than perhaps any other commandment.  

Historically, even the followers of Jesus have had a difficult time getting too legalistic with the Fourth Commandment, with the establishment of “blue laws” and things like that.  However, it doesn’t seem that most Christians are nearly as rigorous about it anymore.  Although I will say: every once in a while, I will get a letter in the mail.  It’s never from the same place and it’s never from the same person, but it always makes the same point: that we are wrong for having worship on Sundays and God is mad at us for it.  It’s never just that either: I’ve gotten to the place where I can tell it’s “one of those letters” just by the weight of it.  They come loaded with Scripture citations, with all caps and underlines, but they conveniently leave out the parts where Jesus condemns the legalism of Sabbath-keeping.  

But most of the rest of the followers of Jesus these days get it, right?  We hear Jesus when he says that the Sabbath was made for humankind and not the other way around.  We call Sunday our holy-day instead of Saturday because that is the day our Savior rose from the dead; that’s the day we want to remember and celebrate.  And what we mean by Sabbath can be all sorts of things: a morning of prayer, study and worship; a lunch with friends; an afternoon in the garden; an evening walk with your family.  We get it; whatever is restful for you is fine for you.  We get it; only, we don’t.  

I was talking with a friend the other day; a friend who doesn’t go to church, but takes Sabbath rest vastly more seriously than I do.  I was unloading on him about the stress in my life and my chronic depression and he said, “You need to get out more.”  He was right, of course, but he didn’t just stop there; he started spouting off all sorts of things I already knew.  He told me about how increased physical activity produces endorphins that make you feel better.  He told me about how taking time to do nothing is good for mindfulness.  He even suggested that spending quality time with my wife might actually be good for our relationship.  At a point, I wanted to stop him and say, “I know!” but I figured I only had the right to say it if I actually did any of this.  

We know that when the religious people criticize Jesus for not keeping the Sabbath the way they think he should, they are wrong; but we forget that, to a point, they are also right.  They are wrong because they treated the Sabbath like it was just another rule to follow, but they are right because God commanded it for a purpose.  Ironically, that purpose is defeated by treating as a rule: by making rest a rule, it turns rest into work.  But also ironically, in taking Sabbath rest too lightly, we defeat the point that Jesus was making as well.  In taking Sabbath rest too lightly, we forget that, in remembering the Sabbath, we remember the priorities of God.  Since creation itself, God has ordained a rhythm to life that involves the work that gives our lives purpose, but also rest that gives deeper meaning to those lives.  Sabbath exists because God loves us and we are important to God.  Sabbath exists so that we might take care of a person God loves, namely ourselves.  But as Jesus shows us today, Sabbath also exists so that we might remember that we are not the only people God loves.  

Jesus asks his accusers, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to kill?” But they were silent.  They were silent because the answer was obvious.  The answer is, of course, it is always lawful to do good and save lives.  Sabbath is good for us because it is meant to remind us of this.  Sabbath is meant to reorient us to the priorities of God: namely humankind.  As we are gathered around this Table, we are reminded in a different way, the lengths that God will go to, in order to show us how important we are.  

God loves us and calls us to take a day off.  Take a day to reflect on the love that would lay down his life, that we might live.  Take a day to see that love in the eyes of those around you in this world as well: that person you’re not talking to; the waitress who serves you at lunch; your neighbor with the un-mowed lawn; the homeless man you walk past.  Take a day, not as a rule, but as a gift.  Take a day to remember the love that God has shown you, that you might remember to show it too.

Step into the Light

Step into the Light
John 3:1-21
First Sunday after Pentecost 


If, during the reading of our Scripture lesson this morning, you had the feeling, “Didn’t we just hear John 3:16 recently?”  Well, you’re not wrong.  John 3:16 was a part of our worship readings only a couple of months ago; and I am going to just assume that there is not a one of us who is upset by hearing it again.  Were I a betting man, I would wager that every single one of us could hear John 3:16 every day of our lives and never grow tired of it.  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” See, that didn’t bother you at all.  

We love John 3:16, and rightfully so.  It gets to the heart of what we proclaim as the Gospel.  I could preach that Good News from John 3:16 for maybe a month before I started repeating myself.  I could proclaim the God that moves in love for the sake of the world.  I could proclaim the depths of that love that would even give an only son.  I could proclaim what belief in him means.  I could even proclaim a sermon around the sin we were once perishing from.  But best of all, I could proclaim the joy of the assurance we have of eternal life.  We are right to love John 3:16 and it may not be possible to hear it too often.

But I noticed something else this time around.  Maybe you’ve noticed this before too, I don’t know.  Did you ever notice that, in John chapter three, there are other verses besides verse sixteen?  I know!  It turns out, John 3 tells an entire story!  

It’s a story about a conversation between Jesus and a man named Nicodemus.  I think I noted a couple of months that Nicodemus is not a major character in the Gospel story, but that being said, he is important to us.  He’s important because in some ways, we’re a lot like him.  He’s important because, in different ways, he is who we seek to become.  He’s important because, in still other ways, he is like people we likely have near us in this world every day of our lives; people that, just like us, God so loved, even before we knew it.  

So who is this Nicodemus?  John describes him as a Pharisee and a leader of the Jewish people; later in John we’ll find out that what he meant by that is that he’s a member of the Sanhedrin; Israel’s legal system, made up of well-respected teachers, or “rabbis.”  So, we know that Nicodemus was a teacher, so well-respected that he served on the Sanhedrin.  We also know that he was a Pharisee: that he belonged to a socio-political movement, which sought to bring righteous obedience back to the nation of Israel.  In short, he was exactly like us.  

Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true.  We may not have as much clout as Nicodemus did, but we want all of the same things he did.  We want to live in a nation that conforms to the will of God.  We want to adhere to the God’s Law and we want that for the people around us as well.  We want righteousness and justice and we will do our part to maintain it.  We want to live in a nation that seeks the will of God and lives up to the sacrifice of those valiant souls that we remember this weekend.  If nothing else, we are like Nicodemus because we seem to want everything he seemed to have wanted.  

And that even includes a deeper relationship with Jesus.  That is something in Nicodemus that we also strive to be.  Nicodemus comes to Jesus because he saw that Jesus was someone worth knowing better.  He came and said to Jesus, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”  Now, first of all, I’m not sure who the “we” is.  Jesus had just cleared the money-changers out of the Temple with a make-shift whip; an act a Pharisee might approve of.  It could well be that he’s talking about other Pharisees.  Remember, this is early in the Gospel of John; perhaps they haven’t yet realized that Jesus is threatening their authority too.  But that’s a bit beside the point.  The point is: he comes to Jesus to get to know him better, just like we’re trying to do right now.  

Often we think of the Pharisees as the enemies of Jesus, but I think we’re right to trust Nicodemus.  If their conversation seems a bit awkward, it seems it’s only because they are talking on different levels: Nicodemus is having a conversation about religion; whereas Jesus is having a conversation about Spirit.  Those are very different conversations.  We’ll dig a bit deeper into that thought next Sunday.  For today, their conversation is awkward, but Jesus isn’t being antagonistic.  Jesus sees potential in this Pharisee.  Now sure, he comes to Jesus under the cover of night, but at least he comes.  I am convinced that Jesus doesn’t so much care how we seek him, but that we seek him.  

We were talking at our men’s group on Friday about how everyone comes to a church for the first time with a story: maybe it’s “my life is a mess,” maybe it’s “I’m on vacation,” but everyone has a story.  Because of this, when you see a new face come through our doors, you have an automatic ice-breaker: “So, what brought you here this morning;” and that’s really the way to say it.  “Why are you here?” is not really the question.  Why they came is secondary to what brought them.  We know what brought them: the Spirit brought them; we’re just trying to find out if they know it yet.  Jesus knows what brought Nicodemus; their conversation is awkward because Nicodemus doesn’t know it yet.  

Last week, as we celebrated Pentecost, we remembered the Spirit being poured out upon the disciples with the sound like the rush of a violent wind.  I can’t help but think of that when I hear Jesus say, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”  I can’t say I blame Nicodemus for not completely understanding Jesus when he talks about Spirit things; I puzzle over his words too sometimes.  Is he really saying that those born of the Spirit are blown around by the Spirit, like a leaf in the wind?  Is he really saying that, like how we don’t see where the Spirit comes from, we don’t know where we’re being blown to either?  It seems like it; and if so, what is he saying about Nicodemus?  Perhaps Jesus is telling him, in his own Spirit way, “The Spirit is blowing in you.  Just wait until you find out where it’s blowing.”  

That thought excites me more than you know.  The implications are amazing.  It means that the Spirit of God is at work, blowing through the lives of those around us in this world, before they even know it.  As you may recall from the last time we looked at this text, Nicodemus has a part to play in the Gospel story; he never exactly “steps into the light,” as it were; but he will find his place as one who believes.  I think this story not only shows us how God’s Spirit works in us—drawing us to believe even before we knew how to believe—but it also shows us what to look for as God’s Spirit blows about our world.  

I had a remarkable experience last week; I’ve told some of you about it.  It came to a head last week, but it started, I suppose, back at our workshop in February.  We’ll talk in more depth of these things next Sunday, but I sensed several important points: as a church, our heart breaks for the hurt in our community, especially for the young; we know the answer to that hurt is a faithful, welcoming community just like ours; and we detailed some ideas to bring our Savior to our community and bring renewed life to our church.  With Lou Ray’s passing, some of those ideas got a little stalled-out, but the passion and the purpose remains.  

Speaking of Lou Ray, last week I then decided that it was time for someone to start checking the church’s email regularly again.  I installed an email program to my computer, set it up to get the emails, and began the long process of sorting through a ton of junk mail.  Toward the end, was an email titled, “Youth Development and Community Connection.”  I thought, “Well they’re probably selling something,” but I was intrigued by the title.  Turns out, it was from a group that is forming a county-wide coalition to combat the very things that break our hearts in this community; the very things that we talked about at our workshop.  The email was sent on a Friday, I read it on Monday morning, emailed them back a minute later, we met in my office later that day, and I was at their meeting the next day.  That in itself was so obviously the blowing of the Spirit, but it just got better.  

I’ve met some remarkable people through this coalition.  My job so far has been to help them make inroads, as most of them are not connected with Bayfield.  They don’t have all the answers, but they’re working toward the same things we are; they are doing, in my eyes, the Kingdom work we’ve been talking about.  But here’s the thing: they’re not all followers of Jesus.  They are Nicodemus: the Spirit is blowing in them and some don’t even know it.  I mean, I look forward to telling them; they know what I do for a living, I don’t have to be bashful about it.  When they’re ready; I’m not pushy.  

In our own way, we are all a bit like Nicodemus.  But in one important way, we are not: we know where that wind is coming from.  I am convinced that, at this important time in our history, our central task is to watch for those who are being blown around by the Spirit in the same directions we are.  People who look a lot like Nicodemus: People who are drawn to and are working within our Savior’s Kingdom, even before they realize it.  These are the ones we are called to work alongside and simply show God’s love; a love for this world that would give an only Son, that all who believe in him may not perish, but have eternal life.

Scoffers Welcome

Acts 2:1-21

Pentecost

I get the same disturbing thought every year.  Maybe it’s a crisis you can relate to, maybe not.  It gets to be close to Pentecost and I have this thought: how am I going to preach about Pentecost in a way that’s different from what I said last year… and the year before that, and the year before that.  It’s a similar existential crisis to the ones I get before Christmas and Easter, but worse.  At Christmas and Easter, there are at least other versions of those stories to choose from.  We have four gospels to choose from when we want to retell the Easter story; when it comes to Pentecost, Acts chapter two is all we’ve got. 

Within certain boundaries, sermon-writing is a creative process.  When you’re involved in creating something—especially if it’s for someone else—you want it to be new, you want it to be continually creative.  You might make a great potato salad, but you’ll want to change it up from time to time, know what I mean?  I want to create something from this story that’s new, but this is the Pentecost story.  We know this story.  What could I possibly tell you about this story that I haven’t already told you over the past nine years?  We know about the sound of wind.  We know about sight of flame.  We know about the voices raised in unknown languages, giving praise to the power of God.  And we know about the scoffers who thought they were just drunk.  What could I possibly find in this story that we don’t already know? 

And then I remember: this is a story about the Holy Spirit.  Surprises is what the Holy Spirit is all about!  This story is all about God’s Spirit breaking out into our world in surprising ways!  Do you think I’m going to find something surprising in this well-worn story?  Of course I am!  Buckle up, folks; we’re talking about the Holy Spirit today!  There is never a dull moment when it comes to the Spirit. 

The thing that surprises me most about this story (at least this time through, anyways), is the scoffers; those who sneered and said, “They’re drunk with new wine.”  First, I’m surprised by how they see all this and still don’t believe.  That in itself is surprising, but what surprises me more is that it’s never surprised me before.  Over the decades of reading and studying and preaching this story, how is it that I’ve never noticed how weird it is that they just assume that this is just drunken behavior? 

I will say, in all fairness, that this is Pentecost.  Before it was the celebration of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, Pentecost was a Jewish celebration.  And as Jewish celebrations go, it was a party.  It was scheduled to follow fifty days after (hence the name) the more-somber celebration of Passover.  Whereas Passover celebrated the mighty and violent deliverance of the people out of the land of Egypt, Pentecost celebrated the providence of God through the fruit of the land.  So although it was clearly frowned upon to be drunk at nine in the morning (or maybe it’s “still drunk at nine in the morning”), it may not have been terribly unusual. 

Still, how do you witness all of the things that Luke describes—with the wind and the flames—and not see God’s hand in it?  Well, what I surprisingly realized was that they probably didn’t.  What probably happened was that they came in late to this party.  They didn’t hear the sudden sound like the rush of a violent wind.  They didn’t see divided tongues, as of fire, come and rest on the gathered disciples.  All they witnessed was talk; and as we know, talk is cheap.

There are layers of irony that follow: they scoff because, to them, these are just strange words spoken by strange Galileans; but then Peter, one of those strange Galileans, gets up to convince them otherwise by speaking to them.  Even more ironic: his proof is that these babbling Galileans are actually the embodiment of something the prophet Joel… said.  So what they witnessed wasn’t just words, but they never would have known that unless someone spoke that Truth to them.  Speaking words, as it turns out, is sometimes the action that is necessary. 

I got into an argument with a guy the other day over a quote; and yes, it did get a little heated.  He was attributing the saying “Preach Jesus, and if necessary, use words” to Francis of Assisi.  I pointed out that the saying is not found in anything that Francis wrote and he did not appreciate being interrupted.  The truth is, Francis did say a couple of things like it and I probably should have just minded my own business; but the truth also is that I like what he did say better.  What Francis did say was: "Yes, the true servant unceasingly rebukes the wicked, but he does it most of all by his conduct."  Yes, the Spirit empowers us to speak the Word of God, but that Word has weight because the Spirit also empowers us to live out the Word of God.  We proclaim the Promises of God, while at the same time, by the power of the Spirit, we are the fulfillment of the Promises of God. 

I was visiting with a saint of God that I hadn’t seen for a while the other day.  She’s been a bit homebound recently, so we needed to catch up for a while.  I really enjoyed our time together and it was good to see that she’s doing better.  She remains the gracious and brilliant woman I know her to be. 

We talked a bit about getting older and about all of the things she has survived (her word) over the past few years.  She said, “Well I guess God is keeping me around for something.”  And the thing is, when you talk to her, it’s obvious.  She was telling me about the relationships she has with the people there and the care she shows them intentionally and in Jesus’ name.  I told her, “You find a ministry everywhere you go.”  She may not be as active as she used to be, but she is aware of God’s working through her—in word and in deed—in every circumstance she finds herself.  And although I find her to be inspirational, I also know that this is how God works in all of us. 

In the Pentecost story, as the Spirit of God is poured out into the followers of Jesus, notice what happens: they speak the one message of God’s power, but they say it in different voices.  Notice that, like light through a stained glass window, the same light comes through differently through different panes of glass.  Of course the Spirit is going to inspire different ministries in each of us, we’re different people; but we recognize that it is the same Spirit. 

I’m starting a new tradition today.  I’ve put new Time and Talent Surveys in the boxes.  Historically, we’ve put them out toward the fall, at the same time we ask for financial pledges; but we decided to ask those questions separately and I decided that the question about time and talent really ought to be asked on Pentecost.  My thinking is: we’re not asking you to take a job and fill a need, we’re asking you to hear a calling.  The surveys are simply our list of needs as they apply to the operation of the church.  Because that’s how life in the Spirit works: you see a need, you know your ability to meet that need, and then the Spirit calls you to meet that need.  Peter sees a need: he sees confusion in the crowd; he probably knows better than anyone that he has never been shy to speak right up, and he knows the answer to their confusion; and so he meets that need as he stands up, by the power of the Spirit to speak.  The Spirit works something different in each one of us, but that’s how the Spirit works; both in us individually and through all of us as a church.  We see the needs around us in this world, we assess our abilities to meet those needs, and then we find our calling to speak and to do. 

I saw a need just out in front of this church the other day that just broke my heart.  I was running the bouncy house at the block party on Thursday.  By the way, that is another talent I didn’t know I had.  I’m really good at it.  If you need someone to run the bouncy house at your birthday or whatever, give me a call.  What broke my heart came toward the end of the event when we were starting to clean up.  One of the kids, about nine or ten, that I had been talking to at the bouncy house was standing about ten feet away from me with his mother and another woman.  The other woman discreetly slipped something into the hand of my new friend’s mom and I heard him say, “Mom, that’s illegal!” 

I don’t know exactly what transpired there, but I know it shouldn’t have.  She should not have been given whatever she was given and it certainly shouldn’t have happened in front of a son who somehow knew better than his mother.  My heart broke for this boy and I’ve been praying for him and his family ever since.  I pray for whatever demons plague that poor woman and I pray for wholeness and healing for them all.  But I do have hope: you see, I know that kid got invited to vacation Bible school.  Carolyn on Thursday was proclaiming the love of Jesus in a language that children can understand: she was handing out free toys.  I know that kid got one of those toys and I know he got the flier that went with it. 

I pray I see that boy here every day of VBS and then on after.  I pray he hears words about the unfailing love of God through the stories we tell him and the songs we sing.  But more than that, I pray he sees it when we’re out back playing tag.  I pray he sees those words proven true through a church that doesn’t just talk.  The world around us is right to doubt the words we speak; but the love we show will prove those words true.  Let us speak the Truth, but then let us act.

Justus League

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Seventh Sunday of Easter

I have a lot of mothers in my life; and that’s a positive thing.  I have many women in my life who function in a mothering way to me and I’m grateful for them.  Some of those moms go to church with me every week.  Now, I would never say that I had favorite moms, but there are only two who actually get a card from me on Mother’s Day.  One of them is the mom I met when I was born; she’s the mom I’ve known the longest.  The other is more the mother of my children, but funny story: she almost wasn’t. 

Here’s a scandal if you like scandals: Sherry had a boyfriend when I met her.  I would never be so bold as to say I was so charming, attractive, and funny that I stole another guy’s girl, but you know me so you can do the math yourself.  The truth is, as the story has been told to me, the guy she was dating was a perfectly good guy.  It isn’t like, after meeting me, she suddenly realized what a mistake she’d made.  But, when Sherry and I met, we had a genuine chemistry and we knew there was something there; so Sherry had a decision to make.  And because the other guy was a good guy, it wasn’t an easy decision to make. 

It was a little like the decision we see played out in our Scripture reading today: she had to choose between two good choices; only Sherry didn’t flip a coin over it like we read today.  She anguished over it.  She prayed over it.  She made lists of qualities and character traits.  She sought the council of her parents; well, her mother; her father was of no help.  The way the story was told to me goes: his only input to the conversation was, “What a great problem to have!”  Not exactly the clear answer she was looking for. 

As Sherry and I were talking about this story the other day, she said, “Well, it seems I made the right choice… so far.”  Because only time will tell if she made the right choice, right?  Even when it’s a choice between two good choices, only time will tell if you’ve made the right one.  And as we look at the choice the early church made here, I can honestly say, I have no idea if they made the right choice or not; but that’s okay. 

I have to admit that I’m not entirely sure what the point of this story is supposed to be.  Obviously, it isn’t supposed to be a model for how we make decisions in the church.  I would not be okay with picking elders this way.  I’d better not find out that the Nominating Committee just narrows it down and flips a coin; that is not a reasonable discernment process. 

We read how the early church at least prayed about it, so that’s good; but flipping a coin (or whatever) is too big a gamble.  I mean, it doesn’t even seem like they’ve fully discussed the credentials of these two men, only that they were present throughout Jesus’ ministry, like any of the twelve were (although I’m not sure why that’s the criteria).  But, someone should have at least asked, “Why does Justus have so many names.” Joseph, called Barsabbas, aka Justus.  Do we really want, as an Apostle, someone who had so many aliases?  That seems suspicious.  I would have voted for Matthias just over that. 

But the bigger point of confusion for me over this story is that I’m not sure Luke’s point is in telling it.  What are we supposed to take from this story?  Is this just a historical footnote?  Are we supposed to see this as a good thing?  Are we supposed to see it as a bad thing?  Uncharacteristically, Luke doesn’t really give us any indication as to what place this story even has in the emerging story of the church. 

I need my history lessons to have a clear point.  I need to know how those historic moments shape the future.  I look back on the choice Sherry made when we met and I can clearly see the implications of that moment in history.  It should interest you too: I don’t know where I’d be today if she’d chosen differently, but I doubt my journey would have brought me here.  I look at the children I help her raise and see the importance of that moment in our history and the importance of that one choice. 

The choice of Matthias to replace Judas doesn’t seem to make any difference to anything at all.  This is the first and last time we hear anything about him.  That in itself isn’t terribly significant; there are plenty of Apostles we don’t hear much about in Acts.  More importantly, we don’t hear anything about Justus either.  Can you imagine being Justus?  His only claim to fame is being Apostle runner-up. 

I have reason to suspect that what we read about this morning is actually a mistake.  Like I said, I’m not sure that’s the point Luke is making, but this may not have been the right decision for the church.  To be fair, this happened before Pentecost; the Spirit had not yet been poured out on the followers of Jesus.  Peter had not yet begun to realize the implications of the ascended Jesus.  He had not yet begun to realize the commission of Jesus to bear witness to him in Jerusalem, in Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. 

Peter seems to be looking at things through his old, pre-Spirit point of view.  Perhaps he was remembering Jesus saying things to them like, “Truly I tell you, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man is seated on the throne of his glory, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel [Matthew 19:28].”  So he does what he thinks is the sensible thing: he fills the vacant throne with someone like one of those that Jesus might have chosen; like someone like the rest of the twelve.  He does what a responsible leader would: he fills a seat so the organizational structure can continue. 

The problem is, as they would soon find out, that’s not often how the Spirit works.  The Spirit of God does not care about organizational structures; the Spirit cares about calling.  I think we forget that far too often.  I appreciate that people have looked on the list of Lou Ray’s roles that I put together and I appreciate that some have heard God’s call to fill in where they feel called.  That was part of the point I was making in putting the list together; but remember, that wasn’t what I asked you to do.  I asked you to pray. 

I feel we need to reimagine how we work as a church.  For too long we have all had jobs: my job is to preach; someone else’s job is to sing in the choir; someone else’s job is to make visitors feel welcome; someone else’s job is to call members when we haven’t seen them for a while.  Those are fine things to do, but the work of the church is not a job.  When these things are jobs, we wind up feeling like we can just do a thing when the Spirit nudges us to do a thing because that is someone else’s thing.

The Department of Homeland Security has a program to combat terrorism called, “If You See Something, Say Something.”  The beauty of the program, I feel, is that the title of the program is the program.  I’m instituting a similar program around here.  It goes like this: If You Feel Something, Do Something.  We should never avoid doing a thing the Spirit directs us to do because it’s someone else’s job in our organizational structure.  Now, we may need to coordinate our efforts, but no one will get upset if you feel called to join them in their calling; healthy followers of Jesus will actually embrace it. 

One wonders how this story might have gone differently, had they waited to make this decision until after Pentecost.  For all I know, maybe that’s the point Luke is making with this story.  Maybe we’re meant to add our holy imaginations to this story and envision all of the other possibilities the Spirit might have led them to.  Maybe it would go exactly like it did.  Maybe the Spirit would tell them, “You don’t need to replace Judas; embrace eleven Apostles instead of twelve, perhaps as a scar to warn against that kind of thing happening again.”  Who knows, maybe the Spirit would have led them to calling a gentile replacement and really blow their minds.  But no, they took matters into their own hands, they took care of the organizational structure of the church, but they may not have paid enough attention to the mission of the church.  So we’ll never know might have been. 

Or maybe Luke’s point in telling this story is that not every follower of Jesus gets to be famous.  I like that point.  Just because we never hear about these two men ever again doesn’t mean that they didn’t go on to live Spirit-filled lives that served Jesus.  For all we know, they went on to teach the Sunday school classes that inspired the next generation of disciples.  For all we know they were the ushers, and greeters, and choir members, and bulletin-folders that make their worship all the more inspiring.  For all we know, these two men were exactly like us.  Well, not Matthias: he got the fancy title of “Apostle.”  No, for all we know, we’re just like Justus. 

I haven’t been so excited about a sermon-title in a long time.  For all we know, we are in the Justus League: we are those followers of Jesus who, without fame, without glory, or maybe even recognition, we do what our Savior calls us to do.  May we continue to be faithful to our Master’s calling and may we celebrate our place in the Justus League in all we do and say.  May we know our Savior’s glory wherever he calls us to go.

A Dream Come True

Acts 10:44-48
Sixth Sunday of Easter

The first line of our short Scripture lesson today is delightful; there is no other word for it.  Luke says, “While Peter was still speaking.” How wonderful is that!  Peter, in the midst of yet another sermon, is interrupted by the movement of the Holy Spirit.  I would love to be interrupted like that.  

I once guest-preached for a Pentecostal friend of mine.  Those people interrupted me right and left.  And it wasn’t just the occasional “mmm” of agreement or “yes sir!” or “amen!”  No, they’d just talk to me like this is supposed to be a conversation; “Tell me more about that,” kind of comments.  What?  That’s not how this works.

I would love to be interrupted, but by the movement of the Holy Spirit.  I want to be interrupted like Peter is interrupted; like the way the Spirit has been interrupting Peter throughout this larger story.  The interruption here is only an exclamation point on the bigger interruption Peter has been experiencing lately.  All along, the Spirit has been interrupting what Peter thinks God is like with what God is actually like.  And it all concludes with Peter, trying to preach yet another sermon, only to hear God say, “Shush Peter, I’ve got this.”  

I want to be interrupted like that.  We should all want to be interrupted like that.  We should all want our limited, closed-minded vision of what God is like and what God is doing to be interrupted so that we might see what is True; we all, like Peter, should want to say, “Now I truly understand.”  

There is a relationship between the story we heard from the Book of Acts last week and the story we hear today.  In a roundabout way, last week’s story leads to this week’s.  Last week we heard about a man named Philip, who was a doer.  God nudged Philip to go and walk with an Ethiopian eunuch, and Philip did it.  And my point last week was that we need people like that in the church: people who are spiritually nimble enough to hear the Spirit’s “nudge” and do what the Spirit says to do.  

Peter used to be like that, remember?  Remember when Jesus met Peter (he was Simon back then) by the lake where he was a professional fisherman?  Peter was literally at work.  Jesus walks by, and what does he say?  “Follow me.”  And what does Peter do?  He follows him.  Luke specifically says, “They left everything and followed him.”  That is a spiritually nimble person; maybe even too nimble; Luke doesn’t say what “everything” was.  But that was when he was Simon the fisherman; he’s Peter “The Rock” now.  A Rock can’t just flitter about, doing whatever the Spirit nudges him to do.  Good thing we still have Philip.  

But here’s the thing: maybe they’re both right.  The Church needs the Philips (and Simons), but the Church also needs its Peters too.  Philip is nimble, he can hear the Spirit’s nudge to walk with and share the gospel with the most unlikely of people.  Did I mention last week, what Philip was doing before he shared Jesus with the Ethiopian eunuch?  He was in Samaria, sharing Jesus with the Samarians!  Samarians, I tell ya!  Those people!  The people the Israelites had been hostile toward for generations!  And Philip goes and shares Jesus with those people; and what’s more, they receive it!  

Remember, this was early in the post-Resurrection Church; they didn’t even yet realize that they were supposed to share Jesus with outsiders people.  But there’s Philip, doing it anyway, not only outsiders, but with people who they were hostile toward.  Then off he goes to do the same with an Ethiopian eunuch: a person who was every bit as much an “outsider” as a Samaritan.  He didn’t ask permission first, he was just following “the nudge.”  Although I admire his free-wheeling attitude, what if he was wrong?  What if it was just Philip’s idea, he just thought it was God’s?  What then?  As it turns out, he wasn’t wrong; but that’s what Peter is for.  If Philip is the doer, then Peter is the Elder.  

Once again, Sharon has drawn a winner as far as Scripture readings go: no weird, foreign words, and best of all, it was short.  This is a delightfully short Scripture reading if you’re the liturgist, but it’s only the end to a much longer story.  As I said, when the Spirit interrupts Peter, it’s the culmination of what God has already been doing in Peter.  Peter has watched what Philip was doing: he knows about the Samaritans; in fact Peter was in on it a little.  But those were Samaritans: they are outsiders, but they’re not outsiders-outsiders.  Jesus talked with Samaritans.  But what about real outsiders?  What about Gentiles?  

And then one day, apparently after skipping breakfast (the most important meal of the day), Peter passed out from hunger.  While they were making him brunch, he had a vision.  You might remember the vision: a picnic is laid out before him, made of nothing but yucky food.  A picnic full of “all kinds of four-footed creatures and reptiles and birds of the air. Then he heard a voice saying, “Get up, Peter; kill and eat.”  That may not sound that weird to you, but Moses forbid eating those sorts of things, so Peter said, “By no means, Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is profane or unclean.” Then the voice said to him three times, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

And here is where the story gets interesting.  Hunger dreams are one thing, but suddenly there’s a knock on the door.  Last week, someone’s phone rang as I was starting to pray; which doesn’t bother me, I think it’s kind of funny.  What rattled me the most was the thought, “Should I make a joke about this during the prayer.”  “Lord, can we put you on speakerphone?”  I didn’t make a joke, but it’s funny because God so rarely calls us on our cell phones.  We don’t expect God to knock on the door when we’ve had a weird dream either.  But knock God does.  Well, not God exactly.  It is a delegation of Gentiles, sent from the most outsider person we’ve met yet in this story: a Roman centurion (no less) named Cornelius has sent people in search of this Simon Peter, because Cornelius has also had a vision that he should do just that.  

I think you probably see where this is going: Peter, of course, goes and Peter, of course, sees that God has a plan for this Good News that extends well beyond his own people; but it takes him time to figure that out.  Somewhere along the line, Peter has become an Elder; Peter has lost his impulsiveness, but he’s gained discernment.  Ironically and fortunately, what Philip just jumped in and did, turned out to be what God had been doing all along.  

There’s a thing I often say as we prepare to celebrate Communion.  I wonder if we always hear the implications.  Often I will remind us that this is the Table of the Lord.  In my mind, I usually think about it in terms of visitors; you know, so they know that all who put their trust in him are welcomed by him to this feast that he has prepared.  But you know, there’s more to it than that.  These words are also a reminder to those of us who already know we belong here.  It’s a reminder that we don’t get to choose who is in and who is out; this is not our Table.  This is the Table of our Lord.  He gets to choose who will be gathered around it.  And I’m going to go out on a limb and say that those he would gather here might just surprise us.  

What is so remarkable about the Spirit of God interrupting Peter and pouring out into this Gentile crowd, isn’t even so much that these are unlikely people.  What is remarkable is that this is nothing new!  We should have seen this coming.  We should have remembered the words of the Prophet Joel: “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.” [Joel 2:28] This story doesn’t describe the changing mind of God.  This story describes the moment Peter finally sees what God had been doing all along!  And sure, it took him a while; just like it takes us a while.  But may we be surprised by the interrupting Spirit.  May the Spirit show us we’re wrong about who needs to hear about Jesus.  May we have eyes to see what God has been doing all along and we welcome them here as our Savior welcomes them here.  And may we all celebrate what the Spirit of our Risen Savior is doing even in us.

We Deliver

Acts 8:26-40

5th Sunday of Easter

     The first step in unpacking this unusual story is deciding who it’s about.  There are only two people and our sermon can easily be about either one of them.  Our Scripture lesson can preach about the unnamed Ethiopian or about this follower of Jesus named Philip.  It can be about how the Gospel came to Ethiopia through an unlikely person or it can be about how God led Philip to share the Gospel with that unlikely person. 

     This story is really about both of these men, but this morning I feel led to make this story about Philip.  Which is not to say that next time it won’t be about the eunuch.  This Ethiopian eunuch is certainly interesting, to put it mildly; but interesting does not interest us.  Where God is leading is what interests us.  We’re interested in is listening, listening for the often still, small voice of God; listening for God to show us where to go.  And that seems to be what Philip’s story is all about. 

     I call it “the nudge.”  I’ve heard it called other things, but it’s the same Spirit.  In spite of what some other places in the Bible might lead us to believe, God’s voice is not loud and booming very often.  It can actually be a little hard to hear if you’re not listening.  And it’s subtle: often, it’s just the thought that you haven’t seen someone in a while, so you pick up the phone.  Sometimes it’s finding out that something you felt called to share, was the very thing that someone else needed.  It can even feel like God saying, “Hey, go see what that guy in the chariot is reading.” 

     What Luke tells us about this Ethiopian is fascinating; what he leaves out is even more so.  But the Ethiopian is not the one we need to keep our eyes on.  What we read about God doing in and through Philip is something we need to pay attention; it’s something we need to and learn from. 

     The more I study this story, the more central I think Philip is.  I mean, not just central to what this particular story is about, but central to the story of Acts.  The irony there is that this is really the last time we hear about Philip (except a brief mention in Acts 21, where Paul runs into him).  He baptizes the Eunuch, then in a flash, he’s off proclaiming the Gospel along the coast.  That is essentially the last we hear of him.  He’s not a major player in the history of the Church; he’s no Peter or Paul, he’s not even a Stephen or Barnabas; but he is central.

     Philip was one of the seven, early in Acts, who were appointed by the Apostles to do the real work of ministry.  While the Apostles were busy studying Scripture and praying (and probably gazing at their navels), they needed someone to actually get stuff done.  Philip was a doer. 

     I’m kind of kidding, of course.  The church needs folks whose job it is to study Scripture and pray; it had better or I’d be out of a job.  But in a way, I’m not kidding: the church always needs folks to get stuff done too.  Sometimes the folks who study and pray are more important for the moment, but sometimes the doers are more important for the moment.  It’s up to all of us to discern which moment we are in. 

     The moment Philip was in was a tricky one.  Jesus has ascended, leaving his followers with his Spirit.  Right before he left, he told them, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth,” but then they didn’t go anywhere.  Jesus said they’d be witnesses in Jerusalem, but then they never left Jerusalem.  They seem to have forgotten, as we still tend to forget today, that the Good News is meant to be delivered; Jesus intended the Gospel to start here, but then to go to people and places that are not here.  They forgot, it seems, that they were supposed to leave Jerusalem.  That is, until Saul came along. 

     There is a Holy Irony here: Paul, the guy who would be central in taking the Gospel to the Gentiles, was also the guy who, in a way, persecuted the followers of Jesus out of Jerusalem to do it.  I believe God works in this way, sometimes: what we see as tragic or terrifying, in the moment, is actually “the nudge” of God.  The persecution of the followers of Jesus in Jerusalem, led them to take the Gospel beyond it. 

     We should expect this sort of thing from God.  After all, we know how God worked in Jesus.  We know how he was persecuted, tortured, and executed—a thing that, in the moment, looked tragic and terrifying—but that wasn’t the end of what God was doing.  The followers of Jesus need to expect and teach ourselves to look beyond the tragic and terrifying; to see Salvation on the way. 

     That is the moment Philip is in: appointed to do the hard work of serving Jesus, he is chased out of Jerusalem by people like Saul and starts actually doing the work Jesus commissioned the Apostles to do. 

     He is chased out of Jerusalem, but he’s not running, is he?  Luke tells us that, “An angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’”  Now, first of all, I love how Luke crams so much into so few words, while at the same time leaving so much out.  We know that Philip is headed south when he meets this Ethiopian follower of Judaism (who is probably not allowed to worship fully because of, you know) and we know that said Ethiopian is probably headed back to work for Candice the queen.  Yet at the same time, Luke just slides right past the part about the angel.  Is it me, or does Luke assume a level of familiarity with angels that the rest of us do not actually have? 

     I sense a “nudge,” I don’t hear angels.  I see the handiwork of God in what some might consider “coincidences”; I don’t see angels.  I sense the movement of God’s Spirit in me and in others; I don’t know that I’ve ever met an angel.  I believe in angels—I’m not “that” pastor—I’m just saying: God is vastly more subtle with me.  I don’t personally know what Luke is talking about when he talks about angels.  Fortunately, we don’t have to.  We don’t have to because there is a vastly more important point to be made here: angel or “nudge,” the more-important point is that Philip got up and went.  God does amazing things with our get up and go, but what comes first is being aware that God has been trying to “nudge” us in the first place. 

     I made a list.  I make a lot of lists: Google Calendar and little slips of paper with to-do things on them are the centerpieces of my organizational structure.  But the list I made isn’t my list and it’s not exactly a to-do list either.  I made a list of all the things that Lou Ray used to do for the church, both here and for the larger Church.  It took me a while, but it was worth the effort.  I think I’ve stumbled onto a different kind of spiritual practice; it was surprisingly enriching; I’ve found myself keeping a similar list for myself; mentally, I’m making similar lists for you. 

     We are called “the Body of Christ,” but there are implications there that we don’t like to think about.  Like any body, there are parts that don’t just grow back.  As Paul would remind us, that doesn’t make any one of us more or less important the Body; we all have our part.  That’s why I recommend making lists for ourselves and one another; I mean, don’t literally.  In your head, think through the things you bring to Christ’s Body; think through the things that others bring.  I think you’ll find that there is not a person here that we can do without; and yet, somehow, we someday will; and somehow, by the power of God’s Spirit, the Body of Christ will continue anyway. 

     When our Body loses a member, there are two ways we might respond; I want us to learn to choose the second.  We can merely mourn; mourning is important.  Grieve well.  To a point, push at it like a sliver in your hand to remind yourself it’s still there, but don’t just mourn.  Listen for what God’s Spirit is telling you to do about it.  Listen, because grieving is never the end of what God is up to.  Listen, that you might hear, and get up, and go. 

     This list I made, I put it up on the information board in Berry Hall, but it isn’t a sign up list.  Some have already stepped up to take on some of the more urgent roles that Lou Ray had around here, that’s not the point of this list.  By the way, when you look at this list, I think you’ll agree that no one person should be responsible for all of these things.  At some point, we need to not let each other take on everything.  I’ll give you an example: one of Lou Ray’s roles in my life was to remind me to take the dirty dishes that get piled up in my office and bring them to the kitchen to be cleaned.  As I was doing that for myself this week, I reflected on how that’s not a job I should have needed anyone to do for me.  I love her for doing it, but really, I should have stepped up a long time ago. 

     I invite you to reflect on the list I’ve made, to listen for God to show you a place in the Body you didn’t know you were called to.  But there is a deeper message here: as we long for a growing, vibrant church—as we seek to be faithful to deliver the Good News to our world—the first thing we do is listen.  We have been listening and I believe we have heard the “nudge” of God, but we never stop listening.  Let us continue to listen—through Scripture, through the movement of God’s Spirit in ourselves and one another, and maybe even to angels—but then let us be prepared to go.  And in our going, may we find the blessings that God has in store for us.

Same Old Thing

Acts 4:5-12

4th Sunday of Easter

     I have a confession to make: sometimes I get tempted to rerun old sermons; just to see if anyone would notice.  I never would because I think the proclamation of God’s Word is too important to make fun of like that, but I’ve felt the temptation.  I get the feeling that, if I did rerun a sermon, even if someone did notice, they may not say anything because they’d think, “Maybe it just seems like I’ve heard this one before.”  I imagine, if you listen to enough sermons, especially by the same preacher, they do start to sound alike.   

     If you were here last Sunday, you may be thinking, “Haven’t we heard this before?  Didn’t we hear a Scripture lesson just last week about Peter talking to a group of religious people and reminding them that they killed Jesus?”  The short answer is, “kinda.”  Peter’s two “sermons,” if you will, are a part of a larger story, but this is not the same sermon.  He preaches the same thing and for the same reason, but one very important thing has changed: the audience. 

     You see, the people who gather to hear the Truth proclaimed far more important than the one who proclaims it.  Do they laugh at the right times?  Do they fold their arms in disbelief?  Do they lean in and nod because they understand?  Most importantly: do they take that Truth and then go and proclaim it themselves?  A sermon is only the “same old thing” if we don’t take anything from it. 

     So, our Scripture lesson begins with, “The next day.”  If you were with us last Sunday (or read the sermon on-line), what we read today is the day after that.  If you weren’t, I can easily catch you up: shortly after Pentecost, Peter and John were heading to the temple to pray.  As they entered the temple, they came across a beggar who had been unable to walk since birth; and in the name of Jesus, they healed him.  The man was understandably excited about suddenly being able to walk and started jumping around and shouting praises in the temple.  Also understandably, it attracted a crowd. 

     What we read last Sunday was Peter’s sermon, if you will, explaining the miracle: he told the gathered crowd that the source of this miracle was Jesus.  He went on to say something similar to what we hear again today: that you killed him and that he rose again your salvation.  In our story, all of that happened yesterday.  What happened between then and now, is also worth noting: Peter and John spent the night in jail.  Luke tells us that, after they preached about Jesus yesterday, the religious leaders got annoyed that they were proclaiming resurrection in Jesus; and they had them locked up. 

     Now, let’s set a little perspective here: in our story, the Resurrection happened, maybe, a couple of months ago.  John, only weeks ago, watched Jesus get arrested by these same religious leaders and crucified by the Romans.  Only weeks ago, Peter, out of fear of these same individuals, denied that he even knew Jesus.  And now they just got arrested too.  What do you suppose was going through their minds?  This is, by the way, would be the first time they’d get arrested for speaking about Jesus.  Do you suppose they thought it might be the last?  What would be going through your mind in this moment? 

     Starbucks is a company in the business of selling coffee made from overly-roasted beans.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s drinkable coffee; I drink it once in a while; but it’s just coffee.  It surprises me that a company, that is almost exclusively about something as simple as coffee, would be in the news as often as it is.  Recently, it was about the two black men who were arrested in Philadelphia on charges that were dropped the next day.  They went to a Starbucks for a meeting, but didn’t order anything.  Now, I would point out, that is a little rude.  I find that my week goes a lot better if I spend a couple of hours every Tuesday, working down the street at the Tuning Fork; I always, at least, buy a coffee.  It would be rude not to, but not exactly illegal.  So these two men went into a Starbucks and then, two minutes later, the manager called the police.  Starbucks, of course apologized, and now they’ll be training their people to be nicer, I guess.  One of the black men, when interviewed this week, was asked if he feared for his life during the arrest.  He said, “Anytime I’m encountered by [the police], I can honestly say it’s a thought that runs through my mind. You never know," he said, "what’s going to happen.” 

     Now, if I ever get into trouble with the police, and I say something like that, you have every right to accuse me of being overly-dramatic.  That thought would never cross my mind because I don’t have that kind of relationship with the police.  Never have the police shown up and I thought, “Oh no, it’s the police;” it’s always, “Oh good, it’s the police, I love the police.”  But these were black men in Philadelphia; I have no doubt that thought runs through their minds every time.  They have seen that same scenario go badly before. 

     John and Peter have seen this before; and not just this kind of thing before.  They watched Jesus questioned by these same people when he did good things like heal people.  They watched Jesus finally get arrested by these same people in this same place where they asked him these same kinds of questions.  “By what power,” they ask, “did you do this?”  Do you think John and Peter wondered where this might go?  Of course they did. 

     This is the same scenario, but this is not the same Peter.  This is not the same Peter who, not long ago, denied Jesus perhaps only steps from where he was in that moment.  This is a different Peter: this Peter has seen the Risen Jesus; this Peter knows a power that conquers death, he’s seen that too.  Filled with the Spirit, he says, “Let it be known to all of you, and to all the people of Israel, that this man is standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead. This Jesus is ‘the stone that was rejected by you, the builders; it has become the cornerstone.’” 

     Now, that’s some gutsy preaching!  I get nervous that I’m going to preach something that will rub you the wrong way and get me fired.  We get bashful about talking about our faith because we don’t want to off-putting to our friends.  Luke names some of the people judging Peter and John—Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander—he names them because they are the same people who judged Jesus.  Peter speaks the Resurrection Truth to people he probably assumed would have him crucified too and we get nervous about being liked. 

     Now, I’m not saying you’ll lose friends if to talk about the Risen Jesus from time to time; but I’m not saying you won’t either.  More than likely, it will make more work for you: you might have to explain what resurrection power actually means to you; you might have to lead a life that puts that power into action; you might have to decide for yourself if the power that fear and discomfort has over you really is more powerful than the Resurrection. 

     In the final verse of today's text, Peter says, "There is salvation in no one else [but Jesus]."  This verse has often been used to divide people into two camps: those who are for Jesus and those who are not.  While Luke clearly believes that God has done something decisive and unique in Jesus, the point is actually the opposite of division.  The purpose of this passage, instead, is to proclaim that no human being or human authority can build that kind of wall; although we try.  Just like those who stood in judgement of Jesus, and now John and Peter, we still try to tell the world, "Unless you come into my tent, you cannot have God."  But that’s not our job.  Our job is to fearlessly and by the power of the Resurrection to tell the world what God has done: how God has acted on behalf of the world.  How there is "no other name," no human channel, no denomination, no one theology, no sect, no other franchise, but the power of the Risen Jesus.

     May we set our hearts and minds upon that power.  May the Spirit of our Risen Savior lead to the same places he went.  May we care for those he cared for, may we speak the words he spoke, and may his salvation be revealed in us as well.