2 Peter 1:12-18 & Matthew 17:1-9
Transfiguration of the Lord
We don’t usually notice it, but we are constantly being transformed into someone else. We start life with a certain genetic code and then start changing immediately. From a word our parents said to us as children, to the friendships we make, to what we eat and drink, to how we slept the night before; everything has subtly shaped us into the people we are this morning.
And yet, there are some things shape us more than others. There are those moments we can name; moments in our lives that we look back on, and know that we are no longer who we once were. We each have those moments in our lives (some good, some bad) when we see how we have been changed forever. Perhaps those around us don’t see it as well as we do–things others can’t perceive them just by looking at us—but we know that inside, we are not the same.
I’ve shared the story of my daughter’s birth before (if you haven’t heard the story, ask me about it, it’s a good one). Her birth was an event like that for me. I know that I am not the same because of it. I have a very different perspective on God's plan than I did before. If I seem sometimes unusually confident that God loves us and cares for us forever, it might have something to do with that event.
But my point is this: suppose you were on that mountain with Jesus—suppose you saw his radiance and the appearance of Moses and Elijah—do you think that be one of those moments for you? Do you suppose there is any way that you could walk back down that mountain the same person you were on the way up? Would that be a memory you carried with you everywhere you went?
I believe that God gives us those moments for that very reason. I believe that God gives us these life-changing moments, so that our lives will be transformed and that we will go out into the world sharing this transformation in what we do and say.
So, to answer my own question, “Would this experience of witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus change you as a person?” The answer is clearly, “yes.” We read this morning the words of that same Peter who was one of the three with Jesus that day. Many years later (now looking at the very-soon end of his ministry) we see that he is still looking back to that amazing day. Eugene Peterson, from the Bible translation The Message, says: “We weren't, you know, just wishing on a star when we laid the facts out before you regarding the powerful return of our Master, Jesus Christ. We were there for the preview!”
Of course this event changed Peter! Of course this was a day that he would look back on as a day that shaped who he would then become. The gospel writers tell us that the three disciples kept this event a secret until after the Resurrection, but you know they talked about it after that! Wouldn't you? I know you would! Some of us repeat the same stories to each other again and again. Part of it is probably age, but part of it is that they’re good stories. I know you’ve heard some of my better stories in sermons more than once, but none of them are anywhere near as interesting as the story of the transfiguration! Maybe that's why it comes up in the seasons of the church every year: to remind us, as Peter says, of things we already know; to remind us that this Jesus, that we worship and follow, was the very glory of God; that by his transfiguration we know that we are transformed as well.
I’m noticing that Hollywood has figured out that they can make money, hand over fist, with superhero movies. I don’t know your feelings on the genre, but clearly somebody is watching these films. For me, I’m not as interested in the explosions and the fighting as I am in the characters themselves. What would it be like to be one of these superheroes?
I’ve noticed that there are two major types of superheroes: those that put on a costume and those who take one off. Here’s what I mean: look at superheroes like Batman or Spiderman. Batman is really Bruce Wayne… he puts on a costume to become Batman. Spiderman is really Peter Parker… he puts on a costume to become Spiderman. But then you have heroes like Superman: Superman is Superman… he’s got to put on a costume to become Clark Kent. Wonder Woman is Wonder Woman… she’s got to put on her Diana Prince costume to blend in and hold down a job.
So what kind of superhero is Jesus? Is his glorious appearance on that mountain the superhero costume that Jesus put on for that moment, or was that Jesus taking off his alter ego and revealing who he truly was? Was the Jesus that the disciples walked with every other day the real Jesus or was that the costume that he wore to hide his true identity?
As I think about it, I’m not sure it’s either: I don't think the transfigured Jesus is Jesus in a superhero costume and neither do I think that the everyday Jesus was his mild-mannered alter-ego. In fact, what I think this shows us about Jesus, is a little mind blowing. Because I think that when Jesus was transfigured, we saw him for who he truly was. This was the glory of God, shining into the world in order to save us from ourselves. But unlike Superman, this was not his superhero costume! Jesus didn't do his work in spandex and a cape, his outfit... actually blended into a crowd pretty well. He dressed like everybody else. He lived where normal people lived. He did many of the things that normal people do. In many ways, he didn't look very much different than anyone else. And yet, it was in that outfit that he did the most for us.
I am struck this morning by the fact that although Jesus at the Transfiguration was Jesus at his most impressive (aside from the resurrection), this is not Jesus saving the world. This vision of Jesus was so impressive that Peter wants to move in—so impressive that Peter never forgets the vision, yet this is not the Jesus that does the most good. That Jesus—the Savior Jesus—frankly looked a lot like us.
Now why do you suppose that was? Why do you think Jesus' Superman costume... looks a lot like our costumes? Do you think that it might have something to do with the fact that Jesus calls people who look quite a bit like us, to carry on his work? Maybe this story of his transfiguration does more than just remind us that we have been changed too. Maybe it also reminds us that, as we get dressed in the morning, we're really putting on our superhero outfits before we go out and save the world.
Now, you may not be stronger than a locomotive or faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but you can do things that the people in this world need quite a bit more. You can bring that same healing and hope that Jesus brought to us. For we are no ordinary people: through Jesus our Savior we are transformed into the Body of Christ himself.
And so he now calls us to put on our superhero suits (which look surprisingly like our own clothes) and go out and be the transfigured people that we truly are.
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
You Belong
1 Corinthians 3:1-9
6th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sometimes, when I preach from one of the letters of Paul, I have the urge to qualify it first. As in our lesson today, I feel I need to remind everyone that Paul was writing to a specific group of people (that aren’t you), in a specific place (that isn’t here), about specific issues (that you may or may not be dealing with). In other words, today’s lesson isn’t necessarily about you. The letters of Paul can feel scolding sometimes, so remember: it may not be about you. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the reason he is writing this letter to the Corinthians is not something I think he would say to you.
The problem that the church in Corinth was dealing with was their divisiveness. From our text today, it seems that they had divided themselves up amongst various Christian teachers, Paul being one of them. That problem is not really a thing you are struggling with right now: not only are you not fighting over Christian theology, you seem to get along pretty well. In fact that may be one of this church’s best attributes: we genuinely like each other and this is an environment where we can have different opinions and ideas and still be welcomed; that’s not something all churches can claim.
But just because you are not fighting with each other doesn’t mean there isn’t a Word from God here for us. So no, you don’t get a complete pass this morning; neither do you need to start quarrelling in order to receive this Truth.
Today Paul also tells the church in Corinth something that every disciple of Christ in every church needs to remember. Paul’s answer to their arguments over who it was they followed, was to tell them that they were missing the point. Namely, that it’s not so much about whose teachings you follow or even about being right; it’s about remembering to whom you belong. And you belong to God: in Jesus, you have been bought and paid for; it is the Spirit of God who causes you to grow; and it is that same Spirit that calls you to continue God’s kingdom-work in this world. But before you go, remember that you belong to God.
I don’t believe that, when Paul was writing his letters, that he thought of it as “writing the Bible.” To Paul, I’m sure this was just a letter; he wasn’t thinking, “Hey, this stuff’s pretty good. Someone should save it as Scripture and pass it along from generation to generation.”
But at the same time, Paul’s writings are not “just letters;” this is no casual text you send off to your friend to ask her if she wants to go for lunch. No, as I said before, there were serious issues going on if Paul sent you a letter. Having been through a few, I can tell you that church conflict is no small matter. Paul cared about these people and he cared about the continuation of the gospel that he had personally proclaimed there. I’m sure he thought deeply about how to address these issues; I’m sure he chose his words very carefully; and I’m sure he sought the Spirit of God to guide him as he set out to write these letters. And of course it’s that same Spirit that makes books like First Corinthians so much more than just a letter. In these letters we also find a Word of God that is eternal.
Now I mentioned before that I don’t think we are a conflicted congregation like the Corinthian church was. But at the same time, there is a strange comfort in knowing that, when churches do become divided, it’s nothing new. Even in the earliest of churches, they were already arguing and dividing themselves up. Personally, I think the early church had more-interesting reasons for fighting than we do; I mean you don’t read about them arguing over things like worship music style, or new carpet color, or who gets to use the vacuum cleaner (I have actually seen all of those split churches). But there is a comfort in knowing that church leaders like Paul have always been battling the spirit of division that afflicts so many churches still today.
We still divide ourselves over so many things: we divide ourselves over theology and church government into separate denominations; even within our community, we divide ourselves into smaller congregations by worship styles, age, probably even politics, and so much more. If we’re not careful, any number of things can still divide us.
I appreciate how Paul seems to say that this kind of unity is not something we reach overnight: he says this kind of quarrelling is a sign of spiritual immaturity. And what is “immaturity,” if we’re doing it right, except a series of steps toward “maturity?” It is a journey; we will get caught up in other peoples’ factions; and hopefully we will repent and—by God’s help—we will continue to grow. But spiritual maturity is not an accident; it’s a thing we work towards on purpose. There’s a reason why, in the Pastoral Prayer I pray every week, that I include a prayer for the larger Church, not just our church: The Church, both in this room, throughout this community, and throughout the world. I pray this mostly as a reminder to myself. I want to remember that I am not divided even from the other followers of Christ, both here and throughout the world.
I was introduced to another pastor named Brian by a mutual friend a while back. Unfortunately, because of that same spirit of divisiveness, the church he was at decided they no “longer required his services.” So, instead of uprooting his family in search of another calling, he decided to stay here and start something new. It’s not exactly a church, but it’s not exactly not a church. He’s seeking to do the work of Jesus. So do you know what I do? I pray for him. He’s not competition, he’s a fellow-worker in the fields of Jesus. I see how many people are lost in our community and I pray he plants.
So we strive to be unified, not only with each other, but also the followers of Jesus everywhere. If nothing else, this passage reminds us not only how we struggle to for unity, but why. This is a good reminder, but there is also a Truth to remember here that is even more important than the unity: it reminds us of who we are. We belong to Christ. Above all else, we belong to God through our Savior.
In verses six and seven, Paul reminds us that people and ideas don’t cause us to grow, God does that. Paul says, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.” Now, we don’t know a lot about this Apollos—spoken well of in the Book of Acts and it perhaps a convert of Paul—but it seems that his message was just different enough from Paul’s that it caused some debate.
And so Paul’s answer to this argument is to remind them that they belong to God first. Because belonging to God is even more important than being right. Because belonging to God is why we live and why we have eternal life. Belonging to God defines who we are as servants. Belonging to God defines what we are called to do and be in this world as we seek to grow in our maturity and serve our Savior ever-more faithfully.
And so let us strive to remember that we do not belong to ideas or teachers or denominations or even churches; but we belong to God. And by the Spirit of our Risen Savior, may we continue to grow in him; even as he uses us to share his Truth throughout our lives.
6th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sometimes, when I preach from one of the letters of Paul, I have the urge to qualify it first. As in our lesson today, I feel I need to remind everyone that Paul was writing to a specific group of people (that aren’t you), in a specific place (that isn’t here), about specific issues (that you may or may not be dealing with). In other words, today’s lesson isn’t necessarily about you. The letters of Paul can feel scolding sometimes, so remember: it may not be about you. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the reason he is writing this letter to the Corinthians is not something I think he would say to you.
The problem that the church in Corinth was dealing with was their divisiveness. From our text today, it seems that they had divided themselves up amongst various Christian teachers, Paul being one of them. That problem is not really a thing you are struggling with right now: not only are you not fighting over Christian theology, you seem to get along pretty well. In fact that may be one of this church’s best attributes: we genuinely like each other and this is an environment where we can have different opinions and ideas and still be welcomed; that’s not something all churches can claim.
But just because you are not fighting with each other doesn’t mean there isn’t a Word from God here for us. So no, you don’t get a complete pass this morning; neither do you need to start quarrelling in order to receive this Truth.
Today Paul also tells the church in Corinth something that every disciple of Christ in every church needs to remember. Paul’s answer to their arguments over who it was they followed, was to tell them that they were missing the point. Namely, that it’s not so much about whose teachings you follow or even about being right; it’s about remembering to whom you belong. And you belong to God: in Jesus, you have been bought and paid for; it is the Spirit of God who causes you to grow; and it is that same Spirit that calls you to continue God’s kingdom-work in this world. But before you go, remember that you belong to God.
I don’t believe that, when Paul was writing his letters, that he thought of it as “writing the Bible.” To Paul, I’m sure this was just a letter; he wasn’t thinking, “Hey, this stuff’s pretty good. Someone should save it as Scripture and pass it along from generation to generation.”
But at the same time, Paul’s writings are not “just letters;” this is no casual text you send off to your friend to ask her if she wants to go for lunch. No, as I said before, there were serious issues going on if Paul sent you a letter. Having been through a few, I can tell you that church conflict is no small matter. Paul cared about these people and he cared about the continuation of the gospel that he had personally proclaimed there. I’m sure he thought deeply about how to address these issues; I’m sure he chose his words very carefully; and I’m sure he sought the Spirit of God to guide him as he set out to write these letters. And of course it’s that same Spirit that makes books like First Corinthians so much more than just a letter. In these letters we also find a Word of God that is eternal.
Now I mentioned before that I don’t think we are a conflicted congregation like the Corinthian church was. But at the same time, there is a strange comfort in knowing that, when churches do become divided, it’s nothing new. Even in the earliest of churches, they were already arguing and dividing themselves up. Personally, I think the early church had more-interesting reasons for fighting than we do; I mean you don’t read about them arguing over things like worship music style, or new carpet color, or who gets to use the vacuum cleaner (I have actually seen all of those split churches). But there is a comfort in knowing that church leaders like Paul have always been battling the spirit of division that afflicts so many churches still today.
We still divide ourselves over so many things: we divide ourselves over theology and church government into separate denominations; even within our community, we divide ourselves into smaller congregations by worship styles, age, probably even politics, and so much more. If we’re not careful, any number of things can still divide us.
I appreciate how Paul seems to say that this kind of unity is not something we reach overnight: he says this kind of quarrelling is a sign of spiritual immaturity. And what is “immaturity,” if we’re doing it right, except a series of steps toward “maturity?” It is a journey; we will get caught up in other peoples’ factions; and hopefully we will repent and—by God’s help—we will continue to grow. But spiritual maturity is not an accident; it’s a thing we work towards on purpose. There’s a reason why, in the Pastoral Prayer I pray every week, that I include a prayer for the larger Church, not just our church: The Church, both in this room, throughout this community, and throughout the world. I pray this mostly as a reminder to myself. I want to remember that I am not divided even from the other followers of Christ, both here and throughout the world.
I was introduced to another pastor named Brian by a mutual friend a while back. Unfortunately, because of that same spirit of divisiveness, the church he was at decided they no “longer required his services.” So, instead of uprooting his family in search of another calling, he decided to stay here and start something new. It’s not exactly a church, but it’s not exactly not a church. He’s seeking to do the work of Jesus. So do you know what I do? I pray for him. He’s not competition, he’s a fellow-worker in the fields of Jesus. I see how many people are lost in our community and I pray he plants.
So we strive to be unified, not only with each other, but also the followers of Jesus everywhere. If nothing else, this passage reminds us not only how we struggle to for unity, but why. This is a good reminder, but there is also a Truth to remember here that is even more important than the unity: it reminds us of who we are. We belong to Christ. Above all else, we belong to God through our Savior.
In verses six and seven, Paul reminds us that people and ideas don’t cause us to grow, God does that. Paul says, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.” Now, we don’t know a lot about this Apollos—spoken well of in the Book of Acts and it perhaps a convert of Paul—but it seems that his message was just different enough from Paul’s that it caused some debate.
And so Paul’s answer to this argument is to remind them that they belong to God first. Because belonging to God is even more important than being right. Because belonging to God is why we live and why we have eternal life. Belonging to God defines who we are as servants. Belonging to God defines what we are called to do and be in this world as we seek to grow in our maturity and serve our Savior ever-more faithfully.
And so let us strive to remember that we do not belong to ideas or teachers or denominations or even churches; but we belong to God. And by the Spirit of our Risen Savior, may we continue to grow in him; even as he uses us to share his Truth throughout our lives.
Lightly Salty
Matthew 5:13-20
5th Sunday in Ordinary Time
In my preparation for this morning, I read a commentary that took the first part of our Scripture lesson to mean that we are to strive to be the salt of the earth; that we are to strive to be, in our daily living, the light of the world; and that’s how I’ve always tended to read this passage. But when I read it in this commentary this week, it occurred to me: that’s not what the text actually says. I know it’s a small distinction, but Jesus doesn’t tell us to try to do anything here; he says you are the salt of the earth; he says you are the light of the world.
Now clearly, when Jesus calls us salt and light, it’s a parable. And like any parable, it can have a variety of meanings: for example, both salt and light are both valuable to other human beings and even essential for keeping us alive. But similarly, like any parable, there are limits to how many meanings you can take from this metaphor as well: for example, even though too much salt and too much light will also kill you, I don’t think that was what Jesus was getting at.
No, it seems the most obvious meaning is that we’re to draw from this parable is that you are important to God; you were made for a purpose. And unlike actual salt and light, you have a choice: you can choose not to be the people you were created to be. You can deny your saltiness, if you want to; you can hide away your light. But why would you want to? That’s not who you are. You are salt and you are light; so go and be the salty lamps you were made to be. Okay, it sounds weird when you put it like that, but I think you get the point: Jesus isn’t calling us to be anyone other than who we were created to be. You are made to show the goodness of God, so let us learn to be ourselves.
Our lesson today is an excerpt from the Sermon on the Mount. In fact, it’s rather early-on in the sermon: Jesus has only just finished the Beatitudes; he has merely set the tone of the sermon by turning common-sense on its head. He began by telling his disciples and this great crowd of people that – in the kingdom of heaven – those that they would regard as “cursed” are actually “blessed” by God. “Blessed are the poor in spirit;” “Blessed are those who mourn;” “Blessed are the meek;” “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” You get the point: those who are lowly in this “kingdom” are the blessed ones in God’s. And it seems that the opposite might be true as well.
Jesus often goes after the religious leaders of his day so we almost don’t notice it when he takes a shot at them in our lesson today. “For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven;” that line would have caught the attention of crowd… especially the scribes and Pharisees in the crowd.
The scribes and Pharisees, of course, get a bad reputation in the Gospels; and they probably deserve it. But I also feel I need to defend them sometimes: because they meant well. You see, at this point in Israel’s history, they people of God have been occupied and dominated and oppressed ever since the Babylonians conquered them. For generation upon generation they have been a subjugated and conquered people; and in Jesus’ day, it was more of the same under the Romans. It’s not hard to imagine how this might begin to affect you as a people once called “Chosen” by God.
In Jesus’ day, there were three general responses to this national crisis. First, here was the pragmatic approach: simply cooperate with the Romans; go along and make the best of it; and who knows, maybe your cooperation will get you a profit while you’re at it. This was the response of people like the temple priests and those they called the Herodians.
A second response was kind-of the opposite of that: to rebel; to fight the powers that be, even though you know they are a lot more powerful than you. And who knows, maybe God will finally notice your struggle and crush your enemies like in the good-old-days. They called these kinds of people “zealots” (and, by the way, Jesus had one or two as his followers). And although there were a lot of different kinds of zealots, they all wanted the same thing and they wanted to fight for it.
And then there were people like the scribes and the Pharisees: their response to the Roman occupation was a kind of spiritual “circling of the wagons.” They saw the sin of conspiring with the Romans, but they also saw the futility of fighting against them. And so they walled themselves off spiritually and followed the letter of the law. And in so doing, they sought to keep the sin of the world at bay while – at the same time – keeping their own identity as God’s people.
So you can see that these were tough times for the Israelites. There was no perfect response to their current situation, but at least they meant well. In fact, it kind of reminds me of what it’s like to be a Christian in America these days: but I suppose it’s not always easy to be the people of God in any day; leading us to the question that the followers of Christ have always asked; “How do we live both in this ‘kingdom’ and God’s at the same time?” Do we compromise; do we try to relate the gospel to the world by trying to be like the world? Do we revolt; do we – in a sense – go to war with the world; finding our identity in opposition to the world around us? Or do we, like the scribes and Pharisees, seek a holier path? Do we mind our own business, focus our attention on being holier than the world around us, and then wait for Christ to come back and rescue us?
I admit that, even though I know that last one is the wrong answer, I find it appealing. I know the next part of this sermon so I already know they’re wrong, but I respect what the scribes and Pharisees were trying to do: while waiting for God to do something about the sin of the world, they sought live as righteously as they could. What they didn’t realize, though, is that God was already doing something about the sin of the world.
Now of course, when we talk about possible responses the Roman oppression and the sin of the world, you can probably guess that Jesus will take a totally different approach: Jesus will not compromise the righteousness of God like the Herodians do; God’s law is God’s and there is no compromising God’s law. And not only will he not fight against the powers that be – like the zealots do – he calls his followers to love their enemies and pray for them. And unlike the scribes and Pharisees – whose righteousness is about isolating themselves and waiting for God to arrive – Jesus shows us that God is already here; that righteousness isn’t about waiting it out, but it’s about living in the kingdom of God right here, right now.
In other words, simply living right is not enough. It’s not enough that we be upright, moral, and righteous people. It’s not enough that we hold up here with other pious people, preserving our Christian heritage. That’s the righteousness of scribes and Pharisees and it’s a righteousness that our Savior calls us to exceed. Their righteousness is not what Christ calls us to do and it’s not what we’ve been created to be. Theirs is a so-called righteousness that loses its saltiness; theirs is a righteousness that hides itself under a basket. The righteousness that our Savior taught – the righteousness of the kingdom of heaven – is one that lives out the law as it was meant to be lived out: in the world, making the world a better place, and living like God’s kingdom has come and we are living in it.
Jesus calls us the salt of the earth and the light of the world; and as I’ve said, there are a lot of ways we might interpret this parable. But for today I would offer just this observation: one thing we often overlook when we talk about salt and light is that, not only are these things essential for our survival, they also make life better. I mean, how great is salt! We put it on everything for a reason. And light! Have you ever considered how much better life is because there’s light? Sure, you’d have a hard time getting around without it, but light is so pleasant. Just ask my pets as they’re fighting for the last sunny spot by the window every afternoon; light is great.
God hasn’t simply put us in this world to bring life to it as salt and light do; God has made us to make the world better like salt and light do. One thing we often overlook is that salt and light are also quite pleasant. So let us live out the true righteousness of God; living today in the very kingdom of heaven that our Savior proclaimed; and let us remember that when we do, we are being the people that we are created to be.
5th Sunday in Ordinary Time
In my preparation for this morning, I read a commentary that took the first part of our Scripture lesson to mean that we are to strive to be the salt of the earth; that we are to strive to be, in our daily living, the light of the world; and that’s how I’ve always tended to read this passage. But when I read it in this commentary this week, it occurred to me: that’s not what the text actually says. I know it’s a small distinction, but Jesus doesn’t tell us to try to do anything here; he says you are the salt of the earth; he says you are the light of the world.
Now clearly, when Jesus calls us salt and light, it’s a parable. And like any parable, it can have a variety of meanings: for example, both salt and light are both valuable to other human beings and even essential for keeping us alive. But similarly, like any parable, there are limits to how many meanings you can take from this metaphor as well: for example, even though too much salt and too much light will also kill you, I don’t think that was what Jesus was getting at.
No, it seems the most obvious meaning is that we’re to draw from this parable is that you are important to God; you were made for a purpose. And unlike actual salt and light, you have a choice: you can choose not to be the people you were created to be. You can deny your saltiness, if you want to; you can hide away your light. But why would you want to? That’s not who you are. You are salt and you are light; so go and be the salty lamps you were made to be. Okay, it sounds weird when you put it like that, but I think you get the point: Jesus isn’t calling us to be anyone other than who we were created to be. You are made to show the goodness of God, so let us learn to be ourselves.
Our lesson today is an excerpt from the Sermon on the Mount. In fact, it’s rather early-on in the sermon: Jesus has only just finished the Beatitudes; he has merely set the tone of the sermon by turning common-sense on its head. He began by telling his disciples and this great crowd of people that – in the kingdom of heaven – those that they would regard as “cursed” are actually “blessed” by God. “Blessed are the poor in spirit;” “Blessed are those who mourn;” “Blessed are the meek;” “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” You get the point: those who are lowly in this “kingdom” are the blessed ones in God’s. And it seems that the opposite might be true as well.
Jesus often goes after the religious leaders of his day so we almost don’t notice it when he takes a shot at them in our lesson today. “For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven;” that line would have caught the attention of crowd… especially the scribes and Pharisees in the crowd.
The scribes and Pharisees, of course, get a bad reputation in the Gospels; and they probably deserve it. But I also feel I need to defend them sometimes: because they meant well. You see, at this point in Israel’s history, they people of God have been occupied and dominated and oppressed ever since the Babylonians conquered them. For generation upon generation they have been a subjugated and conquered people; and in Jesus’ day, it was more of the same under the Romans. It’s not hard to imagine how this might begin to affect you as a people once called “Chosen” by God.
In Jesus’ day, there were three general responses to this national crisis. First, here was the pragmatic approach: simply cooperate with the Romans; go along and make the best of it; and who knows, maybe your cooperation will get you a profit while you’re at it. This was the response of people like the temple priests and those they called the Herodians.
A second response was kind-of the opposite of that: to rebel; to fight the powers that be, even though you know they are a lot more powerful than you. And who knows, maybe God will finally notice your struggle and crush your enemies like in the good-old-days. They called these kinds of people “zealots” (and, by the way, Jesus had one or two as his followers). And although there were a lot of different kinds of zealots, they all wanted the same thing and they wanted to fight for it.
And then there were people like the scribes and the Pharisees: their response to the Roman occupation was a kind of spiritual “circling of the wagons.” They saw the sin of conspiring with the Romans, but they also saw the futility of fighting against them. And so they walled themselves off spiritually and followed the letter of the law. And in so doing, they sought to keep the sin of the world at bay while – at the same time – keeping their own identity as God’s people.
So you can see that these were tough times for the Israelites. There was no perfect response to their current situation, but at least they meant well. In fact, it kind of reminds me of what it’s like to be a Christian in America these days: but I suppose it’s not always easy to be the people of God in any day; leading us to the question that the followers of Christ have always asked; “How do we live both in this ‘kingdom’ and God’s at the same time?” Do we compromise; do we try to relate the gospel to the world by trying to be like the world? Do we revolt; do we – in a sense – go to war with the world; finding our identity in opposition to the world around us? Or do we, like the scribes and Pharisees, seek a holier path? Do we mind our own business, focus our attention on being holier than the world around us, and then wait for Christ to come back and rescue us?
I admit that, even though I know that last one is the wrong answer, I find it appealing. I know the next part of this sermon so I already know they’re wrong, but I respect what the scribes and Pharisees were trying to do: while waiting for God to do something about the sin of the world, they sought live as righteously as they could. What they didn’t realize, though, is that God was already doing something about the sin of the world.
Now of course, when we talk about possible responses the Roman oppression and the sin of the world, you can probably guess that Jesus will take a totally different approach: Jesus will not compromise the righteousness of God like the Herodians do; God’s law is God’s and there is no compromising God’s law. And not only will he not fight against the powers that be – like the zealots do – he calls his followers to love their enemies and pray for them. And unlike the scribes and Pharisees – whose righteousness is about isolating themselves and waiting for God to arrive – Jesus shows us that God is already here; that righteousness isn’t about waiting it out, but it’s about living in the kingdom of God right here, right now.
In other words, simply living right is not enough. It’s not enough that we be upright, moral, and righteous people. It’s not enough that we hold up here with other pious people, preserving our Christian heritage. That’s the righteousness of scribes and Pharisees and it’s a righteousness that our Savior calls us to exceed. Their righteousness is not what Christ calls us to do and it’s not what we’ve been created to be. Theirs is a so-called righteousness that loses its saltiness; theirs is a righteousness that hides itself under a basket. The righteousness that our Savior taught – the righteousness of the kingdom of heaven – is one that lives out the law as it was meant to be lived out: in the world, making the world a better place, and living like God’s kingdom has come and we are living in it.
Jesus calls us the salt of the earth and the light of the world; and as I’ve said, there are a lot of ways we might interpret this parable. But for today I would offer just this observation: one thing we often overlook when we talk about salt and light is that, not only are these things essential for our survival, they also make life better. I mean, how great is salt! We put it on everything for a reason. And light! Have you ever considered how much better life is because there’s light? Sure, you’d have a hard time getting around without it, but light is so pleasant. Just ask my pets as they’re fighting for the last sunny spot by the window every afternoon; light is great.
God hasn’t simply put us in this world to bring life to it as salt and light do; God has made us to make the world better like salt and light do. One thing we often overlook is that salt and light are also quite pleasant. So let us live out the true righteousness of God; living today in the very kingdom of heaven that our Savior proclaimed; and let us remember that when we do, we are being the people that we are created to be.
Do, Love, Walk
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)