1 Corinthians 10:1-14
Third Sunday of Lent
I came to the conclusion this year, that I’m not supposed to give up anything up for Lent. For the past couple of seasons, I had been taking up a fast, but this year I’ve gone in the other direction. I don’t mean gluttony; I mean I’ve taken up a practice rather than giving something up. God put a spiritual practice on my heart at the beginning of Lent and, sure enough, it’s been a very meaningful experience.
Frankly, I was a little relieved in the direction God led me. There’s no way around the fact that, no matter how meaningful your particular fast is, after forty days, it gets to be a drag. I’m not going to advertise what my Lenten practice is, but I can tell you it’s a lot more fun than giving something up… most things are.
Now, having said that, I would certainly not want to discourage anyone from a fast if that’s where God leads you. There are important lessons in giving things up as a spiritual journey. The big lesson, of course, is in seeking God’s order of things. Giving up a thing, even basic thing like food, for a specified time, helps us to remember where those good things come from; it helps us remember that our devotion to God is always more important than the thing. A fast reminds us that there is a fine balance between the things we want and the things that God wants for us. Those lists can often have the same items on them, but they are never the same list. It is good for us to sometimes remember that God’s list is always better.
Understanding the difference between what God wants for us and what we want is central to our Scripture lesson today. I admit, that may be a tricky point to find; as perfect as this may be for us this Lenten Season, this is an odd lesson. It’s odd, first of all, because Paul is making a point based on the Exodus story; a story his readers may not have been very familiar with. Keep in mind, this was Corinth: what made this church so complicated—so complicated, there’s also a 2 Corinthians—was how diverse a city it was. This complex mix of cultures, identities, and histories (as you might imagine) were tricky to pull together into one faith community. So Paul does an interesting thing: he assumes them all into his family.
It’s not surprising. We do it all the time; I feel I’ve been doing it more than ever lately. I’ve been learning a model for what the church does and is that’s quite a bit different from how we’ve been doing it. I think it’s a lot more like how Jesus intended, but somehow we’ve gotten away from it. You see, I’m starting to think that Jesus didn’t come into the world to form a religion; I think he came to build relationships. The church, then is simply about building and fostering relationships; here in this place and in the world. It’s a wonderful thing to discover and we’ll be talking more about it as we go.
But more to the point of our lesson today: Paul is simply taking this complex mix of complicated people and inviting them to be family. Like I said, we do it all the time: we make a new friend and we find our common ground. We create a united culture through our unique pasts. We share our experiences and create values that connect through those experiences. A smaller example might be: say you liked watching the TV show The Office and then find out I liked watching The Office. We never watched The Office together, but it’s a thing that we share and whatever values we took from it become our shared experience.
In a bigger way: Paul tells this story—and tells it as if it’s the story of “our ancestors,” even when it’s not the story of our ancestors—but it’s still our shared experience. It is a story that has created the relationship and culture we share.
Which actually highlights another odd thing about this story: because Paul is using this historical-story as an allegory. It’s a preaching technique. He’s taking this story from Israel’s biblical-history, he makes it our shared story, then he takes elements from that story and uses them as object lessons.
If you look closely, you’ll notice there are two contrasting narratives that he points to from the Exodus story: there’s what God has done for the people of God; and then there’s what the people chose for themselves instead.
Paul takes a few liberties with the first part. Again, it’s a preaching technique, but he’s not wrong: he’s making the point that what God did for the Israelites in the wilderness, are the same things God continues to do for the church today. Instead of a pillar of smoke and fire to lead the people and remind them of God’s constant presence, we have the Holy Spirit. Instead of the baptism through the Red Sea to escape death and captivity by the Egyptians, we have the baptism of eternal life through the death and resurrection of Jesus. Instead of manna from heaven, we have the Body of Christ. Instead of water from a rock, we have his Blood. In all of the ways that God has provided for the people, God continues to provide these things for and more. But here’s the thing: if God continues to do what God has always done, what about us? Maybe we might continue to do the same things too.
What Paul will call it is “idolatry”; but the profound part of it is, he’s not just talking about bowing down to a golden calf. Their idolatry took a lot of different shapes—and of course, the point we’re meant to hear is that it still does. Their idolatry started way before they melted their earrings down into the shape of a cow. Their idolatry started like it always does: by putting own wants and desires over and above the will of God. Their idolatry, at first, just looked like immorality. Their idolatry at first put God to the test. Their idolatry, at first, led them to complain.
I miss my friend Steve; I may have told you about him. He was the guy, when you’d ask him how he was doing, he’d always say the same ridiculous thing. “How you doing, Steve?”
“Can’t complain, even if I wanted to!” And that would be his answer, no matter his circumstance. You could visit him when he had the flu: “Can’t complain,” hack, puke, “even if I wanted to.”
I made fun of him for it sometimes. I told him he wasn’t even trying. I told him he just wasn’t being creative; I can find things to complain about even when there wasn’t anything to complain about. He’d just laugh it off as if to say, “Don’t worry about it, kid. You’ll figure it out someday.”
Of course, he was right. Eventually I would figure it out. Eventually, I would come to understand that, by not complaining, he was making an active choice to avoid his own self-centered idolatry. He was shaping his mind to see what God was providing for him, instead of only seeing what he lacked. I don’t know if that’s how he would describe it; I wish he was alive so I could ask him. Like I said, I miss my friend, Steve.
The point is today: what are we going to choose along this journey; and I don’t just mean this Lenten journey. What are we going choose to feed upon, as it were, along this journey? Will we be nourished by what God provides? Will we trust, when it seems that God’s choice for us to go hungry? Or will we make for ourselves, ourselves as an idol?
This is one of those sermons that ends with more questions than answers. As we talked about a couple of weeks ago, temptation is complicated because it takes shape differently in each of us; it’s exactly the same with the temptation toward idolatry.
So I would challenge you—perhaps this morning, perhaps throughout the week—to consider various areas of your life. Consider what in those areas is God providing for you and what in those areas are you trying to provide for yourself. Think about it in terms of things like your finances, the things you buy and the things you’re willing to give away. Your health, both emotional and physical: what does God want for you and how is that different from what you want for you? In your relationships: how does God want you to care and be cared for? Think about your hobbies; think about your job; think about what you’re going to make for dinner. You see where this is going, right?
We have a choice; we always have a choice. We can remember and rely on the power and the providence of our loving God or we can make this life all about us. As Paul reminds us today: history shows us that that making it about us never works out well. Let us trust in our Risen Savior, let us seek to do his will, and may we be satisfied by the ways he cares for us every day.
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Go & Tell
Luke 13:31-35
2nd Sunday of Lent
It occurred to me the other day that I haven’t met a bored person in years. Do you even remember the last time you were bored? Maybe when you were a kid: “Oh, I’m sooo bored! There’s nothing to doooo!” Not any more: we are always busy. There is always something to do. I have even learned to be busy with things to keep me too busy to do the things I ought to be busy with. My friend Stan wanted me to write a report to the Presbytery and I kept putting it off because it was so tedious; I kept telling myself that I should do it, but really didn’t want to. So I let every other job I’ve got take priority. “Sorry Stan, but I have been way too busy.”
I’ve even heard people use their business as a kind of humble bragging. Have you noticed that? You ask a person, “Hey, how have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve just been so busy!” Then they list off all of the things they are doing, the meetings they’ve had to go to, their workload, and all the family obligations that have them pulled in a million directions.
I’ve kind of done that at times, except the family obligations one. I’m actually pretty lucky in that regard. I was catching up with an old friend just the other day and said that I feel fortunate that my kids are only musical; they’re not terribly athletic. No evening practices; no weekend tournaments; no driving to all corners of the state. Nope, just the occasional concert and those are pretty enjoyable.
But it seems that we are all, for the most part, always busy with one thing or another. And don’t get me wrong, taken in moderation business can be as healthy as moderate rest. My only caution would be to ask: what are we busy with? Are we busy with distractions, and vices, and work-work-work? Or are we busy with the things that Jesus would be busy with? Are we busy with the things that seek our needs alone, or are we busy helping, and caring, and loving those that Jesus was busy with?
There is a point in the Gospel of Luke, back in chapter nine, where Jesus is described as setting his face toward Jerusalem. What this seems to mean is, starting from that point on in the Gospel, Jesus slowly and steadily makes his way toward Jerusalem. From that point on, Jesus intentionally moves toward where his betrayal, arrest, and crucifixion will be waiting. So when we get to our text for today, the reader already knows where Jesus is going and what he intends to do. It’s kind of like the season of Lent itself: everyone knows where this is going; although there might be some surprises that await us.
In our reading today, we meet some Pharisees who also seem to know where Jesus is going. They come to warn Jesus because his life is apparently in danger and he should probably turn around. Now I know what you’re thinking: since when do Pharisees care about the wellbeing of Jesus? And that is an excellent question. Luke doesn’t say anything about their motives; and for all we know, maybe they really are concerned about Jesus; but judging by the way Jesus responds it seems he thinks they’re being less-than-genuine.
His response is delightful if you enjoy passive-aggressive insults. He starts by insinuating that they know about Herod’s plans because they’re pals with Herod. Jesus tells them to deliver a message back to Herod like they have a personal relationship with them; which is an idea that would have enraged them. Religious orders like the Pharisees existed because of evil and corrupted leaders like Herod. We mostly know them as the guys who care so much about not working on the Sabbath that they don’t notice that miracles are being performed right before their eyes. But their beginnings had good intentions: whenever religion goes bad—when it becomes a tool of judgment and starts rejecting those Jesus would love—it starts with good intentions. The Pharisees began as a way to lead the people back to faithfulness to God; a thing that the political and religious leaders had failed to do. So insinuating that they had become buddies with those leaders would have been pretty insulting.
And to top it off, the message he gives them to deliver to Herod, is clearly not for Herod: he says, “I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work [hint, hint]. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.” He cites the miracles he performs as evidence that he is indeed sent by God; that he is (at least) a prophet sent to gather God’s people under his wings to protect them against the foxes of the world. And like any prophet, if you want to get killed, well you just have to go to Jerusalem for that.
I can’t even imagine what the disciples must have thought about this altercation. Would they be terrified that Herod knew about and was after Jesus? Would they have enjoyed the way that Jesus stood up to these religious bullies, as it were? Would they look back on this and see the promise of the work he would through dying and rising and say, “Oh, now I get it”? Or would they notice a more-subtle point here? Would they notice the contrast between the work Jesus was about and the work the Herods and the Pharisees of the world were about? The work of Herod: all about gaining and maintaining power and wealth. The work of people like the Pharisees: all about controlling others through judgment and legalism. Their work: all about them. The work of Jesus: all about humankind; especially those who were dominated, used, judged, and vilified. There is an important lesson there for the followers of Jesus: what is the work we are busy with?
If I use myself as a sermon illustration, it’s usually not flattering; the not flattering stories are at least more entertaining. But I’m going to tell you a story that I’m actually kind-of proud of; I think I did a good thing the other day.
I don’t know if you guys are still following the Pine River Times on the internet. I don’t very often, but a couple of days ago, I read an article that made sad. It was about something that happened at the library the other day, following a presentation on Buddhism. If you don’t know, sometimes the library does seminars like that to help the good people of our community to expand their worlds a little bit; to better understand people and viewpoints that are different from ours. That’s not the part that made me sad; I like that part.
The article went like this: “At a March 9 book-signing at The Pine River Library, Rev. Alaric and Andrew Hutchinson, a married couple who own and operate The Zen Cowboy, were threatened by two individuals who said they will be “running them out of town.”
The two referenced Sodom and Gomorrah in regards to the Hutchinsons being gay and said they were perpetuating satanist views.”
Listen, I know that even in this room, we have a wide variety of opinions on what some call “alternative lifestyles”; and I know that those opinions are often shaped by what we read in Scripture. I get it: it’s a complicated subject for most Christians. That complexity is why I would never tell you what to believe when it comes to homosexuality; the Spirit is going to lead us to different conclusions and the Spirit has reasons I don’t understand.
But as your pastor, I will tell you when the answer is simple. And the simple answer is: Jesus would never say a thing like that to another person. The work that Jesus was about was about healing and caring; his work was about loving the unloved; his work was about welcoming the unwelcomed. You know what Jesus would do to the gay couple across the street? He’d have dinner with them.
So here’s what I did: I was pulling up in front of the church after learning that story. I noticed a car out in front of their business and a man moving things from the car into the shop. I felt that nudge that I’m learning not to ignore. I walked over to the man and asked, “Are you the Cowboy?”
I imagine, seeing me walk over to him from the church, he thought, “Now what?” But he said, “No that’s my husband.”
I said, “I’m the pastor of this church and I wanted you guys to know that the people who would threaten you and tell you you’re not welcome—especially in the name of Jesus—are not my people; frankly, I’m not sure they’re Jesus’ people either. You are welcome here, and if there’s anything you need, we’re right across the street.” He told me that what I said meant a lot to them and we parted ways.
As we continue this Lenten journey let us remain focused on the Savior who walked it first. Let us remember his journey that loved humanity so much that he would give his life for us. Let us remember his journey, and by his Spirit, let us be about his work.
2nd Sunday of Lent
It occurred to me the other day that I haven’t met a bored person in years. Do you even remember the last time you were bored? Maybe when you were a kid: “Oh, I’m sooo bored! There’s nothing to doooo!” Not any more: we are always busy. There is always something to do. I have even learned to be busy with things to keep me too busy to do the things I ought to be busy with. My friend Stan wanted me to write a report to the Presbytery and I kept putting it off because it was so tedious; I kept telling myself that I should do it, but really didn’t want to. So I let every other job I’ve got take priority. “Sorry Stan, but I have been way too busy.”
I’ve even heard people use their business as a kind of humble bragging. Have you noticed that? You ask a person, “Hey, how have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve just been so busy!” Then they list off all of the things they are doing, the meetings they’ve had to go to, their workload, and all the family obligations that have them pulled in a million directions.
I’ve kind of done that at times, except the family obligations one. I’m actually pretty lucky in that regard. I was catching up with an old friend just the other day and said that I feel fortunate that my kids are only musical; they’re not terribly athletic. No evening practices; no weekend tournaments; no driving to all corners of the state. Nope, just the occasional concert and those are pretty enjoyable.
But it seems that we are all, for the most part, always busy with one thing or another. And don’t get me wrong, taken in moderation business can be as healthy as moderate rest. My only caution would be to ask: what are we busy with? Are we busy with distractions, and vices, and work-work-work? Or are we busy with the things that Jesus would be busy with? Are we busy with the things that seek our needs alone, or are we busy helping, and caring, and loving those that Jesus was busy with?
There is a point in the Gospel of Luke, back in chapter nine, where Jesus is described as setting his face toward Jerusalem. What this seems to mean is, starting from that point on in the Gospel, Jesus slowly and steadily makes his way toward Jerusalem. From that point on, Jesus intentionally moves toward where his betrayal, arrest, and crucifixion will be waiting. So when we get to our text for today, the reader already knows where Jesus is going and what he intends to do. It’s kind of like the season of Lent itself: everyone knows where this is going; although there might be some surprises that await us.
In our reading today, we meet some Pharisees who also seem to know where Jesus is going. They come to warn Jesus because his life is apparently in danger and he should probably turn around. Now I know what you’re thinking: since when do Pharisees care about the wellbeing of Jesus? And that is an excellent question. Luke doesn’t say anything about their motives; and for all we know, maybe they really are concerned about Jesus; but judging by the way Jesus responds it seems he thinks they’re being less-than-genuine.
His response is delightful if you enjoy passive-aggressive insults. He starts by insinuating that they know about Herod’s plans because they’re pals with Herod. Jesus tells them to deliver a message back to Herod like they have a personal relationship with them; which is an idea that would have enraged them. Religious orders like the Pharisees existed because of evil and corrupted leaders like Herod. We mostly know them as the guys who care so much about not working on the Sabbath that they don’t notice that miracles are being performed right before their eyes. But their beginnings had good intentions: whenever religion goes bad—when it becomes a tool of judgment and starts rejecting those Jesus would love—it starts with good intentions. The Pharisees began as a way to lead the people back to faithfulness to God; a thing that the political and religious leaders had failed to do. So insinuating that they had become buddies with those leaders would have been pretty insulting.
And to top it off, the message he gives them to deliver to Herod, is clearly not for Herod: he says, “I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work [hint, hint]. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.” He cites the miracles he performs as evidence that he is indeed sent by God; that he is (at least) a prophet sent to gather God’s people under his wings to protect them against the foxes of the world. And like any prophet, if you want to get killed, well you just have to go to Jerusalem for that.
I can’t even imagine what the disciples must have thought about this altercation. Would they be terrified that Herod knew about and was after Jesus? Would they have enjoyed the way that Jesus stood up to these religious bullies, as it were? Would they look back on this and see the promise of the work he would through dying and rising and say, “Oh, now I get it”? Or would they notice a more-subtle point here? Would they notice the contrast between the work Jesus was about and the work the Herods and the Pharisees of the world were about? The work of Herod: all about gaining and maintaining power and wealth. The work of people like the Pharisees: all about controlling others through judgment and legalism. Their work: all about them. The work of Jesus: all about humankind; especially those who were dominated, used, judged, and vilified. There is an important lesson there for the followers of Jesus: what is the work we are busy with?
If I use myself as a sermon illustration, it’s usually not flattering; the not flattering stories are at least more entertaining. But I’m going to tell you a story that I’m actually kind-of proud of; I think I did a good thing the other day.
I don’t know if you guys are still following the Pine River Times on the internet. I don’t very often, but a couple of days ago, I read an article that made sad. It was about something that happened at the library the other day, following a presentation on Buddhism. If you don’t know, sometimes the library does seminars like that to help the good people of our community to expand their worlds a little bit; to better understand people and viewpoints that are different from ours. That’s not the part that made me sad; I like that part.
The article went like this: “At a March 9 book-signing at The Pine River Library, Rev. Alaric and Andrew Hutchinson, a married couple who own and operate The Zen Cowboy, were threatened by two individuals who said they will be “running them out of town.”
The two referenced Sodom and Gomorrah in regards to the Hutchinsons being gay and said they were perpetuating satanist views.”
Listen, I know that even in this room, we have a wide variety of opinions on what some call “alternative lifestyles”; and I know that those opinions are often shaped by what we read in Scripture. I get it: it’s a complicated subject for most Christians. That complexity is why I would never tell you what to believe when it comes to homosexuality; the Spirit is going to lead us to different conclusions and the Spirit has reasons I don’t understand.
But as your pastor, I will tell you when the answer is simple. And the simple answer is: Jesus would never say a thing like that to another person. The work that Jesus was about was about healing and caring; his work was about loving the unloved; his work was about welcoming the unwelcomed. You know what Jesus would do to the gay couple across the street? He’d have dinner with them.
So here’s what I did: I was pulling up in front of the church after learning that story. I noticed a car out in front of their business and a man moving things from the car into the shop. I felt that nudge that I’m learning not to ignore. I walked over to the man and asked, “Are you the Cowboy?”
I imagine, seeing me walk over to him from the church, he thought, “Now what?” But he said, “No that’s my husband.”
I said, “I’m the pastor of this church and I wanted you guys to know that the people who would threaten you and tell you you’re not welcome—especially in the name of Jesus—are not my people; frankly, I’m not sure they’re Jesus’ people either. You are welcome here, and if there’s anything you need, we’re right across the street.” He told me that what I said meant a lot to them and we parted ways.
As we continue this Lenten journey let us remain focused on the Savior who walked it first. Let us remember his journey that loved humanity so much that he would give his life for us. Let us remember his journey, and by his Spirit, let us be about his work.
Monday, March 11, 2019
Road Trip
First Sunday of Lent
I remember the first Lenten thing I ever did. I was in college and my mom wanted to participate in a 48 hour fast and didn’t want to do it all by herself. So, we both went hungry for 48 hours and then went to a soup supper at our church after. By the way, that was about as spiritual as it was for me: “Okay, I was hungry for a couple of days for my mom’s sake and now I’m not.”
Fast forward to this past Wednesday: as I was officiating our Ash Wednesday service, I blurted out, “I’m getting really good at drawing ash crosses on people’s foreheads.” I mean, if I had a resume, “forehead ash-crosses” would certainly be on it. They looked good. And of course they’re made of locally sourced, artisanal, Palm Sunday palms.
Somewhere along my life’s journey, I became a person who observes Lent. I can’t tell you exactly when that happened, and maybe there’s a lesson just in that: if nothing else, Lent is a journey. Beyond the fasts and practices, Lent is a pathway that leads us somewhere. Where it leads is different for each of us, but it goes somewhere if we follow it.
Today we witness the journey Jesus took—a forty-day journey that I would, frankly, not recommend—but maybe there’s something there for us too. Maybe there’s something in his journey that might help lead us down our journeys as well.
Once upon a time, on a First-Sunday-of-Lent much like this one, a Sunday school teacher was telling the children the story of the temptation of Jesus. Things got very serious when the conversation turned to the fact that everyone gets tempted from time to time; that we all need to be ready and know how to respond when the devil shows up to tempt us.
The teacher put forth a scenario: “Say you’re at the grocery store and you are in the candy isle, but your parents are in a different isle. So no one is watching; no one can see what you’re doing. And you hear the devil say, ‘You should take some candy.’” The teacher paused a moment so that everyone could fully imagine themselves in this scene and then she asked, “What would you say to the devil?”
Mary’s hand shot right up; she was always the most thoughtful obedient child; clearly she knew the answer. So the teacher called on Mary and Mary said, “If the devil offered me candy, I’d say, ‘Thank you;’ because you’re supposed to say ‘Thank you’ when someone offers you something.”
Temptation is fascinating to me. What fascinates me most is that it is both universal and strangely specific it is. We all face temptation, but the devil knows what we like. What is tempting to you may not be tempting to me… and vice versa.
And yet, as Jesus shows us in our lesson today, the answer to temptation is always the same: as Jesus shows us through the Scriptures, the answer to being tempted with the things we want is to remember what God wants. The answer to life’s temptations is to realign our lives, again and again, to the priorities of God and not simply of ourselves.
The nice thing—for me at least—with our lesson today is that we’ve heard this story before. This Lenten season begins the same way every year: with the story of Jesus going out into the wilderness for forty days, to be tempted. So the nice thing for me is that I can skip some of the story’s details; what I don’t get to today, we’ll get to some other time.
In fact, if we intentionally ignore some of the smaller details and just look at the temptation of Jesus in a more general way, we see that there are some similarities between our temptations and the temptations of Jesus. When Jesus was tempted—with satisfying his own hunger, with gaining power for himself, with avoiding the pain that his faithfulness would cause—we see a common theme: just like our temptations, the temptation of Jesus was all about Jesus. Frankly, at its heart, I think that’s all that temptation is: to make our lives just about us; to fulfill our hungers and passions; to get our way at any cost; to ignore God’s call to love our neighbor and instead of our desire to love only ourselves. So even though the specific temptations of Jesus were different from ours, they were rooted in the same self-serving place ours come from: to make our lives only about us.
And so, Jesus’ answer to temptation can be our answer as well: Jesus uses Scripture to point away from the things he might be desiring and back to the promises and priorities of God. So in a sense, the answer to temptations is simple: do what you know God wants you to do; obey God’s will as it’s been revealed in Scripture. Love God and love what God loves: which is humanity itself. Simple! If only it were that simple.
I noticed a kind of theme in the Scripture lessons leading us through Lent this year: they seem to have a traveling theme. Granted, in the Gospels, Jesus and the disciples are always on their way somewhere. But there may be a deeper lesson here for the season leading us to Easter. Maybe the goal of becoming the people God calls us to be isn’t so much about the destination; maybe it’s more about the journey. Maybe the disciplines and practices that we take up are valuable, not because they make us perfect, but because they move us in a direction toward making our lives less about us and more about God.
I was talking with a friend of mine the other day. He was telling me about how he got cut off while driving, but he couldn’t yell or honk or anything because his nine year-old daughter was in the car. I joked, “What if that’s all spiritual growth is? What if it’s just remembering that you’re not in the proverbial car alone? Can you still take pride in the fact that you didn’t scream and honk? Yeah, I think you can. It’s called growth!”
As we enter this Lenten season, let us follow in the example of our Savior. Let us recognize the nature of temptation to make our lives only about us. Let us recognize the nature of Scripture, which returns our thoughts and minds back to God. And most of all, let us remember the God that goes with us when we succeed and when we fail.
God only knows what this Lenten journey will bring for each of us; God only knows the temptations we’ll face; but God will not leave us, especially when things get tough. As we walk through this wilderness, as we face the temptation of making this life all about us, let us remember that we are not alone. Let us take comfort in knowing that our Savior walks with us every step.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
Unveiled
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.
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.
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.
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