Micah 6:1-8
4th Sunday in Ordinary Time
The other day, one of my kids asked me what “karma” was. It kind-of caught me off guard; not really a concept we talk much about at my house. But I want to encourage their curiosity – I enjoy that they’re always learning about new things – so I wanted to give some sort of answer; but, because I’m me, I also wanted to mention that I also don’t really believe in it.
I explained that it’s an idea found in Eastern religions that says everything balances out; that if you do bad things, bad things will happen to you; and if you do good things, good things will happen to you. But then I added that things don’t seem to work out that way in the real world; I don’t want to discount someone’s faith just because I don’t understand it, but that’s not how I see the world working and it’s not what I believe about God. I see really bad people doing bad things all the time getting away with it; and profiting from their bad deeds too. I see really good people, who do good for others, suffering every day by no fault of their own. So from my perspective, karma just doesn’t seem to be a reasonable way to explain the way the world works.
And then he said, “Okay, so karma isn’t why the Broncos aren’t playing today?”
From our perspective, we want there to be a connection between the good things we do – the faithfulness that we show to God – and the good things God brings us. But in this life anyway, that connection doesn’t usually exist; which makes God a bit hard to gauge, right? If the things that happen to you aren’t about how God feels about you, how do you know that you’re doing things that make God happy? How do you know that the things you are doing aren’t making God mad?
Well, as our Scripture lesson this morning reminds us, you already know those answers. And as this Table reminds us, God hasn’t just told you what is expected of you; God has shown you. God has shown us, over and over again – and especially through the gift of our Savior – that what is expected of us is to show the same love to others that we have received.
The book of Micah may not be the most well-worn books of the Bible; you may have heard this passage before, but I doubt everyone here has read through the book cover-to-cover. If you do decide to read through the book, it’s not a tough read; it’s only seven chapters long. Micah is one of the twelve “Minor Prophets:” called “minor” because the amount that they wrote, not by their importance. But if you do read Micah, you should know that it’s not a happy book; the message that God gives Micah to proclaim is a lot like the message God gave to other prophets of Micah’s time (like Hosea, Isaiah, and Amos). The message was basically, “Things are going to get worse.”
I mentioned that it sometimes seems tricky to know if God is happy with what you’re doing or not; and I suppose the obvious exception to that is if God just tells you, say through a prophet. The setting to our lesson this morning seems to be a courtroom; God has had it with the people and God is filing a lawsuit. There are charges being leveled and a judgment will follow.
That’s really the point of prophetic messages like this: something awful is about to happen and this is one of those rare times when it is because of something people have done; it’s as close to karma as the Bible gets. Something awful is about to happen so God sends the prophet to explain why. So unlike the idea of karma, this is a lesson; it’s not really justice, it’s not really balance; God is mad and God wants you to learn why. God wants the people, when this bad thing happens, to learn from it. And better yet, because we also have the words of the prophets, we might learn it too without ever having to go through these bad things.
So, what is this bad thing, anyway? Well, like any prophet of doom, the message was basically “the end is near.” There have been forty years of prosperity and peace that are now coming to an end. And apparently, because everything was going so well, the people had forgotten to listen to God. It’s this thing we do: when our lives are hard, when we are in the midst of life’s struggles, we are plenty-devout. When we are lost, abandoned, wounded, and alone – when we know we need the power of God – we are on our knees! But when things are great, that may not be such a priority.
So for forty years the people of God have been caught up in the “good life” and they’ve stopped listening to God. In fact, things have been so good that they’re actually surprised to find out that God is angry with them; that God is about to evict them from the Promised Land. So what did they do that so upset God that they were about to be taught a tough lesson? What was it that God is charging them with – more importantly, what is it that we should avoid doing?
Well according to our text today, they had forgotten The Story. Micah references various stories, including a rather obscure story from the Book of Numbers [chapters 22-24] (I recommend it, by the way; there’s a talking donkey). But for our purposes, I think we can infer from these references the whole of the biblical story; from Genesis through Revelation. I think we can take from this that the people of God had forgotten to remember all that God had done for them; how many times God had saved them, and led them, and fed them, and nurtured them; and when things got easy, they forgot.
But worse than that, when they forgot what God had done, they also forgot what God wanted them to do. I’ve been reading through the Bible lately, cover to cover; it’s something I’ve been doing occasionally since I was a kid. I’m not sure I’d recommend it, especially when you get to books like Leviticus. I just finished Leviticus and it’s a horrible read: it’s tedious, it’s repetitive, and it makes Moses look insane. And although I think there reasons why we need the book of Leviticus, it’s not fun to read. When you look at all of the things that the Lord seems to require, you see that it’s just impossible. Fortunately, in passages like the one before us today, the Bible also tells us that leading a life that is pleasing to God is a lot simpler than Leviticus: do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.
Of course, Jesus put it in a similar way, but even simpler than that: love God with all you are and love your neighbor as yourself. But to remember even these simple expectations of God – as our lesson today shows us – we first remember what God has done for us. We remember the love of God, even when things are good, because that love helps us to remember to share it with those around us.
It is a lesson we learn regularly here at this Table. Here we remember once again the depth of God’s love; a God who would become one of us and give his life for us. And as we remember that love, may we be renewed – with the guidance of his Spirit – as we share that same unconditional love, mercy, and self-sacrifice in all we do and say.
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
Friday, January 31, 2020
Fellow Followers
Matthew 4:12-23 & 1 Corinthians 1:10-19
3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
When I was in my early twenties, I remember sitting my father down for a talk. I didn’t feel I needed his permission, but I certainly wanted his blessing. I wanted him to know the person I was becoming and I wanted his support in becoming that person. I sat my father down and told him… that I thought God wanted me to be a pastor.
As I look back on it, I don’t remember expecting any specific reaction from him; I didn’t think he’d be mad or even especially surprised. After all, this was partly his fault: he had raised me in the church and taught me by his example how to follow where Christ calls. Plus, it's not as thought I wasn't already showing certain “tendencies:” I was actively involved in church programs and worship; I was a Sunday school teacher and a youth leader; I was even employed by our church and by a Christian camp during the summers. The signs were all there so I didn’t expect this to be a big shocker to him.
But what he said to me did kind of catch me off guard; so much so that it's stuck with me some thirty-something years later. He said that he was proud of me and that he’d support me in whatever I felt called to do, but then he said, “Just remember: don’t expect church people to be better than any other people.” Which surprised me at the time, mostly because of the context. Of course he was right: church people are still people, after all. We’ve all got our quirks and weaknesses and that’s what usually makes us interesting.
But on the other hand, why not expect something better from the followers of Jesus? Even though we might feel let down sometimes, why should we stop expecting kindness and mercy from one another; why should we stop expecting one other to care more, listen longer, and love less conditionally than the rest of the world might?
I think we should expect all of this because I think we are supposed to be different. We are different, not just because we follow different sets of rules than the world does, but because we follow a different ruler. Because we all follow the same Savior, I think we should be able to expect more from one another than we do from the rest of the world; and the rest of the world ought to expect more of us. At the very least, I think we should expect one another to try.
Last Sunday we heard the Gospel of John’s version of how Jesus called his first disciples and this week we hear Matthew’s version. And I think the first thing we notice is how these stories are not exactly the same: in John, the first disciples are following John the Baptist when Jesus calls them to “come and see,” where Jesus is going. But in Matthew the first disciples are fishermen when they hear Jesus’ call to “follow me.” Now although these differences between the gospels might make for an interesting conversation, they are not huge; certainly they could have been fishermen and disciples of John the Baptist at the same time. And certainly the results of these two stories are the same: Jesus calls them and they go.
So in a sense, this morning’s message again begins where last week’s left off. Again, we remember that those of us who have been called by Jesus have been called in exactly the same way that his disciples have always been called to him: we are called to follow. We are called to walk with him, to know him, to learn from him, and to carry on the same ministry through our lives that he lived out in his. Today we remember again that every one of us has been called by our Savior to lay aside all else and follow him.
Unfortunately, today we also remember that this call has been extended to a whole bunch of other people too; Christ also calls people who are not always as nice as we are; people who are not as far along in their faith-journey to know any better; people who really ought to be grateful that we are as tolerant and understanding as we are! Unfortunately, today we remember that Christ doesn’t just call us as individuals, but as communities; as congregations. Sometimes the hardest part about walking with Jesus… is walking along side some of those “other” people he calls.
I think I’ve pointed out before that, if Paul wrote you a letter, chances are you had messed up somehow. With the exception of a few of Paul’s letters, if he was writing to your church… your church was in trouble. And this was certainly true in his letters to the Corinthians. They were in trouble. They were in trouble because, in spite of the way they had received the Gospel, in spite of their spiritual gifts, they were a divided church. They didn’t just disagree with one another – there’s nothing wrong with disagreeing with each other. I think disagreements are a normal and healthy way to help one another grow in Christ. Their problem was that they were divided. Their problem was that in their disagreements, they were starting to take sides. They were forming up camps and that is what Paul is, in part, writing to address. It’s strangely comforting to me to hear that this kind of behavior isn’t just common among churches today; it’s always been common in the church. But that doesn’t make it right.
Notice that when Paul talks about their factions, he doesn’t leave his so-called followers out of the scolding: he starts with those who say “I follow Paul.” Because the problem wasn’t who was right and who was wrong; the problem was they had forgotten that they weren’t even called to be right. They weren’t called to have all the answers and to point out who didn’t. In fact, what they had been called to was foolishness from a worldly view. They had been called to follow Christ and Christ alone. They had been called to follow with him, even to the cross. And from a worldly perspective, there’s nothing “right” about the cross.
And simply put, that is where Jesus calls to. He calls us to die with him that we might live with him. And he calls us live out that same self-giving love every day of our lives so that others might live with him as well. And there is nothing right about that. His life was characterized by self-denial, so those who would follow him ought to be known for that as well. Whenever we claim that we are right and another follower is wrong, we do in fact, deny the cross.
I once heard a choir director say, "If you can't hear the voices beside you you're singing too loudly." And isn’t that true for us more often than when we’re singing? Isn’t this faith of ours proclaimed so much more beautifully when we’re all contributing our parts? The proclamation of the Good News was never supposed to be a solo act. So that means, for us to perform it right, we need to listen to each other. We need to follow one leader and sing the wondrous song that he has given us to sing… together.
In Corinth, no one was listening. They were not listening because each person was fully convinced in his or her mind that he or she was correct. They were each convinced that they alone had the whole picture, the right picture. They were so convinced that their view was the right view that anyone else might not really be a part of the body of Christ. And in fact, not only had the members of the church in Corinth stopped listening to each other, almost everyone was shouting. And in their shouting about their right views and their philosophies, they had forgotten that their calling was about foolishness, not about being right.
And the sad truth is that we all get like that sometimes; sometimes we are no better than the world outside our doors. But the truth is also that I think we’re supposed to be. And Paul reminds them of who they are supposed to be… by reminding them of the calling they received through their baptism.
This is the third week in a row that I’ve brought up calling. That might not be an accident; it might just be a common theme in Scripture. This time it’s Paul using baptism to remind us that it is only in Christ that we have received our calling. It is through Christ that we have received our salvation and it is only through Christ that we are united with one another. And in the light of our common calling in Christ, the only one we should care about being right is Jesus.
So let us proclaim how right he is in the ways we treat one another. Let us listen to one another; let us appreciate each others gifts; let us forgive one another, and in so doing, let us proclaim our Savior to the world in the seemingly foolish ways we live our lives.
3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
When I was in my early twenties, I remember sitting my father down for a talk. I didn’t feel I needed his permission, but I certainly wanted his blessing. I wanted him to know the person I was becoming and I wanted his support in becoming that person. I sat my father down and told him… that I thought God wanted me to be a pastor.
As I look back on it, I don’t remember expecting any specific reaction from him; I didn’t think he’d be mad or even especially surprised. After all, this was partly his fault: he had raised me in the church and taught me by his example how to follow where Christ calls. Plus, it's not as thought I wasn't already showing certain “tendencies:” I was actively involved in church programs and worship; I was a Sunday school teacher and a youth leader; I was even employed by our church and by a Christian camp during the summers. The signs were all there so I didn’t expect this to be a big shocker to him.
But what he said to me did kind of catch me off guard; so much so that it's stuck with me some thirty-something years later. He said that he was proud of me and that he’d support me in whatever I felt called to do, but then he said, “Just remember: don’t expect church people to be better than any other people.” Which surprised me at the time, mostly because of the context. Of course he was right: church people are still people, after all. We’ve all got our quirks and weaknesses and that’s what usually makes us interesting.
But on the other hand, why not expect something better from the followers of Jesus? Even though we might feel let down sometimes, why should we stop expecting kindness and mercy from one another; why should we stop expecting one other to care more, listen longer, and love less conditionally than the rest of the world might?
I think we should expect all of this because I think we are supposed to be different. We are different, not just because we follow different sets of rules than the world does, but because we follow a different ruler. Because we all follow the same Savior, I think we should be able to expect more from one another than we do from the rest of the world; and the rest of the world ought to expect more of us. At the very least, I think we should expect one another to try.
Last Sunday we heard the Gospel of John’s version of how Jesus called his first disciples and this week we hear Matthew’s version. And I think the first thing we notice is how these stories are not exactly the same: in John, the first disciples are following John the Baptist when Jesus calls them to “come and see,” where Jesus is going. But in Matthew the first disciples are fishermen when they hear Jesus’ call to “follow me.” Now although these differences between the gospels might make for an interesting conversation, they are not huge; certainly they could have been fishermen and disciples of John the Baptist at the same time. And certainly the results of these two stories are the same: Jesus calls them and they go.
So in a sense, this morning’s message again begins where last week’s left off. Again, we remember that those of us who have been called by Jesus have been called in exactly the same way that his disciples have always been called to him: we are called to follow. We are called to walk with him, to know him, to learn from him, and to carry on the same ministry through our lives that he lived out in his. Today we remember again that every one of us has been called by our Savior to lay aside all else and follow him.
Unfortunately, today we also remember that this call has been extended to a whole bunch of other people too; Christ also calls people who are not always as nice as we are; people who are not as far along in their faith-journey to know any better; people who really ought to be grateful that we are as tolerant and understanding as we are! Unfortunately, today we remember that Christ doesn’t just call us as individuals, but as communities; as congregations. Sometimes the hardest part about walking with Jesus… is walking along side some of those “other” people he calls.
I think I’ve pointed out before that, if Paul wrote you a letter, chances are you had messed up somehow. With the exception of a few of Paul’s letters, if he was writing to your church… your church was in trouble. And this was certainly true in his letters to the Corinthians. They were in trouble. They were in trouble because, in spite of the way they had received the Gospel, in spite of their spiritual gifts, they were a divided church. They didn’t just disagree with one another – there’s nothing wrong with disagreeing with each other. I think disagreements are a normal and healthy way to help one another grow in Christ. Their problem was that they were divided. Their problem was that in their disagreements, they were starting to take sides. They were forming up camps and that is what Paul is, in part, writing to address. It’s strangely comforting to me to hear that this kind of behavior isn’t just common among churches today; it’s always been common in the church. But that doesn’t make it right.
Notice that when Paul talks about their factions, he doesn’t leave his so-called followers out of the scolding: he starts with those who say “I follow Paul.” Because the problem wasn’t who was right and who was wrong; the problem was they had forgotten that they weren’t even called to be right. They weren’t called to have all the answers and to point out who didn’t. In fact, what they had been called to was foolishness from a worldly view. They had been called to follow Christ and Christ alone. They had been called to follow with him, even to the cross. And from a worldly perspective, there’s nothing “right” about the cross.
And simply put, that is where Jesus calls to. He calls us to die with him that we might live with him. And he calls us live out that same self-giving love every day of our lives so that others might live with him as well. And there is nothing right about that. His life was characterized by self-denial, so those who would follow him ought to be known for that as well. Whenever we claim that we are right and another follower is wrong, we do in fact, deny the cross.
I once heard a choir director say, "If you can't hear the voices beside you you're singing too loudly." And isn’t that true for us more often than when we’re singing? Isn’t this faith of ours proclaimed so much more beautifully when we’re all contributing our parts? The proclamation of the Good News was never supposed to be a solo act. So that means, for us to perform it right, we need to listen to each other. We need to follow one leader and sing the wondrous song that he has given us to sing… together.
In Corinth, no one was listening. They were not listening because each person was fully convinced in his or her mind that he or she was correct. They were each convinced that they alone had the whole picture, the right picture. They were so convinced that their view was the right view that anyone else might not really be a part of the body of Christ. And in fact, not only had the members of the church in Corinth stopped listening to each other, almost everyone was shouting. And in their shouting about their right views and their philosophies, they had forgotten that their calling was about foolishness, not about being right.
And the sad truth is that we all get like that sometimes; sometimes we are no better than the world outside our doors. But the truth is also that I think we’re supposed to be. And Paul reminds them of who they are supposed to be… by reminding them of the calling they received through their baptism.
This is the third week in a row that I’ve brought up calling. That might not be an accident; it might just be a common theme in Scripture. This time it’s Paul using baptism to remind us that it is only in Christ that we have received our calling. It is through Christ that we have received our salvation and it is only through Christ that we are united with one another. And in the light of our common calling in Christ, the only one we should care about being right is Jesus.
So let us proclaim how right he is in the ways we treat one another. Let us listen to one another; let us appreciate each others gifts; let us forgive one another, and in so doing, let us proclaim our Savior to the world in the seemingly foolish ways we live our lives.
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Come See
John 1:29-42
2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Last Sunday we looked at the baptism of Jesus. And if you were with us last week, I mentioned that, as we look at his baptism, we learn more about our baptism than we do about his. Because his calling, which officially began at the Jordan with John, is really our calling too; and our calling officially begins at our baptisms. So celebrating his baptism reminds us that we share his calling through our baptism.
And I recognize that this is kind of a deep, theological notion; I mean, this wasn't really how I was brought up to think about the meaning of being a Christian. The church I grew up in, emphasized that I should put my trust in Jesus for the forgiveness of my sins. I still believe that is true, but I never really heard about what comes next. Jesus died for my sins and was raised so that I would have eternal life... but now there’s this space in between. What am I supposed to do between now and then? In the church I grew up in, the answer was usually, “Go and tell others about Jesus.” But I've never felt very talented or successful at evangelism, so for a long time I just felt guilty and hoped that someone else was doing my job for me.
Maybe you can relate to those feelings. If so, I have good news: today our Scripture just so happens to pick up about where the baptism of Jesus left off. Today we hear about two followers of John the Baptist who turn and become (at least according to John) the first official disciples of Jesus. And what we learn from their story is that the beginning of their calling is exactly the same beginning as our calling; because just as Jesus calls them with the words, “Come and see,” so also he calls to us.
Again, we hear this morning of John's account of the calling of the first few disciples. And in our reading today Jesus and John the Baptist cross paths a couple of times following Jesus' baptism; and each time John points to Jesus and calls him “the Lamb of God.” And as we read on, we notice that after hearing this, two of John’s disciples stop following John, and start following Jesus. So John's disciples hear him praising Jesus they respond by leaving John to go and be disciples of Jesus.
Over the past couple of years, I have become very close friends with the pastor at First Presbyterian, Durango… I’m sure I’ve talked about our friendship before. We have a covenant to be there for each other whenever we need to be. The other day, I was having an emotional crisis, and knew that he was the call I needed to make. So I called… and it went to voicemail. So I hung up… and two minutes later, he called me back and explained why he couldn’t get to his phone in time. He apologized because that’s the relationship we have: when one of us calls, we pick up. I’ve done that for him, he does that for me. Most of the time, we can ignore my texts, but when my name shows up on his caller ID, he picks up; that’s our deal.
I love Beau; he loves me. We care for each other in real time. I appreciate his genuineness, his spiritual insights, and his thoughtfulness about the work of the church. But here’s the thing: I’m not going to tell you to go to his church. First of all, he’s got as much emotional baggage as I do (maybe more), that’s why we’re friends. But more than that, you belong here. This is your church. You’re not going to start going to 1st Pres, Durango just because I tell you that Beau’s a great guy. This is your church; these are your people; the work we do in this community is your ministry; and I am your pastor.
In our lesson today, John seems to send his disciples to go and follow Jesus—and to be fair—it’s a little different. John recognizes Jesus as Messiah; or as John puts it, The Lamb of God. (Neither Beau nor I are the Lamb of God.) At any rate, they hear from John, their teacher, that Jesus is the promised one, so they go and are then called by Jesus to follow.
Now as I've said before, I'm not always sure that when we hear about this idea of “being called” in the Bible, we always hear it as being about us. I think we tend to talk about being called as if it's some specific, remarkable thing. I think that when we talk of Christian calling, we think of it as something like being a pastor or a missionary or an evangelist. Often, it's a full-time job, with years of training, and often some board needs to certify us to do it before we can begin. In other words, we may not think about calling very much at all. We can listen to Scripture passages like the one we've heard today from John and, because we don't share their specific skill-set, we can leave it as a nice story about someone else.
But let's look again at what happens between these disciples and Jesus: it begins with the two of them literally walking behind Jesus, following him around. They have heard from John that Jesus is the One, so they just start walking after him. Jesus turns to them and asks them what they want and they respond first by calling him rabbi, or teacher, a term of respect. And then they ask where Jesus is staying... which doesn't really answer the question.
Then, Jesus says to them something remarkable: he says, “Come, and see.” Now this might not seem so remarkable at first glance, but trust me it is. As with any good teacher, Jesus doesn't just tell them the answer, he invites them to learn it for themselves. He doesn't just say, “I'm staying over there;” he says, “Come and see.” He invites them to experience it with him; he invites them not only to know the answer, but to live the answer just as he does. And that is remarkable.
And in this way we are reminded of our calling in theirs. Just like these first two, we are each called to follow; called to walk with Jesus and learn not just about him, but from him. Because, even from the very beginning, Jesus didn't just call individuals to know a certain thing or behave a certain way, but he called us into his presence, into that relationship and eventually into relationship with one another.
So the call of Jesus is not primarily a call to do a particular job, or to fill a particular role; it is a call to relationship. When these two come to Jesus, there is no tract, there is no alter-call, there is no membership class; he says, “come and see.” It is a call to experience a relationship; to experience an intimate relationship with Jesus. It is very different from signing up to do some job. To do a job requires at least some small understanding of what is involved; you can plan it out, it's negotiable, it has its limits, and you know what it looks like when the job is over. To be called is to be in relationship. To be called is to follow Jesus into a mystery; it is to move out into uncharted darkness. Jesus simply says, “follow me” and really, that's all that matters. Everything else will work itself out through the course of that relationship.
One of my favorite theologians Dietrich Bonhoeffer, talks about this adventure. He says:
Those first disciples weren't called to a specific place; they were called to go wherever Jesus led. They weren't called to give up any specific thing, but in following Jesus they would find the freedom to walk away from anything and everything. This is a scary proposition if you think about it; mostly it's scary because there is no mistaking who this call is about. Each of us hears our Savior's call to “Come and see.” The call to know him and experience a relationship with him has been extended to each one of us. And a relationship can take us almost anywhere. But as we grow in this relationship, we learn to trust. And as we learn to trust, we will find the depth of God's grace and our greatest joy as we learn more of who we have been created to be.
So let us remember again the call of our master; a call that begins in a relationship with him and leads wherever he takes us.
2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Last Sunday we looked at the baptism of Jesus. And if you were with us last week, I mentioned that, as we look at his baptism, we learn more about our baptism than we do about his. Because his calling, which officially began at the Jordan with John, is really our calling too; and our calling officially begins at our baptisms. So celebrating his baptism reminds us that we share his calling through our baptism.
And I recognize that this is kind of a deep, theological notion; I mean, this wasn't really how I was brought up to think about the meaning of being a Christian. The church I grew up in, emphasized that I should put my trust in Jesus for the forgiveness of my sins. I still believe that is true, but I never really heard about what comes next. Jesus died for my sins and was raised so that I would have eternal life... but now there’s this space in between. What am I supposed to do between now and then? In the church I grew up in, the answer was usually, “Go and tell others about Jesus.” But I've never felt very talented or successful at evangelism, so for a long time I just felt guilty and hoped that someone else was doing my job for me.
Maybe you can relate to those feelings. If so, I have good news: today our Scripture just so happens to pick up about where the baptism of Jesus left off. Today we hear about two followers of John the Baptist who turn and become (at least according to John) the first official disciples of Jesus. And what we learn from their story is that the beginning of their calling is exactly the same beginning as our calling; because just as Jesus calls them with the words, “Come and see,” so also he calls to us.
Again, we hear this morning of John's account of the calling of the first few disciples. And in our reading today Jesus and John the Baptist cross paths a couple of times following Jesus' baptism; and each time John points to Jesus and calls him “the Lamb of God.” And as we read on, we notice that after hearing this, two of John’s disciples stop following John, and start following Jesus. So John's disciples hear him praising Jesus they respond by leaving John to go and be disciples of Jesus.
Over the past couple of years, I have become very close friends with the pastor at First Presbyterian, Durango… I’m sure I’ve talked about our friendship before. We have a covenant to be there for each other whenever we need to be. The other day, I was having an emotional crisis, and knew that he was the call I needed to make. So I called… and it went to voicemail. So I hung up… and two minutes later, he called me back and explained why he couldn’t get to his phone in time. He apologized because that’s the relationship we have: when one of us calls, we pick up. I’ve done that for him, he does that for me. Most of the time, we can ignore my texts, but when my name shows up on his caller ID, he picks up; that’s our deal.
I love Beau; he loves me. We care for each other in real time. I appreciate his genuineness, his spiritual insights, and his thoughtfulness about the work of the church. But here’s the thing: I’m not going to tell you to go to his church. First of all, he’s got as much emotional baggage as I do (maybe more), that’s why we’re friends. But more than that, you belong here. This is your church. You’re not going to start going to 1st Pres, Durango just because I tell you that Beau’s a great guy. This is your church; these are your people; the work we do in this community is your ministry; and I am your pastor.
In our lesson today, John seems to send his disciples to go and follow Jesus—and to be fair—it’s a little different. John recognizes Jesus as Messiah; or as John puts it, The Lamb of God. (Neither Beau nor I are the Lamb of God.) At any rate, they hear from John, their teacher, that Jesus is the promised one, so they go and are then called by Jesus to follow.
Now as I've said before, I'm not always sure that when we hear about this idea of “being called” in the Bible, we always hear it as being about us. I think we tend to talk about being called as if it's some specific, remarkable thing. I think that when we talk of Christian calling, we think of it as something like being a pastor or a missionary or an evangelist. Often, it's a full-time job, with years of training, and often some board needs to certify us to do it before we can begin. In other words, we may not think about calling very much at all. We can listen to Scripture passages like the one we've heard today from John and, because we don't share their specific skill-set, we can leave it as a nice story about someone else.
But let's look again at what happens between these disciples and Jesus: it begins with the two of them literally walking behind Jesus, following him around. They have heard from John that Jesus is the One, so they just start walking after him. Jesus turns to them and asks them what they want and they respond first by calling him rabbi, or teacher, a term of respect. And then they ask where Jesus is staying... which doesn't really answer the question.
Then, Jesus says to them something remarkable: he says, “Come, and see.” Now this might not seem so remarkable at first glance, but trust me it is. As with any good teacher, Jesus doesn't just tell them the answer, he invites them to learn it for themselves. He doesn't just say, “I'm staying over there;” he says, “Come and see.” He invites them to experience it with him; he invites them not only to know the answer, but to live the answer just as he does. And that is remarkable.
And in this way we are reminded of our calling in theirs. Just like these first two, we are each called to follow; called to walk with Jesus and learn not just about him, but from him. Because, even from the very beginning, Jesus didn't just call individuals to know a certain thing or behave a certain way, but he called us into his presence, into that relationship and eventually into relationship with one another.
So the call of Jesus is not primarily a call to do a particular job, or to fill a particular role; it is a call to relationship. When these two come to Jesus, there is no tract, there is no alter-call, there is no membership class; he says, “come and see.” It is a call to experience a relationship; to experience an intimate relationship with Jesus. It is very different from signing up to do some job. To do a job requires at least some small understanding of what is involved; you can plan it out, it's negotiable, it has its limits, and you know what it looks like when the job is over. To be called is to be in relationship. To be called is to follow Jesus into a mystery; it is to move out into uncharted darkness. Jesus simply says, “follow me” and really, that's all that matters. Everything else will work itself out through the course of that relationship.
One of my favorite theologians Dietrich Bonhoeffer, talks about this adventure. He says:
If we answer the call to discipleship, where will it lead us? What decisions and partings will it demand? To answer the question we shall have to go to him, for only he knows the answer. Only Jesus Christ, who bids us follow him, knows the journey’s end. But we do know that it will be a road of boundless mercy. Discipleship means joy. [The Cost of Discipleship]
Those first disciples weren't called to a specific place; they were called to go wherever Jesus led. They weren't called to give up any specific thing, but in following Jesus they would find the freedom to walk away from anything and everything. This is a scary proposition if you think about it; mostly it's scary because there is no mistaking who this call is about. Each of us hears our Savior's call to “Come and see.” The call to know him and experience a relationship with him has been extended to each one of us. And a relationship can take us almost anywhere. But as we grow in this relationship, we learn to trust. And as we learn to trust, we will find the depth of God's grace and our greatest joy as we learn more of who we have been created to be.
So let us remember again the call of our master; a call that begins in a relationship with him and leads wherever he takes us.
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
The Gift
Baptism of the Lord
Today is a unique day in the life of the Church: the day we traditionally celebrate the Baptism of the Lord. If you’ve ever been here on the Sunday where we’ve talked about the baptism of the Lord, you already know my take on it. I say the same thing every year: Baptism of the Lord Sunday is never about the Baptism of the Lord. Remembering that Jesus went to the Jordan to be baptized by John is never really about Jesus actually going to the Jordan; it is always about us. Sure, the baptism itself was also about Jesus: as Peter reminds us today, it was at the baptism that the power of the Holy Spirit was displayed in Jesus. It’s just that when we celebrate the baptism of Jesus, it becomes about us.
And I know that sounds a little egotistical, but the fact is, it’s the opposite. Jesus didn’t get baptized because he had anything to repent from; he did it to show us how it’s done. He began his ministry in the way he intended us to begin ours: through baptism.
You see, baptism is like everything else Jesus does: he goes first; Jesus always goes first. As his disciples, his followers, our call is to go where he leads us. That is certainly what we remember at his baptism, but we certainly don’t merely follow him into baptism. All that we do and all that we are is meant to follow where Jesus leads. Someday, he will lead us to eternity; that is also part of what we remember in our baptisms. But until then, it means being faithful to the one who leads us there.
Our Scripture reading today is a sermon of sorts: it’s one of those times in Acts where Peter steps up to explain what God is doing. It’s not a very long sermon and he barely quotes from the Bible, but as it is a proclamation of the Word of God, I think we can call this a sermon.
Now, this is not the first of Peter’s sermons in the Book of Acts, but it is the first time he preaches to us. As far as I know, all of us are at least partly Gentile; and Peter’s never preached to “those people” before. In fact, two days earlier would have found a Peter who would have never even dreamed of associating with or proclaiming the gospel to gentiles like us; but a dream is exactly what he gets.
Acts tells us that, the day before this sermon, Peter had a dream; a nightmare, actually. In this dream, God lays out a banquette for Peter completely made up of un-kosher food; all of the foods that his Hebrew Scriptures had told him never to even touch is laid out before him, and the voice from heaven says, “Get up, Peter; kill and eat.” It was like if someone told me when I was eight that someday I would purchase and consume spinach: he was disgusted and horrified by the command. And then the voice tells him, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”
It’s in that moment some visitors arrive. You see, Peter isn’t the only one receiving visions from God. There’s a devout Gentile named Cornelius who has also received a vision from God telling him to send for Peter. So when Peter’s vision is confirmed by Cornelius’ vision, he then sees what God is doing. He preaches to Cornelius and to all gathered there, “I truly understand.” God gave him an epiphany that God does not show partiality; that anyone can be accepted by Jesus, even icky Gentiles like us.
This is a new thing for Peter and a turning point in the proclamation of the gospel. But the beautiful thing about this is that the message is still the same. Sure, the audience has expanded, but the good news he proclaimed was the same good news. I don’t know, maybe Peter had forgotten what Jesus had told him: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” Maybe he didn’t realize that Jesus meant it literally. Maybe he was frozen by how overwhelming and scary the command was. Whatever else happened between the command and what we read today, today he truly understands.
So Peter preaches a sermon. And like most sermons you’ll ever hear, it isn’t really about anything you haven’t heard before. Peter basically says as much in verse 36: “You know the message,” he says, “sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ.” And then, beginning with his baptism – probably why this is a lectionary reading for today – Peter then continues to tell the story of Jesus. He tells the story of what Jesus did, but more than that, he tells the story of who he is. He tells the story that proclaims Jesus as “Lord of all”; which is why I was drawn to this passage today.
Jesus commands us, as he did Peter, to go and make disciples. But we don’t always take the time to unpack what that might actually mean. And so today, as we remember that disciples are called to follow, we first consider who it is we follow. We follow Jesus, of course, who as Peter reminds us today, is Lord of all. As Peter reminds us today, by the work of Jesus – his death and resurrection – we have received the forgiveness of our sins. We follow Jesus because he alone deserves to be followed. The discipleship lesson for today is that we follow Jesus, who we confess to be Lord of all.
The “all” in that title has for us a double-meaning. For Peter, it reflected the new revelation that Jesus wasn’t just he Lord of the Hebrew people. But for us it means “everything”. To call Jesus our Lord, as we each do at our baptisms, is to confess that we are no longer in charge. Jesus is Lord and he is Lord on his terms not ours. Leo Tolstoy once said that each of us have a choice between two Gods; and most of us choose “the God who is here to serve me.” Unfortunately, that is not what it means to call Jesus “Lord”. The possessions, pleasures, and power that are so-greatly valued by our society have absolutely no worth to Jesus. His priorities are wholly-other than the culture we live in and he will not compromise.
The sub-point of this discipleship message is that discipleship is a process and not a destination. Jesus calls us to follow; by definition, a journey. I for one am greatly-relieved by this: that by the Spirit’s help, discipleship is about – day by day – closing the gap between who I am and who Jesus is. Discipleship means following Jesus as Lord without compromise; but we’ll get there when we get there.
Let me close by putting it a different way: by way of a story that I read recently. It’s about a man named Bill Rittinghouse; I don’t know Bill, but considering the story was told to me using first and last names, I have to believe the story to be true. So Bill was driving a lonely road through Kansas when a heavily-loaded station wagon passed him. As it passed he noticed that one of the suitcases that were strapped to the roof was starting to work itself loose. Sure enough: it soon fell off the back, bounced to the highway, and off of the road. Bill tried to signal the driver of the station wagon, but to no avail. So Bill, a follower of Jesus, did the most good-Samaritan thing he could think of: he went back for the suitcase in the hope of somehow getting it back to its true owner.
So he went back, retrieved the bag, and looked through it for some clues to finding the owner. Although there was nothing handy like an address and phone number, there were clothes, some generic personal-items, and a small box with a rubber band around it. He opened the box and found a cotton-cushioned $20 gold piece. On one side it said, “Twenty years loyal and faithful service.” On the other side it read, “Presented to Otis Sampson by the Northwestern States Portland Cement Company.” Finally a clue! How hard could it be to find Otis Sampson, formerly of the Northwestern States Portland Cement Company?
Well as it turned out, it wasn’t so easy. After contacting seventy-five different cities in Pacific Northwest, bill finally found Otis’ former employer. And after convincing them to give him Otis’ forwarding number, Bill was finally able to make contact.
Otis, of course, was surprised and thrilled to hear that his suitcase was found and told Bill, “You can keep everything else in the suitcase, but please send me the $20 gold piece. It is,” he said, “my most precious possession.”
As Mr. Rittinghouse boxed up the coin to send it back to Mr. Sampson, he decided to include a personal note; how often does God bring people in our lives in such unusual ways? He wrote of an experience during World War II, when he escaped from a Romanian prison and of his calling out to God for help. He wrote of how his family had become Christians and exactly what it meant to know Jesus. “In fact,” he wrote, “I can truthfully say that my relationship with Jesus is my most prized possession.” And with that, he mailed it off.
Bill never expected to hear from Otis again, but around Christmas, more than a year later, Bill received a small box in the mail. In that box was that same small $20 gold coin… and another note. Otis wrote, “Last Sunday my wife and I were baptized in a little church here in Colorado. We are two old people. I am seventy-four years old and she’s seventy-two. We want you to have the gold piece to carry with you at all times. You were the first one to tell us of Jesus Christ. Now he is our most precious possession.”
Discipleship begins with a question: the same question we’re asked at our baptism; who is your Lord; what is your most prized possession? As we learn to be his disciples, may “Jesus” always be the answer to that question.
Monday, January 6, 2020
Wise Guys
Isaiah 60:1-6/Matthew 2:1-12
2nd Sunday of Christmas/Epiphany
I love words. I use them practically every day. I’m fascinated by our language and how complicated it can be sometimes. Sometimes we use a word because it’s specifically more-precise than another. For example, if you have less of something that can be counted, you use the word “fewer” and not “less”; I am less intelligent than I used to be because I have fewer brain cells. But then there are other times, that a word can be specifically imprecise and you don’t know what it means unless you hear it in context.
Take for example, the word “epiphany.” It can mean a specific day: January 6; twelve days after Christmas. Or we can use it to describe the event that we celebrate on Epiphany-the-day; the visit of the Magi. Or we can use the word epiphany to describe the dawning revelation of some thought. Like when you say something like, “Something just dawned on me: the word ‘epiphany’ can mean a lot of different things.”
Our reading from Isaiah today begins, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” And we know about that dawning light, right? We know it was that child, born to be King of the Jews and everything else. We even know the deeper, dawning truth that this child will save us from our sins. But do we remember the moment that notion dawned on us to believe it? For many of us, that light came slowly.
A better question perhaps: do we remember that this is a light we are called, here at this Table, to carry with us. This is a light we are called to shine, both here in this place, and throughout our lives. By the power of our Savior’s Spirit, we are sent to be that dawning, epiphany light of God’s Salvation.
The Epiphany we commemorate tomorrow happened in Bethlehem, but my personal epiphanies usually happen in the shower. That whole thing fascinates me. People have clever thoughts in the shower so often that there’s a name for it: Shower Thoughts. A quick Google search will bring you a million of them.
Like these:
You get the idea: some thoughts are deeper than others.
Now, a shower may seem a strange place to have an epiphany, but so is the one we hear about from Matthew. Can you imagine? For Herod, the so-called king of the Jews, this is quite an epiphany; but his epiphany just come to him in the shower; no his come from the East.
Talk about something dawning on you where and when you least expect it! Out of the blue there are a bunch of foreigners who show up at your door because they've heard someone's having a birthday. “Oh really, you've heard a child has been born here? Well, I’m going to need to check with the wife on that.”
Now, we always remember the story of the Wise Men around Christmastime and, in fact, these guys have even become rather symbolic of the season: they make it into our manger scenes even though that’s not how the story is told. They are so iconic that I think, that we forget just how scandalous it was for them to show up. These guys were not from Jerusalem. In fact, although we aren't told exactly where they were from, we know that they were not from anywhere nearby. They were not Hebrews and they were not even followers of the same religious practices. They don't know about the promised Messiah or the prophecies like the one we read from Isaiah. These were, best guess, astrologers; they were shamen; they were New Agers before it was new and these are the guys who show up looking to pay their respects to Jesus. It would be like one of our Zen Cowboy neighbors showing up to wish you a merry Christmas, but you were the one who didn't realize that it was December 25th. The Israelites don't yet know that their king has been born, but a bunch of hippies do! Scandalous.
Of course this is not the first nor the last time God will pull this kind of prank on us. It seems like God is always asking the wrong people to proclaim Good News while right people like us are left looking silly, bewildered, and out of touch with God's plan. To site a few examples: who is Jesus born to? Famous and important people? Nope. Who does God ask to proclaim the Messiah's birth? Shepherds and then hippies. Who does God send to proclaim Christ's rising from the tomb? Women… well, it was scandalous at the time. Who does God call to be Christ's Body in the world and proclaim the very message of salvation? Oh wait, that’s us.
Why do you suppose God keeps doing this? Why does God keep asking the least obvious, the least respectable, and the least influential to speak the most important message ever given? Well, I'm not God so I can't say for sure, but I have a few ideas. Maybe, God calls the least likely people because these are the kinds of people God cares the most about. Maybe these are the people who need to hear this news the most.
Maybe it’s more about us; maybe God wants us to learn something here. Perhaps God was shown forth into this world as a poor and helpless baby to challenge our notions of importance and power, wealth and superiority; how they are not actually things that God values.
Or maybe there's some other, simpler lesson here. Maybe God calls and uses the unusual and unexpected of the world... because those are the sorts of people who go when they're called. Maybe God literally lined up the stars just so that a bunch of astrologers would notice and go to Jerusalem to sing Happy Birthday and bring gifts. Maybe God called them to go because those who should have in the first place didn't.
Once again, as we gather around this Table, we remember our calling. Unlike the wise men, we not only know that the child has been born, we know what he came to do. As we gather around this Table, we are reminded that we have a story to tell. Let us again be shaped by him, more and more into His Body as we go into this world.
Your light has come; the glory of the Lord has risen upon you, and you are now sent to let that light shine out into the world. So let us shine like the outcasts we once were. Let us shine Christ's love in all we do and say. Let us be the ones through whom God shows forth, Christ's body made flesh into this darkened world.
2nd Sunday of Christmas/Epiphany
I love words. I use them practically every day. I’m fascinated by our language and how complicated it can be sometimes. Sometimes we use a word because it’s specifically more-precise than another. For example, if you have less of something that can be counted, you use the word “fewer” and not “less”; I am less intelligent than I used to be because I have fewer brain cells. But then there are other times, that a word can be specifically imprecise and you don’t know what it means unless you hear it in context.
Take for example, the word “epiphany.” It can mean a specific day: January 6; twelve days after Christmas. Or we can use it to describe the event that we celebrate on Epiphany-the-day; the visit of the Magi. Or we can use the word epiphany to describe the dawning revelation of some thought. Like when you say something like, “Something just dawned on me: the word ‘epiphany’ can mean a lot of different things.”
Our reading from Isaiah today begins, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” And we know about that dawning light, right? We know it was that child, born to be King of the Jews and everything else. We even know the deeper, dawning truth that this child will save us from our sins. But do we remember the moment that notion dawned on us to believe it? For many of us, that light came slowly.
A better question perhaps: do we remember that this is a light we are called, here at this Table, to carry with us. This is a light we are called to shine, both here in this place, and throughout our lives. By the power of our Savior’s Spirit, we are sent to be that dawning, epiphany light of God’s Salvation.
The Epiphany we commemorate tomorrow happened in Bethlehem, but my personal epiphanies usually happen in the shower. That whole thing fascinates me. People have clever thoughts in the shower so often that there’s a name for it: Shower Thoughts. A quick Google search will bring you a million of them.
Like these:
- History classes are only going to longer and harder as time goes on.
- In order to fall asleep, you need to pretend to be asleep.
- When we go jogging, we put on special clothes so people don’t think we’re running from something.
- The Swiss must have been very confident in their chances of winning the war because their army knives include a corkscrew.
- Your stomach always thinks potatoes are mashed.
- If humans could fly, they’d consider it exercise and never do it.
You get the idea: some thoughts are deeper than others.
Now, a shower may seem a strange place to have an epiphany, but so is the one we hear about from Matthew. Can you imagine? For Herod, the so-called king of the Jews, this is quite an epiphany; but his epiphany just come to him in the shower; no his come from the East.
Talk about something dawning on you where and when you least expect it! Out of the blue there are a bunch of foreigners who show up at your door because they've heard someone's having a birthday. “Oh really, you've heard a child has been born here? Well, I’m going to need to check with the wife on that.”
Now, we always remember the story of the Wise Men around Christmastime and, in fact, these guys have even become rather symbolic of the season: they make it into our manger scenes even though that’s not how the story is told. They are so iconic that I think, that we forget just how scandalous it was for them to show up. These guys were not from Jerusalem. In fact, although we aren't told exactly where they were from, we know that they were not from anywhere nearby. They were not Hebrews and they were not even followers of the same religious practices. They don't know about the promised Messiah or the prophecies like the one we read from Isaiah. These were, best guess, astrologers; they were shamen; they were New Agers before it was new and these are the guys who show up looking to pay their respects to Jesus. It would be like one of our Zen Cowboy neighbors showing up to wish you a merry Christmas, but you were the one who didn't realize that it was December 25th. The Israelites don't yet know that their king has been born, but a bunch of hippies do! Scandalous.
Of course this is not the first nor the last time God will pull this kind of prank on us. It seems like God is always asking the wrong people to proclaim Good News while right people like us are left looking silly, bewildered, and out of touch with God's plan. To site a few examples: who is Jesus born to? Famous and important people? Nope. Who does God ask to proclaim the Messiah's birth? Shepherds and then hippies. Who does God send to proclaim Christ's rising from the tomb? Women… well, it was scandalous at the time. Who does God call to be Christ's Body in the world and proclaim the very message of salvation? Oh wait, that’s us.
Why do you suppose God keeps doing this? Why does God keep asking the least obvious, the least respectable, and the least influential to speak the most important message ever given? Well, I'm not God so I can't say for sure, but I have a few ideas. Maybe, God calls the least likely people because these are the kinds of people God cares the most about. Maybe these are the people who need to hear this news the most.
Maybe it’s more about us; maybe God wants us to learn something here. Perhaps God was shown forth into this world as a poor and helpless baby to challenge our notions of importance and power, wealth and superiority; how they are not actually things that God values.
Or maybe there's some other, simpler lesson here. Maybe God calls and uses the unusual and unexpected of the world... because those are the sorts of people who go when they're called. Maybe God literally lined up the stars just so that a bunch of astrologers would notice and go to Jerusalem to sing Happy Birthday and bring gifts. Maybe God called them to go because those who should have in the first place didn't.
Once again, as we gather around this Table, we remember our calling. Unlike the wise men, we not only know that the child has been born, we know what he came to do. As we gather around this Table, we are reminded that we have a story to tell. Let us again be shaped by him, more and more into His Body as we go into this world.
Your light has come; the glory of the Lord has risen upon you, and you are now sent to let that light shine out into the world. So let us shine like the outcasts we once were. Let us shine Christ's love in all we do and say. Let us be the ones through whom God shows forth, Christ's body made flesh into this darkened world.
Monday, June 24, 2019
Earth, Wind, & Fire
1 Kings 19:1-15
2nd Sunday of Pentecost
If you are going to need to come talk to me anytime soon, don’t come to my office. Do not come to my office. It’s still a little dangerous in there. My office looks like a vacation Bible school exploded in it; and it wasn’t that tidy before.
No, if you want to come spend time with me, maybe we can go get a cup of coffee with me. Or better yet: come sit with me on my porch. My porch is one of my favorite places. It’s well-shaded, it’s got comfy chairs, and a beautiful view of the flowers my wife has cultivated in our front yard. And in addition to all of that: it’s quiet. Quiet is good for a healthy conversation; it helps us to listen.
I’ve spent a lot of time with God out there. There have been times that I have not been so quiet. I have raged, I have shouted, and I have wept. God is a good listener. But I have also heard from God on that porch. Not an audible voice, of course, but in the silence. Turns out that, even in the terrifying noise of the world, God still seeks to meet us in the Stillness.
In today's reading from First Kings, we meet a man who has nothing left. Elijah is worn out! He can go no further. He is exhausted, persecuted and depressed. This is a man at the end of his rope!
He had fought the good fight—and that fight is one of my favorite stories in the Old Testament. Elijah had just finished battling against the false prophets in the court of Ahab the King. He had spoken against the idolatry brought by Queen Jezebel. He did his job and lived up to his calling… and as a result, he was condemned to die for all that hard work.
You might remember the amazing thing that happened right before all this: Elijah had a sacrificing competition with 450 of the prophets for the idol Baal. They all prepared sacrifices, they all prayed to their gods to send fire to consume the sacrifices, but only the Lord showed up. Only God provided a consuming fire for Elijah’s offering (which burnt up even the stones of the altar). For a moment, the people of God were reminded of who God was, but they soon became distracted and Queen Jezebel was back to issuing threats against Elijah.
And so Elijah fled into the wilderness—alone, afraid, feeling sorry for himself—and lays down under a miserable old broom tree (a bush barely able to give shade to bird, much less a man) and begins to tell God that he’s ready to die.
Elijah’s life had hit rock bottom. In a way, that’s kind of comforting. It tells me that anyone’s life can seem, at times, not worth living. Even the great prophet Elijah got so overwhelmed and depressed that he no longer saw the point of life. Of course, Elijah did something in his sad state that we sometimes forget to do at first: he talked to God about it. He sat down under that pathetic tree and told God to take his life.
I have prayed that prayer. Maybe you have too. When we’re that low, we don’t really see things quite clearly. Somehow we really think that God will answer that prayer; we really think that God will see our valid argument and have us fall asleep so we can die. To my knowledge, God never has granted that request. But God did answer Elijah’s prayer.
We were talking at choir on Wednesday about what we’d be doing musically in that space before the sermon. We didn’t have an anthem and I hadn’t picked a hymn so Sonja suggested I sing something because I haven’t in a while. And by the way, since I haven’t played in front of anyone for a while, I also haven’t practiced playing guitar for a while. I don’t know if you’ve ever played a stringed instrument, particularly one with metal strings, at first it hurts. With practice, you build up handy callouses on the tips of your fingers and the pain gets less and less, but my fingers are a little ouchie right now.
Sometimes—probably not every time—but sometimes I think God’s “no” to our prayers are a little like that. It hurts. Sometimes it hurts a lot, but maybe we come away with it a little stronger; maybe we come away with it a little more prepared to do what God is calling us to do.
Elijah told God that he was ready to die and then he lay down to sleep… presumably for the last time. But instead of letting him sleep forever, an angel woke him up with a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. Elijah ate and drank and lay down again. And again the angel woke him and he ate and drank.
Notice that the angel who ministers to him does not do 'spiritual' stuff, he does not say to Elijah, "pray about it, you'll feel better." No the angel feeds him and makes him rest, telling him that if he does not eat, the journey will be too much for him. Sometimes we just need time away and someone to support us. We really need to pause to eat and drink, so that we can continue the journey we are on. Only then are we ready for prayer, only then can we be ready to be spiritually restored.
The story continues with Elijah continuing on into the wilderness until he comes to Mt. Horeb, to the Mountain of God, to the place where God revealed himself to Moses and to Israel in cloud and in fire: and there God speaks to him and tells him that he is about to pass by him. God is about to be revealed to Elijah in a new way.
Elijah goes out to the mouth of the cave where he has spent the night and looks for God in the strong wind that comes upon the mountain, and then in the earthquake that shakes it, and in the fire that follows, but God is not found in any of it.
They say that there is vastly more space between the molecules all around us than the molecules themselves. Something like: if you were to put a tennis ball in the middle of a football stadium, the tennis ball would be the molecule and the stadium would be the space between. I don’t know if that’s true; it certainly doesn’t seem true. But if it is true, I like to think that God works in the space between; in the stillness that is always there but that we can’t perceive.
There is a great, rock splitting wind; then there is an earthquake; then a fire; but finally there comes a still small voice. Some translations call it a sheer silence, your pew Bibles describe it as a gentle whisper. And in this gentle whisper—in this deep silence—God visits with Elijah.
Picture it: I imagine the wind, earthquake, and fire were a bit distracting; terrifying, in fact. Yet God is not in them; they merely proceed God’s actual presence. Sometimes it seems like God is hard to find—like God isn’t paying attention to our fervent prayers—but we’ve been looking in the wrong places. In the midst of all the busyness and commotion in our lives, all the hurry and activities, all the trying to cope, all the work we do to make a good life, maybe those are the only things we can see. Maybe all that’s loud in our lives gets in the way of seeing what we need to see, and hearing what we need to hear.
Perhaps sometimes we need to just stop and wait on the stillness: to listen to the silence, to look for God in the calm, instead of in the turmoil. That is what Elijah was led to do. Elijah, in his exhaustion, in his fear, just needed some time off. He got away for a while, even from what God had called him to do. So in his fear and his pain, his loneliness and hunger, he called out sought God's presence. And God was present with him… in the silence. And in that, Elijah was once again prepared to go out and do those things that God called him to do. In that whisper, he was commissioned and assured by God that he was not alone—that many faithful persons were yet with him.
Sometimes that is all we need. We need to time away, to get in touch with God, to listen for the silence, and see past the chaos that can be so distracting. We need to pause and to listen so that we might have the strength and the guidance we need to do what we are called to do.
Think of the number of times that Jesus took time apart; how he would send the disciples on ahead of him while he paused to pray on a mountainside; how he would prepare himself for his next round of activity by first going away by himself to pray, by first going away to listen to the silence.
And so should we. Let us not become so caught up in the winds, earthquakes, and fires of our lives that we cannot hear the silent peace that comes from God. Let us not wait until our hearts are filled with fear and despair before we turn to God’s calming presence. Let us seek and take advantage of those times of solitude and quiet; and may the gentle whisper of our ever-present God remind us that we are not alone and strengthen us for our life’s long journey.
2nd Sunday of Pentecost
If you are going to need to come talk to me anytime soon, don’t come to my office. Do not come to my office. It’s still a little dangerous in there. My office looks like a vacation Bible school exploded in it; and it wasn’t that tidy before.
No, if you want to come spend time with me, maybe we can go get a cup of coffee with me. Or better yet: come sit with me on my porch. My porch is one of my favorite places. It’s well-shaded, it’s got comfy chairs, and a beautiful view of the flowers my wife has cultivated in our front yard. And in addition to all of that: it’s quiet. Quiet is good for a healthy conversation; it helps us to listen.
I’ve spent a lot of time with God out there. There have been times that I have not been so quiet. I have raged, I have shouted, and I have wept. God is a good listener. But I have also heard from God on that porch. Not an audible voice, of course, but in the silence. Turns out that, even in the terrifying noise of the world, God still seeks to meet us in the Stillness.
In today's reading from First Kings, we meet a man who has nothing left. Elijah is worn out! He can go no further. He is exhausted, persecuted and depressed. This is a man at the end of his rope!
He had fought the good fight—and that fight is one of my favorite stories in the Old Testament. Elijah had just finished battling against the false prophets in the court of Ahab the King. He had spoken against the idolatry brought by Queen Jezebel. He did his job and lived up to his calling… and as a result, he was condemned to die for all that hard work.
You might remember the amazing thing that happened right before all this: Elijah had a sacrificing competition with 450 of the prophets for the idol Baal. They all prepared sacrifices, they all prayed to their gods to send fire to consume the sacrifices, but only the Lord showed up. Only God provided a consuming fire for Elijah’s offering (which burnt up even the stones of the altar). For a moment, the people of God were reminded of who God was, but they soon became distracted and Queen Jezebel was back to issuing threats against Elijah.
And so Elijah fled into the wilderness—alone, afraid, feeling sorry for himself—and lays down under a miserable old broom tree (a bush barely able to give shade to bird, much less a man) and begins to tell God that he’s ready to die.
Elijah’s life had hit rock bottom. In a way, that’s kind of comforting. It tells me that anyone’s life can seem, at times, not worth living. Even the great prophet Elijah got so overwhelmed and depressed that he no longer saw the point of life. Of course, Elijah did something in his sad state that we sometimes forget to do at first: he talked to God about it. He sat down under that pathetic tree and told God to take his life.
I have prayed that prayer. Maybe you have too. When we’re that low, we don’t really see things quite clearly. Somehow we really think that God will answer that prayer; we really think that God will see our valid argument and have us fall asleep so we can die. To my knowledge, God never has granted that request. But God did answer Elijah’s prayer.
We were talking at choir on Wednesday about what we’d be doing musically in that space before the sermon. We didn’t have an anthem and I hadn’t picked a hymn so Sonja suggested I sing something because I haven’t in a while. And by the way, since I haven’t played in front of anyone for a while, I also haven’t practiced playing guitar for a while. I don’t know if you’ve ever played a stringed instrument, particularly one with metal strings, at first it hurts. With practice, you build up handy callouses on the tips of your fingers and the pain gets less and less, but my fingers are a little ouchie right now.
Sometimes—probably not every time—but sometimes I think God’s “no” to our prayers are a little like that. It hurts. Sometimes it hurts a lot, but maybe we come away with it a little stronger; maybe we come away with it a little more prepared to do what God is calling us to do.
Elijah told God that he was ready to die and then he lay down to sleep… presumably for the last time. But instead of letting him sleep forever, an angel woke him up with a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. Elijah ate and drank and lay down again. And again the angel woke him and he ate and drank.
Notice that the angel who ministers to him does not do 'spiritual' stuff, he does not say to Elijah, "pray about it, you'll feel better." No the angel feeds him and makes him rest, telling him that if he does not eat, the journey will be too much for him. Sometimes we just need time away and someone to support us. We really need to pause to eat and drink, so that we can continue the journey we are on. Only then are we ready for prayer, only then can we be ready to be spiritually restored.
The story continues with Elijah continuing on into the wilderness until he comes to Mt. Horeb, to the Mountain of God, to the place where God revealed himself to Moses and to Israel in cloud and in fire: and there God speaks to him and tells him that he is about to pass by him. God is about to be revealed to Elijah in a new way.
Elijah goes out to the mouth of the cave where he has spent the night and looks for God in the strong wind that comes upon the mountain, and then in the earthquake that shakes it, and in the fire that follows, but God is not found in any of it.
They say that there is vastly more space between the molecules all around us than the molecules themselves. Something like: if you were to put a tennis ball in the middle of a football stadium, the tennis ball would be the molecule and the stadium would be the space between. I don’t know if that’s true; it certainly doesn’t seem true. But if it is true, I like to think that God works in the space between; in the stillness that is always there but that we can’t perceive.
There is a great, rock splitting wind; then there is an earthquake; then a fire; but finally there comes a still small voice. Some translations call it a sheer silence, your pew Bibles describe it as a gentle whisper. And in this gentle whisper—in this deep silence—God visits with Elijah.
Picture it: I imagine the wind, earthquake, and fire were a bit distracting; terrifying, in fact. Yet God is not in them; they merely proceed God’s actual presence. Sometimes it seems like God is hard to find—like God isn’t paying attention to our fervent prayers—but we’ve been looking in the wrong places. In the midst of all the busyness and commotion in our lives, all the hurry and activities, all the trying to cope, all the work we do to make a good life, maybe those are the only things we can see. Maybe all that’s loud in our lives gets in the way of seeing what we need to see, and hearing what we need to hear.
Perhaps sometimes we need to just stop and wait on the stillness: to listen to the silence, to look for God in the calm, instead of in the turmoil. That is what Elijah was led to do. Elijah, in his exhaustion, in his fear, just needed some time off. He got away for a while, even from what God had called him to do. So in his fear and his pain, his loneliness and hunger, he called out sought God's presence. And God was present with him… in the silence. And in that, Elijah was once again prepared to go out and do those things that God called him to do. In that whisper, he was commissioned and assured by God that he was not alone—that many faithful persons were yet with him.
Sometimes that is all we need. We need to time away, to get in touch with God, to listen for the silence, and see past the chaos that can be so distracting. We need to pause and to listen so that we might have the strength and the guidance we need to do what we are called to do.
Think of the number of times that Jesus took time apart; how he would send the disciples on ahead of him while he paused to pray on a mountainside; how he would prepare himself for his next round of activity by first going away by himself to pray, by first going away to listen to the silence.
And so should we. Let us not become so caught up in the winds, earthquakes, and fires of our lives that we cannot hear the silent peace that comes from God. Let us not wait until our hearts are filled with fear and despair before we turn to God’s calming presence. Let us seek and take advantage of those times of solitude and quiet; and may the gentle whisper of our ever-present God remind us that we are not alone and strengthen us for our life’s long journey.
Thursday, June 20, 2019
Pick Up Her Call
Proverbs 8: 1-4, 22-31
Trinity Sunday
[This is an intentionally briefer message than usual. We just finished our annual VBS, and there were several of us that considered that the sharing of our experiences of the week, or “God Sightings,” might make a fine sermon in itself (including me). Not to say that Proverbs 8 doesn’t say something vital for us to hear, it’s just I think it can be said briefly.]
Last Sunday was Pentecost Sunday, in case you missed it. The message was simple: the Spirit of God is not always a Spirit of Peace. Sometimes, the Spirit of God runs through and around us like a freight train, lights us up like candles, and sends us singing praises into this world. I think that most of us get that. The shaping that God’s Spirit does in us is sometimes, is through fire. And eventually, perhaps, we may even learn to say, “Thank you for what you’ve done in me.”
And like I said, most—if not all—of us have seen that side of the Spirit. I didn’t expect that part of last week’s message to spark much debate. But there was one part of last week’s message that I thought might ruffle at least a couple of feathers. Maybe I said it too fast and nobody heard. Maybe after eleven years as your pastor I can just say whatever I want. It was toward the end: I referred to the Spirit of God as a “her.”
You know, there was a day—not so long ago—that a crack like that would have at least gotten a gasp. Of course I wasn’t exactly trying to push anyone’s buttons; our lesson this morning reminds us that it may not be so wrong to imagine the Spirit of God in feminine terms. My dad is here this morning, by the way. Happy Father’s Day, dad. Just so you know, the moms didn’t really get a Mother’s Day themed sermon so you’re not getting one either. In fact, not only are we not going to talk about God’s manly side; we’ll be referring to at least the Spirit of God as a “her.”
Our Scripture lesson today skips around to make two major points. The bulk of our reading is oddly the easier to cover: it’s not a simple concept to understand, but it’s easy to cover. It’s that second part of our lesson that starts at verse twenty-two. It’s Wisdom herself, describing how she’s been around literally forever. It’s that confounding Trinity. It’s the notion that God is vastly more complicated than we know. It’s that baffling thought that God is somehow in relationship with God’s self. If all of that is clear as mud, you’re in good company. The good news is, God does not require our perfect understanding; only that we trust in God’s love. Do you trust? Good. That, oddly enough, is Wisdom. But for today, what she wants us to know is that she has always been and God delights in her dwelling in us.
And it’s that “in us” part that I think is the more important part for us to hear. Wisdom, in the case of how she’s described in Proverbs, isn’t just a thing that’s thought or spoken; Wisdom is a person. She stands on the heights, beside the way, and at the crossroads; she’s there, beside the gates in front of the town, and at the entrance of the portals. You can hear her calling everywhere you go. You just need to listen.
It’s funny, the notion of Wisdom being personified in a woman is a notion that really resounds with me. I’ve been pretty open about how, about a year ago, I was faced with an emotional health crisis. When I came to that understanding, I was immediately faced with a second crisis: that I didn’t really know that I had any close friends to walk with me in it. I have a church family that cares about me, but I’m your pastor, you’re my flock. It’s a different relationship. So I went in search of friends and God led me to a wonderful team of people who have helped me through a difficult time. I’m feeling much better now.
But the point I was getting to is this: most of those friends are women. It’s a pretty good balance, but it definitely leans feminine. In fact, I have a few select friends who, whatever they tell me to do, I will do; and they are all women. So when Proverbs personifies Wisdom as a woman, I feel that.
But perhaps more to the point is that Wisdom, the Spirit of God, is embodied all around us everywhere we go. If we can have ears to hear her calling out, we will hear her everywhere we go.
Yeah, I was out shopping yesterday, and guess who I ran into? Wisdom. Yeah, there she was. She called me over and we began talking, Wisdom and I. Then, I went down to the courthouse, and there she was again, making a plea for justice in some dingy courtroom where somebody had been unjustly accused. After that, I dropped by the school, and she had gotten there before me, calling for students and teachers alike always to seek truth. Then I went for a walk in the woods, moving along the trail in quiet meditation. Wisdom snuck up on me and said, "Now that we are alone, I have something I want to share with you, a present I want you to enjoy. You know, I have been around a long time, really before the beginning of time. I have been whirling and dancing with God all along. I am God's delight, laughing and playing. I want you to know the lightness of spirit and gladness that come when you welcome me. Will you set aside those thoughts, words, and deeds that make life heavy and sad for you and others? Will you come and laugh and play with me? Will you come and dance with me? Will you?"
Wisdom calls to us, and as she calls let us answer. May she move in us, that others will hear her call as well. May the Wisdom of God that calls to all, be heard by us and be alive in us.
Trinity Sunday
[This is an intentionally briefer message than usual. We just finished our annual VBS, and there were several of us that considered that the sharing of our experiences of the week, or “God Sightings,” might make a fine sermon in itself (including me). Not to say that Proverbs 8 doesn’t say something vital for us to hear, it’s just I think it can be said briefly.]
Last Sunday was Pentecost Sunday, in case you missed it. The message was simple: the Spirit of God is not always a Spirit of Peace. Sometimes, the Spirit of God runs through and around us like a freight train, lights us up like candles, and sends us singing praises into this world. I think that most of us get that. The shaping that God’s Spirit does in us is sometimes, is through fire. And eventually, perhaps, we may even learn to say, “Thank you for what you’ve done in me.”
And like I said, most—if not all—of us have seen that side of the Spirit. I didn’t expect that part of last week’s message to spark much debate. But there was one part of last week’s message that I thought might ruffle at least a couple of feathers. Maybe I said it too fast and nobody heard. Maybe after eleven years as your pastor I can just say whatever I want. It was toward the end: I referred to the Spirit of God as a “her.”
You know, there was a day—not so long ago—that a crack like that would have at least gotten a gasp. Of course I wasn’t exactly trying to push anyone’s buttons; our lesson this morning reminds us that it may not be so wrong to imagine the Spirit of God in feminine terms. My dad is here this morning, by the way. Happy Father’s Day, dad. Just so you know, the moms didn’t really get a Mother’s Day themed sermon so you’re not getting one either. In fact, not only are we not going to talk about God’s manly side; we’ll be referring to at least the Spirit of God as a “her.”
Our Scripture lesson today skips around to make two major points. The bulk of our reading is oddly the easier to cover: it’s not a simple concept to understand, but it’s easy to cover. It’s that second part of our lesson that starts at verse twenty-two. It’s Wisdom herself, describing how she’s been around literally forever. It’s that confounding Trinity. It’s the notion that God is vastly more complicated than we know. It’s that baffling thought that God is somehow in relationship with God’s self. If all of that is clear as mud, you’re in good company. The good news is, God does not require our perfect understanding; only that we trust in God’s love. Do you trust? Good. That, oddly enough, is Wisdom. But for today, what she wants us to know is that she has always been and God delights in her dwelling in us.
And it’s that “in us” part that I think is the more important part for us to hear. Wisdom, in the case of how she’s described in Proverbs, isn’t just a thing that’s thought or spoken; Wisdom is a person. She stands on the heights, beside the way, and at the crossroads; she’s there, beside the gates in front of the town, and at the entrance of the portals. You can hear her calling everywhere you go. You just need to listen.
It’s funny, the notion of Wisdom being personified in a woman is a notion that really resounds with me. I’ve been pretty open about how, about a year ago, I was faced with an emotional health crisis. When I came to that understanding, I was immediately faced with a second crisis: that I didn’t really know that I had any close friends to walk with me in it. I have a church family that cares about me, but I’m your pastor, you’re my flock. It’s a different relationship. So I went in search of friends and God led me to a wonderful team of people who have helped me through a difficult time. I’m feeling much better now.
But the point I was getting to is this: most of those friends are women. It’s a pretty good balance, but it definitely leans feminine. In fact, I have a few select friends who, whatever they tell me to do, I will do; and they are all women. So when Proverbs personifies Wisdom as a woman, I feel that.
But perhaps more to the point is that Wisdom, the Spirit of God, is embodied all around us everywhere we go. If we can have ears to hear her calling out, we will hear her everywhere we go.
Yeah, I was out shopping yesterday, and guess who I ran into? Wisdom. Yeah, there she was. She called me over and we began talking, Wisdom and I. Then, I went down to the courthouse, and there she was again, making a plea for justice in some dingy courtroom where somebody had been unjustly accused. After that, I dropped by the school, and she had gotten there before me, calling for students and teachers alike always to seek truth. Then I went for a walk in the woods, moving along the trail in quiet meditation. Wisdom snuck up on me and said, "Now that we are alone, I have something I want to share with you, a present I want you to enjoy. You know, I have been around a long time, really before the beginning of time. I have been whirling and dancing with God all along. I am God's delight, laughing and playing. I want you to know the lightness of spirit and gladness that come when you welcome me. Will you set aside those thoughts, words, and deeds that make life heavy and sad for you and others? Will you come and laugh and play with me? Will you come and dance with me? Will you?"
Wisdom calls to us, and as she calls let us answer. May she move in us, that others will hear her call as well. May the Wisdom of God that calls to all, be heard by us and be alive in us.
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