2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2
Transfiguration of the Lord
Are you attractive? Don’t overthink it; there isn’t a wrong answer. Do you think you’re attractive? I know it’s an awkward question, that’s why I ask it. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like most people, even if they are attractive, would be reluctant to admit to it. The list of people who find me attractive grows smaller every day, but even I know I’m not hideous. But having said that, I would probably qualify my answer: “I’m attractive… for a man of my age. I’m attractive, as pastors go.” It’s hard for us sometimes to see ourselves in a positive light; even when there are positives to see.
It was suggested to me recently that, if I can think of myself as attractive, I will present myself in the world in a more-attractive way. That makes sense, I guess; but it’s the “convincing myself that I’m attractive” part that seems to be the big hurdle.
Now, I’m not just fishing for compliments here. There are other ways that we may not always see ourselves in our “proper light” (if you will); ways in which we downplay or even hide the glory we’ve been given. On this day that celebrates the Transfiguration of the Lord, we also gather around his Table; we gather here and remember that, by his work and by his spirit, we are now created to be the very Body of Christ. That is, if we let it be, a pretty attractive light. Are we ready, are we willing, to let that glory shine in this world?
To experience God is to be changed. All you need to do is open your Bibles to figure that out; it’s repeated over and over again. Certainly, we’ve seen examples of this in Scripture this past season. We watched on Epiphany, as the magical visitors experienced the presence of the Savior, and went home praising God. We met another magician named Simon who tried to buy the power of the Holy Spirit, only to be transformed by that same Spirit and find something better: repentance. There were those who tasted the water that had become “good wine” at a wedding in Cana; receiving the “good stuff” from Jesus may not be the biggest change, but we’ll take it. We heard about the Israelites returning to the Word of God with Ezra and Nehemiah; and finding that God is more about joyful celebration than shame and sorrow. We learned about the experience of God that transforms us into love itself. We saw the crowds press in on Jesus to hear him teach and to find belief. His followers heard him and found hope as he declared, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” We watched them as they wrestled when he taught them to love their enemies and to “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”
Everyone gets changed: some are merely amazed, others become angry, multitudes find hope, and a handful left everything and followed him. Everyone gets changed. How could they not be? How could we not be changed when we experience the Living Incarnate God?
This shouldn’t surprise us: our relationships, with God or with one another always change us. One can’t just un-know the things we’ve seen and experienced; whether we like it or not. In our experiences, we gain knowledge, and knowledge unfortunately refuses to let us remain the same.
We are changed by our everyday interactions with others—how could we not be; especially what that interaction is with God Almighty? Who can see God and not be forever changed?
In our Scripture reading today, Paul alludes to a somewhat-obscure Old Testament story involving the prophet Moses. Like a lot of Bible stories, the longer version has its highs and lows: this one is about the people of Israel journeying through the desert. It turns out that, just like the rest of us, the people of Israel tended to be their own worst enemy—setting up unnecessary obstacles for themselves and allowing themselves to be distracted by their own idols.
In the part that Paul refers to, the people had been led out of bondage, but they still needed direction. Not just directions of how to get to the Promised Land, but also direction about how to live as God’s people.
These directions were given to Moses on the top of Mount Sinai. Moses went up to receive instruction and to see God, and the people camped at the bottom. But when he came down from the Mountain, he didn’t realize that his interaction with God had changed him. He came down the mountain, not only with tablets containing the Ten Commandments, but with a certain glow (if you will)—a result of being present with God. It seems like it was one of those “spinach in your teeth moments.” You know that moment, right? You walk into a room and you can’t figure out why everyone is looking at you funny. Then some kind soul says, “Hey, you got a little something here.”
Moses came into contact with God and, of course, he was changed. How could he not be? So as to not upset the people, Moses began to wear a veil over his face when he talked to them. Note that subtle distinction: that Moses was not only changed in a personal way by his encounter with God, but it was such a life-altering event that it also changed the ways that he interacted and communicated with others. So, this life-changing experience was not an isolated, personal, religious experience, but a very public thing that changed the life of Moses.
Over a thousand years later, the Apostle Paul, writing to the Church in Corinth, compared the transformation of Moses to the conversion of one’s mind when one comes to faith in God in Jesus. He writes, “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.” Paul, whose life had been drastically changed by his own encounter with God, could speak from firsthand experience. To see God is to be changed.
But here’s the thing: there’s a purpose in that change. God’s changes in us allow God to make changes through us. To see God is to be changed, even when God is seen in us. Through our relationship with our Risen Savior, we are not the same; and we are called to bear that same glory in our relationships with others.
I’m sure I’ve told you this before, but I used to be Chuck E. Cheese. You know what that is, right? It’s a kid-centered pizza restaurant, but the pizza is by far not their best thing. Their main thing is video games, and ball pits, and singing animatronic animals, and things like that. Anyway, I didn’t just work at Chuck E. Cheese’s, I was Chuck E. Cheese. I got paid to put on a giant rat costume, give hugs to children, play the occasional game of ski-ball, and to play peek-a-boo with toddlers.
It was an unusual job, but most people, when they hear about it, can see it. People who know me well can easily imagine me dressing up in an animal costume and being silly.
But the thing is: that wasn’t who I was as a teen-ager. When I was young I was painfully shy and very insecure. But something happened when I put on the rat-suit (as we called it): I was able to embody something different. As you might imagine, behind the rat-mask, I could find a boldness that I didn’t have before. It allowed me to embody something else in me, and as it turned out, it made me into a pretty good Chuck E. Cheese. But more importantly, I think, it gave me a confidence to be a better me as well.
Paul’s words to us this morning encourage us, not to pretend to be someone we’re not, but to live boldly as people who have experienced the Risen Jesus. Paul reminds us, this Transfiguration Sunday, that we are meant to shine. We are meant to shine out God’s glory in all that we are. We are meant to be transformed, so that God might transform the world through us as well.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
Tuesday, February 26, 2019
Higher Ground
Luke 6:27-38
7th Sunday in Ordinary Time
So what did I tell you? Last week, when we read the first part of this section of the Gospel of Luke, do you remember what I said? When we were hearing Jesus teach and he was flipping the world’s priorities upside down, do you remember? When he called things “blessed” that we think of as cursed and called things “cursed” that we think of as blessed, what did I tell you? I said, “If you think this is a difficult lesson to receive, wait until you get a load of next week’s lesson.” Was I right? If this lesson were a main dish, it would be liver. If that truth upsets you, just know that I am in the majority opinion on this one. If you brought liver to the potluck today, you may like it, but you’re probably bringing most of it back home.
Last week I also mentioned that, when Jesus preaches this “sermon” (if you will), he’s looking at us. Luke is careful to point out that when Jesus teaches these difficult (or perhaps impossible) things, he’s looking at his followers. We are the ones “that listen,” that he talks about at the beginning.
This lesson is a doozy! What Jesus says to us today makes us want to look for a loophole, right? Maybe there’s a translation problem between the Greek to the English so it doesn’t mean what it says it means. Maybe if we read farther on, Jesus will say, “Just kidding!” (I’ve read it; he doesn’t.)
So before we get into it, there are a few things to keep in mind: first of all, I think he means it. We who call ourselves the Body of Christ are formed by him to be like him. We are called to a higher standard, even when he calls us to endure unjust behavior. But I would also point out that there is a difference between allowing ourselves to be victimized and breaking cycles of retribution and mutual hurt. Taking the higher ground to bear witness to the grace we’ve received is not the same as becoming a doormat. But also, as I mentioned last week, keep in mind that is not a listing of rules. This seemingly impossible standard reflects the reality of the Kingdom of God; this is what the ethics of Jesus looks like and he’s the one we’re called to follow. We are not going to do that perfectly; but that doesn’t mean we aren’t supposed to try.
I imagine that most of us, if not all of us, take Jesus seriously. We believe that his words and actions bring forgiveness for all our missteps, sins and failures. We believe that there is no other way but Jesus to receive that forgiveness. We believe that, when he says “who so ever,” he means who so ever believes in him will have eternal life. We take comfort in that knowledge; we have hope in that, when he brings this whole mess to its final conclusion, we will rest with him forever. That is our one true comfort, of course we take him seriously.
Then Jesus comes at us with these words Luke today. Where did the nice Jesus go? Tell me that lost sheep story again; I liked that one. Jesus can’t seriously be telling us that we have to do these things, is he?
This is probably a good place to point out that our Scripture lesson is a sermon Jesus preached, not me. I don’t like it any more than you. When I hear this sermon, it makes me wonder: why did so many people show up to hear him talk? This is not a mega-church kind of sermon; not a “5 Ways to Lead A Happier Life” kind of sermon. Just listen to what Jesus seems to tell us to do: love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you, give to everyone who asks. He can’t be serious, right? Well, yes; I think he is.
Last Sunday I mentioned that this sermon, sometimes referred to as the “Sermon on the Plain,” looks a lot like the “Sermon on the Mount” over in Matthew. They are similar, but they are not the same. In Luke, as I mentioned, Jesus is talking directly to his followers; whereas in Matthew, it’s more aimed at the crowd at large. In Matthew, the sermon Jesus preaches is about living God’s way, it’s about righteousness. Cheeks are turned, coats are given away, beggars are given money. Enemies are loved and prayed for. And certainly, in the sermon we hear from today, Jesus affirms these behaviors, but there’s something else there too: rather than simply living-out the righteousness of God, Jesus looks at us and calls us to embody God’s mercy as well. This teaching is not just about living perfectly, it’s about being “children of the Most High.” It’s about being “merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” But we still might wonder: why would God want us to be merciful, specifically to those who are not kind to us?
I once got in trouble with my wife because her brother said something funny. Only, she didn’t think it was funny and I kept laughing because I didn’t notice. I didn’t notice because she otherwise has an ability to laugh at herself and find humor in most things, so I wasn’t expecting her to get her feelings hurt; but as brothers sometimes can do, this hit a nerve; I laughed and I got in trouble. It did make me wonder, though: why am I in trouble? I wasn’t the one making fun of her, why is she mad at me? Well, she was mad at me because I didn’t come to her defense. She expected, when she felt under attack, that I would be the one to take her side; and when I didn’t, it made the hurt worse.
Shouldn’t God be on our side? Rather than calling us to love our enemies, shouldn’t God be defending us from them?
When I read this sermon about loving and showing mercy to those who do us wrong, I’m reminded of the time (also in the Gospel of Luke) when someone asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” If you’ll recall, Jesus answered it in the form of a parable. A parable in which the so-called enemy, the Samaritan, was the one who was a good neighbor; he was the one who showed mercy.
The teachings of Jesus today seem to draw us to ask the opposite question of Jesus: who is my enemy? (And in fact, as I was talking about this passage with someone yesterday, they asked that exact question.) That’s a good question. Who is my enemy? Are people who disagree with my politics my enemy? Are people with different or questionable lifestyles my enemy? Are people of different religions my enemy? Different churches? Is al-Qaeda my enemy? Are racists my enemy? Is the neighbor who won’t return my leaf-blower my enemy? That kid who bullies my kid; whoever it is who keeps letting their dog go to the bathroom on my lawn; that impatient driver that cuts my off. Who is my enemy?
The answer that Jesus seems to give to us today is, our enemy is anyone that God does not love. Our enemy is anyone to whom God is unwilling to show mercy. When you put it like that, it kind of shortens the list quite a bit, doesn’t it? For the children of God, for those who know the mercy we have received, there are no enemies; only other children of God.
The standard we hear Jesus set for us today seems so impossibly high, because indeed, it is. It is God’s standard of mercy and love, patience and sacrifice, and it should not surprise us; it should not surprise us because it is the same mercy, love, patience and sacrifice that we ourselves have received. Jesus is merely calling us to share that grace as freely as it has been given to us.
Friends, today Jesus calls us to a higher path; the path of God’s own love. We will definitely need more of God’s grace as we seek to walk it, but Jesus was not kidding. As ones who could have, once, been considered “enemies of God,” let us seek to share that same love with who so ever God puts in our lives.
7th Sunday in Ordinary Time
So what did I tell you? Last week, when we read the first part of this section of the Gospel of Luke, do you remember what I said? When we were hearing Jesus teach and he was flipping the world’s priorities upside down, do you remember? When he called things “blessed” that we think of as cursed and called things “cursed” that we think of as blessed, what did I tell you? I said, “If you think this is a difficult lesson to receive, wait until you get a load of next week’s lesson.” Was I right? If this lesson were a main dish, it would be liver. If that truth upsets you, just know that I am in the majority opinion on this one. If you brought liver to the potluck today, you may like it, but you’re probably bringing most of it back home.
Last week I also mentioned that, when Jesus preaches this “sermon” (if you will), he’s looking at us. Luke is careful to point out that when Jesus teaches these difficult (or perhaps impossible) things, he’s looking at his followers. We are the ones “that listen,” that he talks about at the beginning.
This lesson is a doozy! What Jesus says to us today makes us want to look for a loophole, right? Maybe there’s a translation problem between the Greek to the English so it doesn’t mean what it says it means. Maybe if we read farther on, Jesus will say, “Just kidding!” (I’ve read it; he doesn’t.)
So before we get into it, there are a few things to keep in mind: first of all, I think he means it. We who call ourselves the Body of Christ are formed by him to be like him. We are called to a higher standard, even when he calls us to endure unjust behavior. But I would also point out that there is a difference between allowing ourselves to be victimized and breaking cycles of retribution and mutual hurt. Taking the higher ground to bear witness to the grace we’ve received is not the same as becoming a doormat. But also, as I mentioned last week, keep in mind that is not a listing of rules. This seemingly impossible standard reflects the reality of the Kingdom of God; this is what the ethics of Jesus looks like and he’s the one we’re called to follow. We are not going to do that perfectly; but that doesn’t mean we aren’t supposed to try.
I imagine that most of us, if not all of us, take Jesus seriously. We believe that his words and actions bring forgiveness for all our missteps, sins and failures. We believe that there is no other way but Jesus to receive that forgiveness. We believe that, when he says “who so ever,” he means who so ever believes in him will have eternal life. We take comfort in that knowledge; we have hope in that, when he brings this whole mess to its final conclusion, we will rest with him forever. That is our one true comfort, of course we take him seriously.
Then Jesus comes at us with these words Luke today. Where did the nice Jesus go? Tell me that lost sheep story again; I liked that one. Jesus can’t seriously be telling us that we have to do these things, is he?
This is probably a good place to point out that our Scripture lesson is a sermon Jesus preached, not me. I don’t like it any more than you. When I hear this sermon, it makes me wonder: why did so many people show up to hear him talk? This is not a mega-church kind of sermon; not a “5 Ways to Lead A Happier Life” kind of sermon. Just listen to what Jesus seems to tell us to do: love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you, give to everyone who asks. He can’t be serious, right? Well, yes; I think he is.
Last Sunday I mentioned that this sermon, sometimes referred to as the “Sermon on the Plain,” looks a lot like the “Sermon on the Mount” over in Matthew. They are similar, but they are not the same. In Luke, as I mentioned, Jesus is talking directly to his followers; whereas in Matthew, it’s more aimed at the crowd at large. In Matthew, the sermon Jesus preaches is about living God’s way, it’s about righteousness. Cheeks are turned, coats are given away, beggars are given money. Enemies are loved and prayed for. And certainly, in the sermon we hear from today, Jesus affirms these behaviors, but there’s something else there too: rather than simply living-out the righteousness of God, Jesus looks at us and calls us to embody God’s mercy as well. This teaching is not just about living perfectly, it’s about being “children of the Most High.” It’s about being “merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” But we still might wonder: why would God want us to be merciful, specifically to those who are not kind to us?
I once got in trouble with my wife because her brother said something funny. Only, she didn’t think it was funny and I kept laughing because I didn’t notice. I didn’t notice because she otherwise has an ability to laugh at herself and find humor in most things, so I wasn’t expecting her to get her feelings hurt; but as brothers sometimes can do, this hit a nerve; I laughed and I got in trouble. It did make me wonder, though: why am I in trouble? I wasn’t the one making fun of her, why is she mad at me? Well, she was mad at me because I didn’t come to her defense. She expected, when she felt under attack, that I would be the one to take her side; and when I didn’t, it made the hurt worse.
Shouldn’t God be on our side? Rather than calling us to love our enemies, shouldn’t God be defending us from them?
When I read this sermon about loving and showing mercy to those who do us wrong, I’m reminded of the time (also in the Gospel of Luke) when someone asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” If you’ll recall, Jesus answered it in the form of a parable. A parable in which the so-called enemy, the Samaritan, was the one who was a good neighbor; he was the one who showed mercy.
The teachings of Jesus today seem to draw us to ask the opposite question of Jesus: who is my enemy? (And in fact, as I was talking about this passage with someone yesterday, they asked that exact question.) That’s a good question. Who is my enemy? Are people who disagree with my politics my enemy? Are people with different or questionable lifestyles my enemy? Are people of different religions my enemy? Different churches? Is al-Qaeda my enemy? Are racists my enemy? Is the neighbor who won’t return my leaf-blower my enemy? That kid who bullies my kid; whoever it is who keeps letting their dog go to the bathroom on my lawn; that impatient driver that cuts my off. Who is my enemy?
The answer that Jesus seems to give to us today is, our enemy is anyone that God does not love. Our enemy is anyone to whom God is unwilling to show mercy. When you put it like that, it kind of shortens the list quite a bit, doesn’t it? For the children of God, for those who know the mercy we have received, there are no enemies; only other children of God.
The standard we hear Jesus set for us today seems so impossibly high, because indeed, it is. It is God’s standard of mercy and love, patience and sacrifice, and it should not surprise us; it should not surprise us because it is the same mercy, love, patience and sacrifice that we ourselves have received. Jesus is merely calling us to share that grace as freely as it has been given to us.
Friends, today Jesus calls us to a higher path; the path of God’s own love. We will definitely need more of God’s grace as we seek to walk it, but Jesus was not kidding. As ones who could have, once, been considered “enemies of God,” let us seek to share that same love with who so ever God puts in our lives.
Thursday, February 21, 2019
On Level Ground
Luke 6:17-26
6th Sunday in Ordinary Time
People outside of the Church have a perception of Christianity that we have a lot of rules. I think we have that perception because, we kind-of do. We pride ourselves that, since Jesus, we don’t have as many, but that doesn’t always stop us from wanting them. And we certainly have our favorites: the Ten Commandments a favorite when it comes to rules. I say that because we tend to try to post those wherever we can get away with it. But there are others. We like the Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Then there is my personal favorite, where Jesus summed up the Law: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself. That’s a good one.
We often look to the Bible to find rules that will help tell us how we are supposed to live. Some of us, though, do take it a little to far; we scour its pages to find rules we may not have noticed before; we’re good, but maybe we could do it better. We’re obeying God’s rules, but maybe there are rules we missed. “Hey, did you see this one about covering your head in church? Ooh, here’s one about not wearing clothing woven from more than one kind of cloth.” And maybe there’s something here in our reading today that teaches us something new and special about how Jesus wants us to live. Maybe this is a list of rules about learning to be poor, hungry, sad, and unpopular.
I certainly hope not. And since laying down rules doesn’t otherwise seem to be what Jesus came into this world to do, I doubt it. In fact, I’m starting to think that listing out rules might not even be what the Bible is for. Don’t get me wrong, the Bible’s got some great rules in it, but it’s also got something better. Rather than just telling us what to do, the Bible shows us what God’s up to. And knowing what God is up to might just require more of us than just following rules.
You probably already know this, but in the Gospel of Matthew, there is a much-longer “sermon” that sounds very much like what we read today in Luke. By the way, we’ll be hearing the next part of this sermon next week; and if you find this part hard to take, buckle up—next week is worse.
But that aside, although there are some similarities between the two gospel accounts, they are decidedly not the same sermons. First of all, there’s the location: the one in Matthew is described as the “Sermon on the Mount,” but Luke is careful to point out that this sermon happens on a “level place.” But that’s not nearly the most important difference: the biggest difference is the audience.
In the verses leading up to today’s reading, Jesus has indeed been on a mountain, but by himself. Jesus has been up on a mountain praying, and when he comes down, we find out what he’s been praying for: he comes down the mountain and picks the twelve disciples; those who would carry on his ministry. And in our reading today, Luke is careful to point out that, although there is a multitude gathered—crowds gathered to hear him and be healed by him—but that’s not who Jesus is talking to. Here Jesus is talking to the twelve—he’s talking to his church.
That’s an important thing to know: it’s important because he’s not talking to the world at large here. This is no moral code for society; it’s for those who have been called into relationship with Jesus and sent to live in his reality. In short, just before he says these things, he turns and looks us in the eye. And looking right at us, he says some very perplexing things, doesn’t he?
Blessed are you who are poor.
Blessed are you who are hungry now.
Blessed are you who weep now.
Blessed are you when people hate you, and exclude you, revile you, and defame.
Do you remember the movie “The Princess Bride”? If you do, you probably know where I’m going with this, right? There’s that guy who keeps using the word, “inconceivable!” over and over. And finally Indigo Montoya says, “You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means.” I can just imagine Peter saying something like that: “Hey Jesus, I know I’ve just now been chosen to be an apostle, but you keep using that word ‘blessed.’ But the way you’re using it, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
It does get worse. He doesn’t seem to know what the word “woe” means either:
But woe to you who are rich.
Woe to you who are full now.
Woe to you who are laughing now.
Woe to you when all speak well of you.
Let’s face it, we don’t always live out the points of the sermons we hear. Even me: there are times that I literally don’t practice what I preach. Some sermons are easier than others. Last Sunday, for example: it was all about deepening our relationships with God, with each other, and with those around us in the world; and I was doing that all over the place last week. I even went on a couple of dates with my wife! Finally, someone preaches a sermon I can follow up with!
The sermon Jesus preaches to us today seems not so easy. Some popular preaching—you know, the kind on television—will sometimes make it seem like the life of the faithful Christ-follower is a life of blessings and prosperity; that if we follow God’s rules just right, everything will be fine and dandy. But that is not the sermon Jesus preaches. This sermon, preached to his church, is a call to a radically different way; a way of that turns the way of the world upside down.
I mentioned that there is a similar sermon in the Gospel of Matthew, but there is another striking difference between that one and this one: this sermon doesn’t spiritualize anything. In Matthew, the blessings are sometimes qualified: blessed are the poor, but they are poor in spirit; blessed are those who hunger, but they hunger for righteousness. There’s a real, physical, sociological dimension to the sermon we hear in Luke; the sermon Jesus preaches to his followers. In Luke, you can’t mistake who God sides with in this world: the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and the hated. And in the surrounding multitude, for those who fit these descriptions, this is (no doubt) good news. If you are poor, if you are hungry, if you are weeping, if you are hated, take heart. God cares for you; God cares about what you’re going through; this is not the last word. This is not forever. You will be rich, you will be filled, you will laugh, you will be welcomed.
But remember, he’s not preaching to the multitude. The poor, and the hungry, and the sad, and the lonely already know the reality of their situation. They will, even without trying, learn God’s new reality. They will, without any effort, find the mercy and care of God. Jesus is not preaching to them. No, this sermon is for the church: for those of us who might be surprised by this reality; for the church when we are rich, well-fed, laughing, and respected. This sermon is to the church when it forgets that God’s reality is not our reality. This sermon is a warning to us when we take more comfort in ourselves and what we have than we do in the mercy and grace of God. This sermon is a reminder that the way things are, are not the way things will be; and we are challenged by the truth that we are not always on God’s side of things. We are challenged to ask:
Are the beatitudes our attitudes?
Do we live simply, caring more for people than stuff?
Do we mourn over the loss of God in our society? And I don’t mean that in the way that judges and condemns society, but the heartfelt grieving of an empty spot in our culture?
Are we persecuted for righteousness sake?
Do our lives and attitudes stand in such contradistinction from society's that we look strange and subversive?
The sermon that Jesus preaches to us today asks us an important question: "If not, why not?"
Let us be challenged by the words of our Savior today; and may our lives conform to the life that he calls us to.
6th Sunday in Ordinary Time
People outside of the Church have a perception of Christianity that we have a lot of rules. I think we have that perception because, we kind-of do. We pride ourselves that, since Jesus, we don’t have as many, but that doesn’t always stop us from wanting them. And we certainly have our favorites: the Ten Commandments a favorite when it comes to rules. I say that because we tend to try to post those wherever we can get away with it. But there are others. We like the Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Then there is my personal favorite, where Jesus summed up the Law: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself. That’s a good one.
We often look to the Bible to find rules that will help tell us how we are supposed to live. Some of us, though, do take it a little to far; we scour its pages to find rules we may not have noticed before; we’re good, but maybe we could do it better. We’re obeying God’s rules, but maybe there are rules we missed. “Hey, did you see this one about covering your head in church? Ooh, here’s one about not wearing clothing woven from more than one kind of cloth.” And maybe there’s something here in our reading today that teaches us something new and special about how Jesus wants us to live. Maybe this is a list of rules about learning to be poor, hungry, sad, and unpopular.
I certainly hope not. And since laying down rules doesn’t otherwise seem to be what Jesus came into this world to do, I doubt it. In fact, I’m starting to think that listing out rules might not even be what the Bible is for. Don’t get me wrong, the Bible’s got some great rules in it, but it’s also got something better. Rather than just telling us what to do, the Bible shows us what God’s up to. And knowing what God is up to might just require more of us than just following rules.
You probably already know this, but in the Gospel of Matthew, there is a much-longer “sermon” that sounds very much like what we read today in Luke. By the way, we’ll be hearing the next part of this sermon next week; and if you find this part hard to take, buckle up—next week is worse.
But that aside, although there are some similarities between the two gospel accounts, they are decidedly not the same sermons. First of all, there’s the location: the one in Matthew is described as the “Sermon on the Mount,” but Luke is careful to point out that this sermon happens on a “level place.” But that’s not nearly the most important difference: the biggest difference is the audience.
In the verses leading up to today’s reading, Jesus has indeed been on a mountain, but by himself. Jesus has been up on a mountain praying, and when he comes down, we find out what he’s been praying for: he comes down the mountain and picks the twelve disciples; those who would carry on his ministry. And in our reading today, Luke is careful to point out that, although there is a multitude gathered—crowds gathered to hear him and be healed by him—but that’s not who Jesus is talking to. Here Jesus is talking to the twelve—he’s talking to his church.
That’s an important thing to know: it’s important because he’s not talking to the world at large here. This is no moral code for society; it’s for those who have been called into relationship with Jesus and sent to live in his reality. In short, just before he says these things, he turns and looks us in the eye. And looking right at us, he says some very perplexing things, doesn’t he?
Blessed are you who are poor.
Blessed are you who are hungry now.
Blessed are you who weep now.
Blessed are you when people hate you, and exclude you, revile you, and defame.
Do you remember the movie “The Princess Bride”? If you do, you probably know where I’m going with this, right? There’s that guy who keeps using the word, “inconceivable!” over and over. And finally Indigo Montoya says, “You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means.” I can just imagine Peter saying something like that: “Hey Jesus, I know I’ve just now been chosen to be an apostle, but you keep using that word ‘blessed.’ But the way you’re using it, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
It does get worse. He doesn’t seem to know what the word “woe” means either:
But woe to you who are rich.
Woe to you who are full now.
Woe to you who are laughing now.
Woe to you when all speak well of you.
Let’s face it, we don’t always live out the points of the sermons we hear. Even me: there are times that I literally don’t practice what I preach. Some sermons are easier than others. Last Sunday, for example: it was all about deepening our relationships with God, with each other, and with those around us in the world; and I was doing that all over the place last week. I even went on a couple of dates with my wife! Finally, someone preaches a sermon I can follow up with!
The sermon Jesus preaches to us today seems not so easy. Some popular preaching—you know, the kind on television—will sometimes make it seem like the life of the faithful Christ-follower is a life of blessings and prosperity; that if we follow God’s rules just right, everything will be fine and dandy. But that is not the sermon Jesus preaches. This sermon, preached to his church, is a call to a radically different way; a way of that turns the way of the world upside down.
I mentioned that there is a similar sermon in the Gospel of Matthew, but there is another striking difference between that one and this one: this sermon doesn’t spiritualize anything. In Matthew, the blessings are sometimes qualified: blessed are the poor, but they are poor in spirit; blessed are those who hunger, but they hunger for righteousness. There’s a real, physical, sociological dimension to the sermon we hear in Luke; the sermon Jesus preaches to his followers. In Luke, you can’t mistake who God sides with in this world: the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and the hated. And in the surrounding multitude, for those who fit these descriptions, this is (no doubt) good news. If you are poor, if you are hungry, if you are weeping, if you are hated, take heart. God cares for you; God cares about what you’re going through; this is not the last word. This is not forever. You will be rich, you will be filled, you will laugh, you will be welcomed.
But remember, he’s not preaching to the multitude. The poor, and the hungry, and the sad, and the lonely already know the reality of their situation. They will, even without trying, learn God’s new reality. They will, without any effort, find the mercy and care of God. Jesus is not preaching to them. No, this sermon is for the church: for those of us who might be surprised by this reality; for the church when we are rich, well-fed, laughing, and respected. This sermon is to the church when it forgets that God’s reality is not our reality. This sermon is a warning to us when we take more comfort in ourselves and what we have than we do in the mercy and grace of God. This sermon is a reminder that the way things are, are not the way things will be; and we are challenged by the truth that we are not always on God’s side of things. We are challenged to ask:
Are the beatitudes our attitudes?
Do we live simply, caring more for people than stuff?
Do we mourn over the loss of God in our society? And I don’t mean that in the way that judges and condemns society, but the heartfelt grieving of an empty spot in our culture?
Are we persecuted for righteousness sake?
Do our lives and attitudes stand in such contradistinction from society's that we look strange and subversive?
The sermon that Jesus preaches to us today asks us an important question: "If not, why not?"
Let us be challenged by the words of our Savior today; and may our lives conform to the life that he calls us to.
Tuesday, February 12, 2019
Untitled, Sort-of Sermon
Luke 5:1-11
Matthew 28:16-20
John 4:13-19
Matthew 10:5-14
If you weren’t with us on Sunday, you missed an unusual (but I think good) one. Due to a combination of illness and the movement of the Spirit, instead of the sermon I’d been preparing, I presented a version of what I’d presented at the Leadership Enrichment Event the day before. The material I was presenting was the culmination of many things God has been teaching me, in some ways, my entire life—but more-intensely over the past year. I have come to understand that the life Jesus calls us to is a life of deepening relationships. It is arguably the most important thing we do. And that is precisely the argument I make.
Because it was more of a “presentation,” it wasn’t scripted, as I usually do. So the following is the combination of what I remember saying, my brief notes, and a couple of things I’ve thought of since then.
To begin with, I think the Spirit drew me to present this instead of the original sermon I had in mind is that this is, by far, more important. Over the past couple of years, we’ve been talking with Rev. Dr. Stan Wood about being a “missional” church. That relationship has unfortunately come to an end—I found his insights and personal support to be a gift from God. However, if I have one criticism of his approach to helping us be a missional church, it is this: he kept using the word “missional.” What I think he meant was “relational,” because building and deepening relationships is the most important thing we do as the church. Last Sunday we talked about love (1 Corinthians 13). Last week we heard the Apostle Paul say that love is even more important than faith and hope! This week we ask: how is that love expressed? It is through our relationships; first with our Savior, then with one another, and then with those in the world around us.
So we begin, as we all do, with our relationship with Jesus. We all have our own unique journeys with Jesus—all have our own stories of how we came to faith, and all have our own journeys that led us together as a congregation—but we’re all on the same road. We look to Luke 5:1-11 and see some similar patterns with our life in Christ: first, that he comes to us. Peter and the rest weren’t looking for Jesus; they weren’t looking to become disciples; Jesus comes to them. He begins the relationship with us by coming to us and setting relationships as our pattern of life. Along with that, it’s an imposing kind of relationship: Jesus doesn’t just sit at coffee with us (although he certainly does), he puts us to work. “Let’s go fishing,” Jesus says. “We just went fishing,” say the professional fishermen, but they go anyway. We know the rest of the story.
The next common pattern we see from this story is Peter’s reaction (v. 8): “Get away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” The holiness of Jesus compels us to notice that we are not. Of course it does. But how does Jesus respond? Does say, “Oh really? Okay then. Never mind.” Does he say, “Oh you’re not so bad; I’ve seen much bigger sinners than you.” Nope. He looks right past Peter’s sinfulness. He says, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” Apparently, Peter’s sinfulness does not disqualify him from becoming a disciple. Of course, it didn’t disqualify us either.
And of course, we know the disciples’ next choice too. Upon hearing our Savior’s invitation to come catch people, we do what they did: we leave behind what we can and we follow him. We enter into relationship with Jesus.
But of course, Jesus doesn’t just call us into relationship with him; he calls us to be in relationship with one another as well. As disciples, as fellow followers of Jesus, we walk alongside one another as well. We look to the pattern of the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20) and see that it is all about our relationships: we make disciples; we baptize in the name of Father, Son, & Spirit (even our God is about relationship!); we remember that the Spirit of Jesus is with us always. We are meant to walk together with Jesus.
But what does that mean? Is there a difference between belonging to a church and belonging to one another as fellow disciples? This is and has been a very personal question for me. This is an illustration that I didn’t use on Sunday: Google the phrase “yubba lubba dub dub.” Did it ask you if you meant, “I am in great pain, please help me”? It is from an adult-themed (and rather inappropriate) cartoon, where one of the main characters uses it as a catch-phrase. It isn’t until much later in the series that we find out its meaning. In other words, this character has been walking into rooms yelling, “I am in great pain, please help me!” and no one has heard him. In the cartoon, because this character is rather unlikable, that revelation is meant to be funny; but in the church, it is certainly not. How do we know if the person sitting next to us every Sunday is crying out for help if we don’t understand the “language” they are speaking.
I won’t rehash the journey away from and toward emotional health that I’ve been on this past year, but I’ve been there. When I was finally made aware that I was “not well,” it was coupled with the realization that I had no one I could talk to about it. Not that I was not cared for; I know I was cared for and I know it now more than ever. What I mean is: I had no one I could reach out to pray for me in the middle of the night. That kind of relationship is deeper than most. That depth of relationship takes a spoken commitment: “I’ll be there for you as you will be there for me.” Since then, I have surrounded myself with such a team of people. The treasure that they are to me has encouraged me to invite you to deepen your relationships with the people in the church: my hope is that you will create your “team” as well. We rarely know when a crisis will arise; but when it does, you’ll want your team on the ready.
These deepening relationships, as vital for us as a church as they are, are not just for us. Deepening relationships is how we bring Jesus to the world. We see how this might be done in John 4. You know the story: Jesus and the boys are traveling through Samaria and, the disciples leave Jesus alone by a well. Along comes a woman to draw water and Jesus (of course!) puts her to work: he asks her for some water and she points out how he’s not supposed to do that. They talk about water a bit and then the conversation turns to the woman’s husband. She says she has no husband and Jesus points out that, actually, she’s had five and the one she’s “with” isn’t her husband. Ouch.
Do we know this woman? Of course we do: we meet people like this every day; people we meet who are living with loneliness and shame; and God is calling us to care for them by entering into a deeper relationship with them. In our context, it might look more like this: maybe you’re at the coffee shop or the library. Maybe she’s on a computer and you notice something isn’t quite right. Nothing prophetic, necessarily; maybe you just notice something. Maybe the Spirit nudges you to ask, “Hey, are you okay?” Maybe that same Spirit nudges her to tell you the truth. “No,” she says, “my husband and I can’t seem to love each other anymore.” And so you enter into real and deepening relationship. Maybe you say something like, “Wow, that sounds really hard. How do you deal with not feeling love with your husband? Are there ways that you’re working on finding that love again?” And maybe most helpful of all, “Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe pray with you?” That is how the Kingdom of God has always grown: we meet them where they are, we walk with them, and we show the love of God along the journey.
The lack of deepening and real relationship is literally killing our society; and that is the one thing we are called to bring to our society. It is no accident that the most urgent thing our society needs and the thing we are most called to do are the same exact thing. Building relationships is not only how we’re called into discipleship, not only what we’re called bring to one another, but it is how we bring salvation to the world.
There is one final point from Matthew 10:5-14 that shows us, in an unusual way, that there may also be a specific kind of person God is calling us to walk with in this world. It’s an interesting story: Jesus sends his disciples out into the world to practice his relationship-building ministry (again, putting us to work). He gives them instructions on traveling light and then adds an interesting note on where to stay. He says, “Whatever town or village you enter, find out who in it is worthy, and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you.” What just happened there? Jesus sends the disciples into the world, looking for people in it who are not disciples, but who are “peaceful” to what God is doing. Then, Jesus has his disciples to for them the same thing that Jesus does for everyone else: put them to work. Jesus sends us into the world, looking for what my friend calls “people of peace”—people who are already working in the Kingdom of God, but don’t even know it. Jesus sends us to recognize what God is doing through them and walk alongside them in that work. To show them in your words and actions the miracle of our Savior’s love and them put them to work: let them take you fishing; let them give you water; let them fix you a room.
I’m reluctant to publish the illustration I used on line, but the gist goes like this: God called me a couple of years ago to begin walking with someone in our town who is obviously a “person of peace.” This person does not go to church, but knows we have had many opportunities to have spiritual conversations. I have had opportunities to tell this person, most importantly, that I see what this person does as God’s work. So the other day, this person was going through a difficult situation and asked me if I could pray about it. Of course I did. I don’t know if this person will ever set foot in a church, but that’s not my job. My job is to deepen that relationship, walk with people wherever they are, and keep the door open.
So in the end, I guess the big message is this: remember that everything we do is about building & maintaining relationships; first with the Savior who seeks us and calls us; then with one another as we seek to truly care for one another; and finally with those God puts in our lives as we go out into the world.
Matthew 28:16-20
John 4:13-19
Matthew 10:5-14
If you weren’t with us on Sunday, you missed an unusual (but I think good) one. Due to a combination of illness and the movement of the Spirit, instead of the sermon I’d been preparing, I presented a version of what I’d presented at the Leadership Enrichment Event the day before. The material I was presenting was the culmination of many things God has been teaching me, in some ways, my entire life—but more-intensely over the past year. I have come to understand that the life Jesus calls us to is a life of deepening relationships. It is arguably the most important thing we do. And that is precisely the argument I make.
Because it was more of a “presentation,” it wasn’t scripted, as I usually do. So the following is the combination of what I remember saying, my brief notes, and a couple of things I’ve thought of since then.
To begin with, I think the Spirit drew me to present this instead of the original sermon I had in mind is that this is, by far, more important. Over the past couple of years, we’ve been talking with Rev. Dr. Stan Wood about being a “missional” church. That relationship has unfortunately come to an end—I found his insights and personal support to be a gift from God. However, if I have one criticism of his approach to helping us be a missional church, it is this: he kept using the word “missional.” What I think he meant was “relational,” because building and deepening relationships is the most important thing we do as the church. Last Sunday we talked about love (1 Corinthians 13). Last week we heard the Apostle Paul say that love is even more important than faith and hope! This week we ask: how is that love expressed? It is through our relationships; first with our Savior, then with one another, and then with those in the world around us.
So we begin, as we all do, with our relationship with Jesus. We all have our own unique journeys with Jesus—all have our own stories of how we came to faith, and all have our own journeys that led us together as a congregation—but we’re all on the same road. We look to Luke 5:1-11 and see some similar patterns with our life in Christ: first, that he comes to us. Peter and the rest weren’t looking for Jesus; they weren’t looking to become disciples; Jesus comes to them. He begins the relationship with us by coming to us and setting relationships as our pattern of life. Along with that, it’s an imposing kind of relationship: Jesus doesn’t just sit at coffee with us (although he certainly does), he puts us to work. “Let’s go fishing,” Jesus says. “We just went fishing,” say the professional fishermen, but they go anyway. We know the rest of the story.
The next common pattern we see from this story is Peter’s reaction (v. 8): “Get away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” The holiness of Jesus compels us to notice that we are not. Of course it does. But how does Jesus respond? Does say, “Oh really? Okay then. Never mind.” Does he say, “Oh you’re not so bad; I’ve seen much bigger sinners than you.” Nope. He looks right past Peter’s sinfulness. He says, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” Apparently, Peter’s sinfulness does not disqualify him from becoming a disciple. Of course, it didn’t disqualify us either.
And of course, we know the disciples’ next choice too. Upon hearing our Savior’s invitation to come catch people, we do what they did: we leave behind what we can and we follow him. We enter into relationship with Jesus.
But of course, Jesus doesn’t just call us into relationship with him; he calls us to be in relationship with one another as well. As disciples, as fellow followers of Jesus, we walk alongside one another as well. We look to the pattern of the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20) and see that it is all about our relationships: we make disciples; we baptize in the name of Father, Son, & Spirit (even our God is about relationship!); we remember that the Spirit of Jesus is with us always. We are meant to walk together with Jesus.
But what does that mean? Is there a difference between belonging to a church and belonging to one another as fellow disciples? This is and has been a very personal question for me. This is an illustration that I didn’t use on Sunday: Google the phrase “yubba lubba dub dub.” Did it ask you if you meant, “I am in great pain, please help me”? It is from an adult-themed (and rather inappropriate) cartoon, where one of the main characters uses it as a catch-phrase. It isn’t until much later in the series that we find out its meaning. In other words, this character has been walking into rooms yelling, “I am in great pain, please help me!” and no one has heard him. In the cartoon, because this character is rather unlikable, that revelation is meant to be funny; but in the church, it is certainly not. How do we know if the person sitting next to us every Sunday is crying out for help if we don’t understand the “language” they are speaking.
I won’t rehash the journey away from and toward emotional health that I’ve been on this past year, but I’ve been there. When I was finally made aware that I was “not well,” it was coupled with the realization that I had no one I could talk to about it. Not that I was not cared for; I know I was cared for and I know it now more than ever. What I mean is: I had no one I could reach out to pray for me in the middle of the night. That kind of relationship is deeper than most. That depth of relationship takes a spoken commitment: “I’ll be there for you as you will be there for me.” Since then, I have surrounded myself with such a team of people. The treasure that they are to me has encouraged me to invite you to deepen your relationships with the people in the church: my hope is that you will create your “team” as well. We rarely know when a crisis will arise; but when it does, you’ll want your team on the ready.
These deepening relationships, as vital for us as a church as they are, are not just for us. Deepening relationships is how we bring Jesus to the world. We see how this might be done in John 4. You know the story: Jesus and the boys are traveling through Samaria and, the disciples leave Jesus alone by a well. Along comes a woman to draw water and Jesus (of course!) puts her to work: he asks her for some water and she points out how he’s not supposed to do that. They talk about water a bit and then the conversation turns to the woman’s husband. She says she has no husband and Jesus points out that, actually, she’s had five and the one she’s “with” isn’t her husband. Ouch.
Do we know this woman? Of course we do: we meet people like this every day; people we meet who are living with loneliness and shame; and God is calling us to care for them by entering into a deeper relationship with them. In our context, it might look more like this: maybe you’re at the coffee shop or the library. Maybe she’s on a computer and you notice something isn’t quite right. Nothing prophetic, necessarily; maybe you just notice something. Maybe the Spirit nudges you to ask, “Hey, are you okay?” Maybe that same Spirit nudges her to tell you the truth. “No,” she says, “my husband and I can’t seem to love each other anymore.” And so you enter into real and deepening relationship. Maybe you say something like, “Wow, that sounds really hard. How do you deal with not feeling love with your husband? Are there ways that you’re working on finding that love again?” And maybe most helpful of all, “Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe pray with you?” That is how the Kingdom of God has always grown: we meet them where they are, we walk with them, and we show the love of God along the journey.
The lack of deepening and real relationship is literally killing our society; and that is the one thing we are called to bring to our society. It is no accident that the most urgent thing our society needs and the thing we are most called to do are the same exact thing. Building relationships is not only how we’re called into discipleship, not only what we’re called bring to one another, but it is how we bring salvation to the world.
There is one final point from Matthew 10:5-14 that shows us, in an unusual way, that there may also be a specific kind of person God is calling us to walk with in this world. It’s an interesting story: Jesus sends his disciples out into the world to practice his relationship-building ministry (again, putting us to work). He gives them instructions on traveling light and then adds an interesting note on where to stay. He says, “Whatever town or village you enter, find out who in it is worthy, and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you.” What just happened there? Jesus sends the disciples into the world, looking for people in it who are not disciples, but who are “peaceful” to what God is doing. Then, Jesus has his disciples to for them the same thing that Jesus does for everyone else: put them to work. Jesus sends us into the world, looking for what my friend calls “people of peace”—people who are already working in the Kingdom of God, but don’t even know it. Jesus sends us to recognize what God is doing through them and walk alongside them in that work. To show them in your words and actions the miracle of our Savior’s love and them put them to work: let them take you fishing; let them give you water; let them fix you a room.
I’m reluctant to publish the illustration I used on line, but the gist goes like this: God called me a couple of years ago to begin walking with someone in our town who is obviously a “person of peace.” This person does not go to church, but knows we have had many opportunities to have spiritual conversations. I have had opportunities to tell this person, most importantly, that I see what this person does as God’s work. So the other day, this person was going through a difficult situation and asked me if I could pray about it. Of course I did. I don’t know if this person will ever set foot in a church, but that’s not my job. My job is to deepen that relationship, walk with people wherever they are, and keep the door open.
So in the end, I guess the big message is this: remember that everything we do is about building & maintaining relationships; first with the Savior who seeks us and calls us; then with one another as we seek to truly care for one another; and finally with those God puts in our lives as we go out into the world.
Monday, February 4, 2019
Love Isn't
1 Corinthians 13
4th Sunday in Ordinary Time
As you might imagine, there’s a class they had me take in seminary where I learned how to serve Communion. There are other classes where we talked about what happens in the Lord’s Supper and what it means, but those classes didn’t make me nearly as nervous.
I remember the day we practiced doing the pastor’s part of the Lord’s Supper; I was scared to death. It terrified me because I’d only seen it done before; done by an ordained, installed, and properly-sanctioned and full-fledged pastor. I was not one yet. I think there was something in my head that was afraid that, if I got the words wrong, it wouldn’t work; like if recited the incantation improperly, the magic wouldn’t take.
Then it came to be my turn: I stood at the little table we’d set up and picked up the little loaf of bread they’d given me and was surprised to find that the words just came. It turns out, when you watch a thing being repeated once a month for your entire life, you just pick it up. In fact, I bet that with a little prompting, you’d find you know the words too. Take the bread: Jesus said, “This is… [my body, which is broken for you].” And then he said, “Do this... [in remembrance of me].”
There are those two parts to it and both are important. Why do we remember Jesus saying, “This is my body, broken for you”? Well, that’s easy: that’s our salvation story; he gave his literal body so that we might have life. But the other part may not be so easy: why do we do this in remembrance of him? Well, that’s what this sermon’s about, but I’ll give you a hint: it may be the reason we do this at the start of every month; it may be the reason we repeat it so often throughout our lives that we memorize it without even trying; and it may be, as followers of Jesus, the very most important thing we do.
So today we hear from the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear from First Corinthians thirteen, I instinctually look around to see if anyone is getting married. I am sure I’ve been to a wedding that didn’t quote this passage, but then again, I doubt it. This is the go-to wedding Scripture, right? It’s especially true if the couple isn’t super-Christian: they’re getting married in a church because they think they’re supposed to or their trying to make someone’s parents happy. And First Corinthians thirteen is perfect for that: God is not mentioned once. Did you notice that? If you do attend church on a regular basis, you probably just assume God in their somewhere. You have probably heard the idea that God is love before—that all love is born of God—so when Paul starts talking about Love, you know the code; God’s right there. But if you’re not-so-connected, this is just a wovewy scwipturwe about wuv.
Only, it’s not. Not only is Paul not merely talking about the kind of love that will hold a marriage together, this love is counter-cultural, revolutionary, and even a little subversive. Bringing this passage to a celebration like a wedding, is like bringing gasoline to a celebration like a bar-b-q; you’re asking for trouble.
To understand the scope of what Paul is talking about in First Corinthians thirteen, you need to keep in mind what Paul was talking about in chapter twelve. To a conflicted and diverse church, Paul calls them to live together as if they were one, united physical body; indeed the very Body of Christ. He reminds them, as he would remind us, that we are different from one another by God’s design; that our differences allow us to function uniquely in this Body. But at the same time, those unique gifts, abilities, and experiences come together to serve our Savior’s work in the world; that, bound together by His Spirit, we continue His ministry together.
And as I alluded to earlier, that is the important message we take from this Table: that just as our Savior embodied this ministry for us, in remembrance of him, we are sent to embody it as well. We are, as Paul says, the Body of Christ and individually members of it. So what then do we do? Knowing we belong together and that our gifts are used by God to continue our Savior’s ministry, how do we do that? That’s what chapter thirteen is for.
In chapter thirteen, Paul so excellently shows us that it’s all about love. The gifts we use in the name of Jesus, if they’re not used in love, are worthless. Love is the most important thing; Paul says love is somehow even more important than faith and hope! But he’s not just talking about tender, warm-fuzzy feelings. No, the love Paul talks about in chapter thirteen is the embodied love of God that we bring to the world in everything we do.
I’ve been living with verses four to seven in a unique way over the past couple of weeks. As I was preparing for this message, a couple of things struck me about these verses. Mainly, that they are personal; that they are, in their own way, about me. The way it’s worded is deceptive: Paul starts it with, “Love is.” In my mind, talking about “love” in this way separates it from me personally. “Love is patient; Love is kind; well, good for Love. Keep up the good work, Love.” But if we read these verses—as I think we clearly should—as Paul’s reminder to embody God’s love as the Body of Christ, these words can only be taken personally.
I’ll talk more about this in a minute, but this thought challenged me to re-write verses four to seven. I found it to be really helpful on a couple levels. First, it was helpful because it made it more personal: instead of “Love is patient; love is kind,” my re-write made it, “Be patient; be kind”; I it more of a personal command, do you know what I mean? But it was also helpful because it confronted me: you don’t even get through verse four before you realize that most of this passage about what love is, is about what love isn’t.
As I read, and re-read, and re-read this passage, it became for me a prayer of confession. (No doubt, you also noticed that it became our literal prayer of confession this morning.) As I lived with my more-personal paraphrase of these verses, I was first confronted by the unfortunate truth that I have not embodied love. If my wife wasn’t as graceful as she is, she would certainly confirm that: I have not been patient to her; I have not been kind. I have insisted on my own way, I have been irritable and resentful, and so much more. And it’s not just her: I have not embodied this love to my children, to my neighbors, and to you.
But then, by the grace of God, something better started happening in me than just the guilt of my failures: I started to actually memorize those verses. Something like hearing the words of the Lord’s Supper repeated so many times that you get surprised that you actually know them. I found I could repeat verses four to seven to myself as I walked to and from work; and repeating them, I found I could do a bit better at embodying them. Not perfect, but better. Friends, let these words take root in our hearts:
Be patient
Be kind
Do not be envious
or boastful
or arrogant
or rude
Do not insist on your own way
Do not be irritable
or resentful
Do not rejoice in wrongdoing,
rejoice in the truth
Bear all things
Believe all things
Hope all things
Endure all things
Friends, there is nothing in this world we can do that is more important than embodying God’s love in it. In whatever we do as Christ’s Body, let us do it in love. Wherever we go, whatever we do, and whomever we are with, may love be our goal, now and forever.
4th Sunday in Ordinary Time
As you might imagine, there’s a class they had me take in seminary where I learned how to serve Communion. There are other classes where we talked about what happens in the Lord’s Supper and what it means, but those classes didn’t make me nearly as nervous.
I remember the day we practiced doing the pastor’s part of the Lord’s Supper; I was scared to death. It terrified me because I’d only seen it done before; done by an ordained, installed, and properly-sanctioned and full-fledged pastor. I was not one yet. I think there was something in my head that was afraid that, if I got the words wrong, it wouldn’t work; like if recited the incantation improperly, the magic wouldn’t take.
Then it came to be my turn: I stood at the little table we’d set up and picked up the little loaf of bread they’d given me and was surprised to find that the words just came. It turns out, when you watch a thing being repeated once a month for your entire life, you just pick it up. In fact, I bet that with a little prompting, you’d find you know the words too. Take the bread: Jesus said, “This is… [my body, which is broken for you].” And then he said, “Do this... [in remembrance of me].”
There are those two parts to it and both are important. Why do we remember Jesus saying, “This is my body, broken for you”? Well, that’s easy: that’s our salvation story; he gave his literal body so that we might have life. But the other part may not be so easy: why do we do this in remembrance of him? Well, that’s what this sermon’s about, but I’ll give you a hint: it may be the reason we do this at the start of every month; it may be the reason we repeat it so often throughout our lives that we memorize it without even trying; and it may be, as followers of Jesus, the very most important thing we do.
So today we hear from the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear from First Corinthians thirteen, I instinctually look around to see if anyone is getting married. I am sure I’ve been to a wedding that didn’t quote this passage, but then again, I doubt it. This is the go-to wedding Scripture, right? It’s especially true if the couple isn’t super-Christian: they’re getting married in a church because they think they’re supposed to or their trying to make someone’s parents happy. And First Corinthians thirteen is perfect for that: God is not mentioned once. Did you notice that? If you do attend church on a regular basis, you probably just assume God in their somewhere. You have probably heard the idea that God is love before—that all love is born of God—so when Paul starts talking about Love, you know the code; God’s right there. But if you’re not-so-connected, this is just a wovewy scwipturwe about wuv.
Only, it’s not. Not only is Paul not merely talking about the kind of love that will hold a marriage together, this love is counter-cultural, revolutionary, and even a little subversive. Bringing this passage to a celebration like a wedding, is like bringing gasoline to a celebration like a bar-b-q; you’re asking for trouble.
To understand the scope of what Paul is talking about in First Corinthians thirteen, you need to keep in mind what Paul was talking about in chapter twelve. To a conflicted and diverse church, Paul calls them to live together as if they were one, united physical body; indeed the very Body of Christ. He reminds them, as he would remind us, that we are different from one another by God’s design; that our differences allow us to function uniquely in this Body. But at the same time, those unique gifts, abilities, and experiences come together to serve our Savior’s work in the world; that, bound together by His Spirit, we continue His ministry together.
And as I alluded to earlier, that is the important message we take from this Table: that just as our Savior embodied this ministry for us, in remembrance of him, we are sent to embody it as well. We are, as Paul says, the Body of Christ and individually members of it. So what then do we do? Knowing we belong together and that our gifts are used by God to continue our Savior’s ministry, how do we do that? That’s what chapter thirteen is for.
In chapter thirteen, Paul so excellently shows us that it’s all about love. The gifts we use in the name of Jesus, if they’re not used in love, are worthless. Love is the most important thing; Paul says love is somehow even more important than faith and hope! But he’s not just talking about tender, warm-fuzzy feelings. No, the love Paul talks about in chapter thirteen is the embodied love of God that we bring to the world in everything we do.
I’ve been living with verses four to seven in a unique way over the past couple of weeks. As I was preparing for this message, a couple of things struck me about these verses. Mainly, that they are personal; that they are, in their own way, about me. The way it’s worded is deceptive: Paul starts it with, “Love is.” In my mind, talking about “love” in this way separates it from me personally. “Love is patient; Love is kind; well, good for Love. Keep up the good work, Love.” But if we read these verses—as I think we clearly should—as Paul’s reminder to embody God’s love as the Body of Christ, these words can only be taken personally.
I’ll talk more about this in a minute, but this thought challenged me to re-write verses four to seven. I found it to be really helpful on a couple levels. First, it was helpful because it made it more personal: instead of “Love is patient; love is kind,” my re-write made it, “Be patient; be kind”; I it more of a personal command, do you know what I mean? But it was also helpful because it confronted me: you don’t even get through verse four before you realize that most of this passage about what love is, is about what love isn’t.
As I read, and re-read, and re-read this passage, it became for me a prayer of confession. (No doubt, you also noticed that it became our literal prayer of confession this morning.) As I lived with my more-personal paraphrase of these verses, I was first confronted by the unfortunate truth that I have not embodied love. If my wife wasn’t as graceful as she is, she would certainly confirm that: I have not been patient to her; I have not been kind. I have insisted on my own way, I have been irritable and resentful, and so much more. And it’s not just her: I have not embodied this love to my children, to my neighbors, and to you.
But then, by the grace of God, something better started happening in me than just the guilt of my failures: I started to actually memorize those verses. Something like hearing the words of the Lord’s Supper repeated so many times that you get surprised that you actually know them. I found I could repeat verses four to seven to myself as I walked to and from work; and repeating them, I found I could do a bit better at embodying them. Not perfect, but better. Friends, let these words take root in our hearts:
Be patient
Be kind
Do not be envious
or boastful
or arrogant
or rude
Do not insist on your own way
Do not be irritable
or resentful
Do not rejoice in wrongdoing,
rejoice in the truth
Bear all things
Believe all things
Hope all things
Endure all things
Friends, there is nothing in this world we can do that is more important than embodying God’s love in it. In whatever we do as Christ’s Body, let us do it in love. Wherever we go, whatever we do, and whomever we are with, may love be our goal, now and forever.
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
An Open Book
Nehemiah 8:1-12
3rd Sunday of Ordinary Time
I used to be a youth pastor; most people know that. That was kind of my first career: I worked with children and youth in one capacity or another for about as long as I’ve now been a small-church solo pastor. The message is the same and the community that you try to shape is the same, but the ways you do it is very different. For example: with young people, you don’t form Christian Community over coffee or a potluck. With young people, you do it by cramming them into vans and taking them on a road trip. Works like a charm. Sometimes they come together because of the time they spend together; sometimes it’s the adventure they have along the way.
I remember one such adventure: there were three vans, crammed with kids. I forget where we were going, but it wasn’t a place we’d been before. Keep in mind: this was in the days before cell phones and GPS. The way it worked went like this: the driver of the lead van knew the way; the driver of the middle van kept her eyes on the lead van’s taillights and the driver of the third van kept his eyes on the taillights of the middle van. Because I was in charge, I presumably knew the way and everybody followed my van. (A little foreshadowing there.)
So we’re moving along and we come to a place that I know we’re supposed to turn; so I turn and the caravan follows. Only, I very soon realize that I’ve turned the wrong way. So I find a safe spot, turn around, and the over vans follow. We get back to where we already were and turn the other way. A little farther along, we get to a place that I know we’re supposed to turn; so I turn and the caravan follows. Only, I very soon realize that I’ve turned the wrong way. So I find a safe spot, turn around, and the other vans follow. We get back to where we already were and turn the other way.
Eventually, we did get to where we were going and I see the other drivers coming toward me and I know what’s coming. I cut them off: I said, “I know! I got you here, let it go.” To their credit, they did… until my birthday. On my birthday, the driver of the middle car—without any fanfare or explanation—gave me a compass. A compass, by the way, that I kept in my car for years after that.
Our Scripture lesson today reminds us that we sometimes need a compass; we need friends who will—without judgment and in love—deliver that compass to us. There is no shame in admitting that we get lost; the only shame is not returning to a direction that is True.
Today we hear a wonderful Bible story that you may not have ever heard before. As with just about all of the Bible, this story remembers how the power and will of God was at work in the lives of the people of God. It may not be as well-known as some of the other parts of the Story of Salvation that the Bible tells, but it has its place.
We know how, centuries earlier, God had delivered the people from captivity in Egypt and brought them wonderful gifts: gifts like a land of their own, and security, and abundance, and prosperity. Gifts like the Law to keep the people near to God and reliant on what God was doing. And for a while, that worked just fine.
But you know the next part of that story too. Famed theologian Walter Brueggemann once said, "Prosperity causes amnesia;” and eventually the people forgot where all of those gifts came from. They forgot to seek what God was doing; they forgot to rely on God’s will and power; they forgot to obey the Law that deepened their relationship with God. The point of all this that we’ll eventually come to this morning might seem a little remedial to some. I assure you, it’s not. What we learn here today is vital to our not-forgetting; vital to our own spiritual health, to the life of our church, and to our work in the world. But the story continues: Scripture also records God’s hand at work in their downfall as well. These once blessed, but forgetful people faced their own consequences. God allowed the Babylonians to overrun the land and the people to be carted off, where they spent half a century in exile.
But then there’s this part of the story that we don’t always get to: the people of God did eventually get back; the hand of God was at work there too. Eventually, the Babylonian Empire gave way to the Persian Empire and God used Cyrus the Great to help them rebuild. Now, there is a lot more to that story, but that’s the short version of how we get to our story today.
The Israelites were finally able to return to the so-called Land of Promise, but what they saw wasn’t pretty: the walls of Jerusalem were in ruins; the great temple was a mound of rubble; the countryside was a wasteland. It isn’t hard to imagine the mood; possibly because I feel that way too some days. I look at the culture that surrounds me, so often self-centered and self-destructive. I look at the church—not just this one—that seems a shell of what it once was; torn down by division and priorities that never belonged to Jesus. Yeah, I know their mood; it’s called “despair.”
But God was not done telling their story yet and God is not done telling ours. God raised up leaders who would see beyond the despair and on to what God was building even in their midst. God raised up a somewhat hard-nosed administrator named Nehemiah and a scribe named Ezra. And although the work wasn’t easy, they stepped up to lead a new start, including building a new temple and new city walls.
Which brings us to our story today. When the work was finished, they gathered everyone together; and I mean everyone. The text mentions a place called the “Water Gate (a different Watergate).” They gathered them there because it was a place where everyone could be gathered: men, women, young and old; everyone was there.
Ezra pulled out a scroll he’d brought back with him from Babylon. It was a scroll containing the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. In other words, their history; how they first came to be a people and how they first came to inhabit this land.
The other day, my son asked me how my side of the family came to live in America. It’s a good question: knowing where we’re from and how we got here helps to shape what we do here. But if you don’t tend to it, again it can be forgotten; I know I don’t tell it right. I know the basics, but if you want to know the real story, the details and dates and names, you need to ask my dad; he knows those things. If you want to learn it right, you need to know who to ask. When the Israelites wanted to really remember their own history, they went to those books of the Bible.
With everyone gathered, Ezra read the stories of where they were from and how they got there: creation, Noah and the ark, Abraham and Sara, Joseph and his coat, their deliverance from Egypt, the Commandments, all of it. But meanwhile, they have priests moving among the people to help them understand what is being read. We skipped a couple of verses out of mercy to Brenda. The verses we skipped were mostly very difficult to pronounce proper-names of the people there; but what happened there is an important thing to point out.
Hearing Scripture is good; come to church on Sunday and listen to the Bible being read; we’ll do it every week; it’s good for you. And knowing Scripture is even better; memorize those verses that keep you focused and hopeful; turn them into songs that you can sing throughout your day. But the point of Scripture is understanding. We need one another for that understanding. Sure, it helps to have people around who have studied Scripture and know the contexts and languages, but even more than that, we need each other to remember that we are also characters in the story God is telling through Scripture. That’s good news, but it isn’t always easy to hear.
And then an unusual thing seems to happen: the people hear this good news, but start to weep. Now, tears can mean a lot of things. I’ve been teary a lot lately, but my tears don’t often mean I’m sad; more often than not, they indicate joy in my soul. But why are they weeping?
I think it’s because God’s Word can do two seemingly opposing things in us at the same time. They hear God’s Word and they are rightly confronted by it: God’s Word confronts us with the knowledge that there is a gap between who we are and who God wants us to be. And weeping can be an appropriate response to that knowledge.
Perhaps a better question is: why did Nehemiah and Ezra tell them not to weep? Well, I think it’s about the other thing Scripture does in us. You see, God’s Word doesn’t just point a finger at us, God’s Word points us back to God. It points us to the abiding, eternal fellowship we are meant to have with God, our Maker, our Savior, and our Sustainer. That might make the happy tears flow, but it’s certainly news that is worth celebrating! That is the kind of news that would guide and encourage the people of Israel as they embarked on difficult work before them; and it’s the kind of news that will carry us as well.
The point of the message today is deceptively simple: get back to God’s Word. If you’re self-conscious because your Bible is a little dusty, don’t be; remember that in our story today, they hadn’t cracked theirs open in generations and met them in it. Only, get back into God’s Word. Maybe read the text for next Sunday a few times during the week. Maybe start with the Gospel of Mark and see where that takes you. Better yet: join a Bible study where other followers of Jesus can help you, not only hear and know, but understand the story that Scripture is telling and your part in it. Only, get back into God’s Word. Let it confront you, but let it also point you to the God who loves you, comes to you, and has a plan for you forever.
3rd Sunday of Ordinary Time
I used to be a youth pastor; most people know that. That was kind of my first career: I worked with children and youth in one capacity or another for about as long as I’ve now been a small-church solo pastor. The message is the same and the community that you try to shape is the same, but the ways you do it is very different. For example: with young people, you don’t form Christian Community over coffee or a potluck. With young people, you do it by cramming them into vans and taking them on a road trip. Works like a charm. Sometimes they come together because of the time they spend together; sometimes it’s the adventure they have along the way.
I remember one such adventure: there were three vans, crammed with kids. I forget where we were going, but it wasn’t a place we’d been before. Keep in mind: this was in the days before cell phones and GPS. The way it worked went like this: the driver of the lead van knew the way; the driver of the middle van kept her eyes on the lead van’s taillights and the driver of the third van kept his eyes on the taillights of the middle van. Because I was in charge, I presumably knew the way and everybody followed my van. (A little foreshadowing there.)
So we’re moving along and we come to a place that I know we’re supposed to turn; so I turn and the caravan follows. Only, I very soon realize that I’ve turned the wrong way. So I find a safe spot, turn around, and the over vans follow. We get back to where we already were and turn the other way. A little farther along, we get to a place that I know we’re supposed to turn; so I turn and the caravan follows. Only, I very soon realize that I’ve turned the wrong way. So I find a safe spot, turn around, and the other vans follow. We get back to where we already were and turn the other way.
Eventually, we did get to where we were going and I see the other drivers coming toward me and I know what’s coming. I cut them off: I said, “I know! I got you here, let it go.” To their credit, they did… until my birthday. On my birthday, the driver of the middle car—without any fanfare or explanation—gave me a compass. A compass, by the way, that I kept in my car for years after that.
Our Scripture lesson today reminds us that we sometimes need a compass; we need friends who will—without judgment and in love—deliver that compass to us. There is no shame in admitting that we get lost; the only shame is not returning to a direction that is True.
Today we hear a wonderful Bible story that you may not have ever heard before. As with just about all of the Bible, this story remembers how the power and will of God was at work in the lives of the people of God. It may not be as well-known as some of the other parts of the Story of Salvation that the Bible tells, but it has its place.
We know how, centuries earlier, God had delivered the people from captivity in Egypt and brought them wonderful gifts: gifts like a land of their own, and security, and abundance, and prosperity. Gifts like the Law to keep the people near to God and reliant on what God was doing. And for a while, that worked just fine.
But you know the next part of that story too. Famed theologian Walter Brueggemann once said, "Prosperity causes amnesia;” and eventually the people forgot where all of those gifts came from. They forgot to seek what God was doing; they forgot to rely on God’s will and power; they forgot to obey the Law that deepened their relationship with God. The point of all this that we’ll eventually come to this morning might seem a little remedial to some. I assure you, it’s not. What we learn here today is vital to our not-forgetting; vital to our own spiritual health, to the life of our church, and to our work in the world. But the story continues: Scripture also records God’s hand at work in their downfall as well. These once blessed, but forgetful people faced their own consequences. God allowed the Babylonians to overrun the land and the people to be carted off, where they spent half a century in exile.
But then there’s this part of the story that we don’t always get to: the people of God did eventually get back; the hand of God was at work there too. Eventually, the Babylonian Empire gave way to the Persian Empire and God used Cyrus the Great to help them rebuild. Now, there is a lot more to that story, but that’s the short version of how we get to our story today.
The Israelites were finally able to return to the so-called Land of Promise, but what they saw wasn’t pretty: the walls of Jerusalem were in ruins; the great temple was a mound of rubble; the countryside was a wasteland. It isn’t hard to imagine the mood; possibly because I feel that way too some days. I look at the culture that surrounds me, so often self-centered and self-destructive. I look at the church—not just this one—that seems a shell of what it once was; torn down by division and priorities that never belonged to Jesus. Yeah, I know their mood; it’s called “despair.”
But God was not done telling their story yet and God is not done telling ours. God raised up leaders who would see beyond the despair and on to what God was building even in their midst. God raised up a somewhat hard-nosed administrator named Nehemiah and a scribe named Ezra. And although the work wasn’t easy, they stepped up to lead a new start, including building a new temple and new city walls.
Which brings us to our story today. When the work was finished, they gathered everyone together; and I mean everyone. The text mentions a place called the “Water Gate (a different Watergate).” They gathered them there because it was a place where everyone could be gathered: men, women, young and old; everyone was there.
Ezra pulled out a scroll he’d brought back with him from Babylon. It was a scroll containing the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. In other words, their history; how they first came to be a people and how they first came to inhabit this land.
The other day, my son asked me how my side of the family came to live in America. It’s a good question: knowing where we’re from and how we got here helps to shape what we do here. But if you don’t tend to it, again it can be forgotten; I know I don’t tell it right. I know the basics, but if you want to know the real story, the details and dates and names, you need to ask my dad; he knows those things. If you want to learn it right, you need to know who to ask. When the Israelites wanted to really remember their own history, they went to those books of the Bible.
With everyone gathered, Ezra read the stories of where they were from and how they got there: creation, Noah and the ark, Abraham and Sara, Joseph and his coat, their deliverance from Egypt, the Commandments, all of it. But meanwhile, they have priests moving among the people to help them understand what is being read. We skipped a couple of verses out of mercy to Brenda. The verses we skipped were mostly very difficult to pronounce proper-names of the people there; but what happened there is an important thing to point out.
Hearing Scripture is good; come to church on Sunday and listen to the Bible being read; we’ll do it every week; it’s good for you. And knowing Scripture is even better; memorize those verses that keep you focused and hopeful; turn them into songs that you can sing throughout your day. But the point of Scripture is understanding. We need one another for that understanding. Sure, it helps to have people around who have studied Scripture and know the contexts and languages, but even more than that, we need each other to remember that we are also characters in the story God is telling through Scripture. That’s good news, but it isn’t always easy to hear.
And then an unusual thing seems to happen: the people hear this good news, but start to weep. Now, tears can mean a lot of things. I’ve been teary a lot lately, but my tears don’t often mean I’m sad; more often than not, they indicate joy in my soul. But why are they weeping?
I think it’s because God’s Word can do two seemingly opposing things in us at the same time. They hear God’s Word and they are rightly confronted by it: God’s Word confronts us with the knowledge that there is a gap between who we are and who God wants us to be. And weeping can be an appropriate response to that knowledge.
Perhaps a better question is: why did Nehemiah and Ezra tell them not to weep? Well, I think it’s about the other thing Scripture does in us. You see, God’s Word doesn’t just point a finger at us, God’s Word points us back to God. It points us to the abiding, eternal fellowship we are meant to have with God, our Maker, our Savior, and our Sustainer. That might make the happy tears flow, but it’s certainly news that is worth celebrating! That is the kind of news that would guide and encourage the people of Israel as they embarked on difficult work before them; and it’s the kind of news that will carry us as well.
The point of the message today is deceptively simple: get back to God’s Word. If you’re self-conscious because your Bible is a little dusty, don’t be; remember that in our story today, they hadn’t cracked theirs open in generations and met them in it. Only, get back into God’s Word. Maybe read the text for next Sunday a few times during the week. Maybe start with the Gospel of Mark and see where that takes you. Better yet: join a Bible study where other followers of Jesus can help you, not only hear and know, but understand the story that Scripture is telling and your part in it. Only, get back into God’s Word. Let it confront you, but let it also point you to the God who loves you, comes to you, and has a plan for you forever.
Wednesday, January 23, 2019
Do What He Tells You
John 2:1-11
2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time
The older I get, the more conflicted I become about this story. I’m no teetotaler, but I’m also not the kind of pastor who would deal in that kind of moral absolute even if I was. Most people don’t have a problem with alcohol. The Bible does not say drinking alcohol is a sin. And besides, we do have bigger things to worry about: we are tasked as followers of Jesus to proclaim his salvation to the world.
But like I said, I’m also getting older: I’ve seen things. I’ve seen what alcohol has done to some of the relationships of the people I care about. I’ve seen the studies about the effects alcohol can have on people over time. I’ve seen the statistics on what drinking can do to families and communities. I know that even a more-relaxed attitude about drinking will increase the chances our kids will abuse it. And then along comes a Bible-story about Jesus miraculously making an extravagant amount of wine for people who were already drunk.
Maybe you can see why I’m a little conflicted; and I’m not even sure that’s the most conflicting part of the story. There’s still another piece to this story I’ll get to in a minute. The good news is Jesus seems a bit conflicted by this story too. The good news is, for Jesus, what happens here is not so much about the wine. The good news is, if it’s about something else, maybe we can take that lesson home with us instead.
This is one of those messages that, to flesh out what it’s about, we’re first going to need to peel back what it isn’t about. For example: it isn’t about a magic trick.
There’s one about a priest who gets pulled over. The officer asks him, “Father, have you been drinking tonight.”
“Oh no, officer. I’ve just been drinking water.”
“Then how come you smell like wine, father?”
“Praises be! He’s done it again!”
It’s funny, for the past couple of weeks, we’ve had a recurring theme of magic. Attendance has been a little low because of the weather, so let spend a minute to review a little. It started on Epiphany, when the Magi—the astrologers from the East—come to bring gifts and celebrate the New-Born King. Then last week, our reading from Acts introduced us to a magician named Simon. Those two magic stories go in very different directions: the Magi are actually used by God through their “signs” to go and celebrate something no one else in Israel seemed to know anything about; that story shows us how God uses the most-unlikely people (even magicians).
But then Simon’s magic did not seem as tuned into what God was doing. Ordinarily, I think that is the thing about magic: usually it’s self-serving. If the Magi got it right, it may have had something to do with looking at something past their own self-interest. Last week, Simon’s self-serving ways would set him at odds with the Holy Spirit; not a good place to be. It got him into trouble, but I believe it also set him on a path toward repentance; and repentance is inherently not self-serving.
Which leads us to the wedding at Cana. The wedding at Cana raises an important question for me: what’s the difference between a miracle and a magic trick? It may have something to do with the lessons we’ve learned from the Magi and from Simon. Ignoring the obvious mystery of where the power to do amazing things comes from, who do these amazing things serve? The Magi look to the stars for signs and God uses them to proclaim the birth of the Messiah. Simon looks to his own interest and tries to buy the Holy Spirit.
So which is this? John tells us that this was the first of the signs Jesus did. “Signs” is a weird way to put it. At any rate, it doesn’t seem Jesus wanted it to be the first “sign,” right? He even argues with his mom about it. So which is this: is it a miracle or is it a magic trick? Who does it serve? I suppose I can see how it can serve God, but to be honest, it would be a stretch. God’s power is obviously at work in Jesus, so it could be used to point to what the Kingdom of God is actually like: lavish, abundant, and joyful. The God who would send his own Son to bring us life eternal is not going to throw a cheap, boring party.
Now I could put a sermon like that together (and I may have at some point), but let’s be honest: there isn’t anything in this story that really says that. Sure, God’s unending, unmeasurable, extravagant love is at work here; but it’s not really obvious, as miracles go. Compare turning water into wine to other miracles: he fed the hungry; he healed the blind; he gave hearing to the deaf; he raised people from the dead! I mean, even calming a storm is more helpful to others than making more wine.
Hate to say it, but this is more of a trick than a proper miracle. So why does he do it anyway? His mom tells him to.
I love this part of this story. There aren’t many conversations recorded in the Gospels between Jesus and his mom. But isn’t it delightful that this conversation with his mom could just as well be anyone’s conversation with their mom. Jesus’ mom comes up to him and bosses him around like any mom would.
I love my mom and I am so grateful to still have her in my life to argue with. And if there is one thing that I’ve learned through my decades of professional experience, academic study, achievements, and degrees it is this: I am never going to win an argument with my mom.
When I’m talking to my mom, my age doesn’t matter; my education doesn’t matter; my experience doesn’t matter; being right doesn’t matter. When I’m talking to my mom, I am eternally her little boy. She’ll ask me what my sermon’s about, and I’ll tell her what Scripture passage I’m preaching on and what it means (because, you know, that’s what I’ve been educated and trained to do) and she’ll say, “No, I think it means...” and she’ll tell me what she thinks.
And yes, Scripture can have lots of different meanings to lots of different people—and she’s really sweet about how she says it, don’t get me wrong—but I’m the expert! I have a master’s degree! But when mom says so, it is so; resistance is futile. There is a way a mother can talk to her son that only a mother can do. No matter how old you get, how much you know, or how much you achieve. And what I love about this story is that this is even true if you are the Messiah.
The mother of Jesus walks up to the incarnate Word of God and starts bossing him around. She says, “Hey, they’re out of wine;” and she says it like she knows he’s going to do something about it—because of course, she’s his mom. And notice, he kind-of says “no.” He says something like, “How is that our problem?” And notice that he doesn’t just say “no;” he’s not a defiant son, he’s just reluctant. He’s a good son and so he explains why he’s reluctant: he says, “My hour has not yet come.” In other words, “This is not how I wanted to start this, mom. This is not a part of the plan.”
Of course he’s right. It is a valid point. A wine-making parlor trick could be confusing to some. It is a legitimate concern to say, “You know, mom, some people might get the wrong idea about me if all they know about me is that I make wine at wedding parties.”
And having voiced this very legitimate concern, Jesus’ mom turns to some servants and says, “Do whatever he tells you.” Isn’t that great! She totally ignores him. “Thanks for your input, Messiah. Do whatever he tells you.”
So what does Jesus do? Same thing you’d do: he did what his mom said to. Now you and I would have to go to the store to get more wine, but when mom tells you to get more wine, Messiah or not, you get more wine.
I think this is where we really start to see what this story is really all about. More than what it might say about the morality of alcohol; more than what it might say about the extravagance of God; more than what it might say about what even qualifies as a miracle; this is a story about listening. As it should, it starts with Jesus. This is a story about Jesus changing his plans for his mom’s silly whim. Granted, there are other times when he didn’t because, for the salvation of the world, he couldn’t; but here he could, so he did.
Sometimes I lose sight of the humanity of Jesus; sometimes I forget that, when he wasn’t performing miracles, he probably looked a lot like we do; his relationships and interactions with the people he cared about probably looked a lot like ours. When your mom asks you to change your plans, when those plans can be changed, you change your plans. Why would we think Jesus wouldn’t do that too? Jesus loved like we love and still does. In fact, those relationships are what his ministry was all about. Now that I think about it—now that we look at this story through the lens of relationships—this was exactly the right miracle to start with (and yeah, I’m calling it a miracle now)! Look how relational it is: they’re at a party, what’s more relational than that! His mom tells him the party needs more wine; they argue about it (like people do); she invites the servants to join in by telling them to, “Do what he tells you.” They are now part of the miracle.
As it turns out, this story is symbolic of what our life together is meant to be. A rhythm of our relationship with Jesus and our relationship with the world around us and the needs we see there; our relationship with Jesus to know that he hears those concerns; our relationship with Jesus and the faith to know he has the power to meet those needs; our relationship with Jesus and the trust to do what he says about them.
Friends, let us remember today that our Savior meets us where we are because our Savior wants to deepen this relationship. May we trust that he hears us. May we trust that his power can bring joy to this world. And may we trust him enough to do what he tells us.
2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time
The older I get, the more conflicted I become about this story. I’m no teetotaler, but I’m also not the kind of pastor who would deal in that kind of moral absolute even if I was. Most people don’t have a problem with alcohol. The Bible does not say drinking alcohol is a sin. And besides, we do have bigger things to worry about: we are tasked as followers of Jesus to proclaim his salvation to the world.
But like I said, I’m also getting older: I’ve seen things. I’ve seen what alcohol has done to some of the relationships of the people I care about. I’ve seen the studies about the effects alcohol can have on people over time. I’ve seen the statistics on what drinking can do to families and communities. I know that even a more-relaxed attitude about drinking will increase the chances our kids will abuse it. And then along comes a Bible-story about Jesus miraculously making an extravagant amount of wine for people who were already drunk.
Maybe you can see why I’m a little conflicted; and I’m not even sure that’s the most conflicting part of the story. There’s still another piece to this story I’ll get to in a minute. The good news is Jesus seems a bit conflicted by this story too. The good news is, for Jesus, what happens here is not so much about the wine. The good news is, if it’s about something else, maybe we can take that lesson home with us instead.
This is one of those messages that, to flesh out what it’s about, we’re first going to need to peel back what it isn’t about. For example: it isn’t about a magic trick.
There’s one about a priest who gets pulled over. The officer asks him, “Father, have you been drinking tonight.”
“Oh no, officer. I’ve just been drinking water.”
“Then how come you smell like wine, father?”
“Praises be! He’s done it again!”
It’s funny, for the past couple of weeks, we’ve had a recurring theme of magic. Attendance has been a little low because of the weather, so let spend a minute to review a little. It started on Epiphany, when the Magi—the astrologers from the East—come to bring gifts and celebrate the New-Born King. Then last week, our reading from Acts introduced us to a magician named Simon. Those two magic stories go in very different directions: the Magi are actually used by God through their “signs” to go and celebrate something no one else in Israel seemed to know anything about; that story shows us how God uses the most-unlikely people (even magicians).
But then Simon’s magic did not seem as tuned into what God was doing. Ordinarily, I think that is the thing about magic: usually it’s self-serving. If the Magi got it right, it may have had something to do with looking at something past their own self-interest. Last week, Simon’s self-serving ways would set him at odds with the Holy Spirit; not a good place to be. It got him into trouble, but I believe it also set him on a path toward repentance; and repentance is inherently not self-serving.
Which leads us to the wedding at Cana. The wedding at Cana raises an important question for me: what’s the difference between a miracle and a magic trick? It may have something to do with the lessons we’ve learned from the Magi and from Simon. Ignoring the obvious mystery of where the power to do amazing things comes from, who do these amazing things serve? The Magi look to the stars for signs and God uses them to proclaim the birth of the Messiah. Simon looks to his own interest and tries to buy the Holy Spirit.
So which is this? John tells us that this was the first of the signs Jesus did. “Signs” is a weird way to put it. At any rate, it doesn’t seem Jesus wanted it to be the first “sign,” right? He even argues with his mom about it. So which is this: is it a miracle or is it a magic trick? Who does it serve? I suppose I can see how it can serve God, but to be honest, it would be a stretch. God’s power is obviously at work in Jesus, so it could be used to point to what the Kingdom of God is actually like: lavish, abundant, and joyful. The God who would send his own Son to bring us life eternal is not going to throw a cheap, boring party.
Now I could put a sermon like that together (and I may have at some point), but let’s be honest: there isn’t anything in this story that really says that. Sure, God’s unending, unmeasurable, extravagant love is at work here; but it’s not really obvious, as miracles go. Compare turning water into wine to other miracles: he fed the hungry; he healed the blind; he gave hearing to the deaf; he raised people from the dead! I mean, even calming a storm is more helpful to others than making more wine.
Hate to say it, but this is more of a trick than a proper miracle. So why does he do it anyway? His mom tells him to.
I love this part of this story. There aren’t many conversations recorded in the Gospels between Jesus and his mom. But isn’t it delightful that this conversation with his mom could just as well be anyone’s conversation with their mom. Jesus’ mom comes up to him and bosses him around like any mom would.
I love my mom and I am so grateful to still have her in my life to argue with. And if there is one thing that I’ve learned through my decades of professional experience, academic study, achievements, and degrees it is this: I am never going to win an argument with my mom.
When I’m talking to my mom, my age doesn’t matter; my education doesn’t matter; my experience doesn’t matter; being right doesn’t matter. When I’m talking to my mom, I am eternally her little boy. She’ll ask me what my sermon’s about, and I’ll tell her what Scripture passage I’m preaching on and what it means (because, you know, that’s what I’ve been educated and trained to do) and she’ll say, “No, I think it means...” and she’ll tell me what she thinks.
And yes, Scripture can have lots of different meanings to lots of different people—and she’s really sweet about how she says it, don’t get me wrong—but I’m the expert! I have a master’s degree! But when mom says so, it is so; resistance is futile. There is a way a mother can talk to her son that only a mother can do. No matter how old you get, how much you know, or how much you achieve. And what I love about this story is that this is even true if you are the Messiah.
The mother of Jesus walks up to the incarnate Word of God and starts bossing him around. She says, “Hey, they’re out of wine;” and she says it like she knows he’s going to do something about it—because of course, she’s his mom. And notice, he kind-of says “no.” He says something like, “How is that our problem?” And notice that he doesn’t just say “no;” he’s not a defiant son, he’s just reluctant. He’s a good son and so he explains why he’s reluctant: he says, “My hour has not yet come.” In other words, “This is not how I wanted to start this, mom. This is not a part of the plan.”
Of course he’s right. It is a valid point. A wine-making parlor trick could be confusing to some. It is a legitimate concern to say, “You know, mom, some people might get the wrong idea about me if all they know about me is that I make wine at wedding parties.”
And having voiced this very legitimate concern, Jesus’ mom turns to some servants and says, “Do whatever he tells you.” Isn’t that great! She totally ignores him. “Thanks for your input, Messiah. Do whatever he tells you.”
So what does Jesus do? Same thing you’d do: he did what his mom said to. Now you and I would have to go to the store to get more wine, but when mom tells you to get more wine, Messiah or not, you get more wine.
I think this is where we really start to see what this story is really all about. More than what it might say about the morality of alcohol; more than what it might say about the extravagance of God; more than what it might say about what even qualifies as a miracle; this is a story about listening. As it should, it starts with Jesus. This is a story about Jesus changing his plans for his mom’s silly whim. Granted, there are other times when he didn’t because, for the salvation of the world, he couldn’t; but here he could, so he did.
Sometimes I lose sight of the humanity of Jesus; sometimes I forget that, when he wasn’t performing miracles, he probably looked a lot like we do; his relationships and interactions with the people he cared about probably looked a lot like ours. When your mom asks you to change your plans, when those plans can be changed, you change your plans. Why would we think Jesus wouldn’t do that too? Jesus loved like we love and still does. In fact, those relationships are what his ministry was all about. Now that I think about it—now that we look at this story through the lens of relationships—this was exactly the right miracle to start with (and yeah, I’m calling it a miracle now)! Look how relational it is: they’re at a party, what’s more relational than that! His mom tells him the party needs more wine; they argue about it (like people do); she invites the servants to join in by telling them to, “Do what he tells you.” They are now part of the miracle.
As it turns out, this story is symbolic of what our life together is meant to be. A rhythm of our relationship with Jesus and our relationship with the world around us and the needs we see there; our relationship with Jesus to know that he hears those concerns; our relationship with Jesus and the faith to know he has the power to meet those needs; our relationship with Jesus and the trust to do what he says about them.
Friends, let us remember today that our Savior meets us where we are because our Savior wants to deepen this relationship. May we trust that he hears us. May we trust that his power can bring joy to this world. And may we trust him enough to do what he tells us.
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