“Holy Humanity, Jesus!” Reflections on the Holiness Tradition, Sermon by Laura, Lent 2B 3.4.12

Scriptures: Mark 8:31-38, Psalm 1

Who here is holy? Raise your hand if you know someone who you would say is “holy.” Good. Now, keep your hand raised if that person happens to be you yourself

That leads me to my second question: What is holiness? Take a minute or so to write down a quick definition on your bulletin…Now, who has a response they’d like to share?  Thank you for all those responses.

It seems that the word “holiness” triggers some ambivalence. On one hand, we have positive images, of things and people touched with the numinous and extraordinary, glimpses of “God-light” amidst an otherwise mundane existence. We know holiness when we see it and experience it, but it’s difficult to describe, and few, if any of us, would attribute it to ourselves.

Yet we believe one of the “benefits” of faith in Jesus Christ is that we are “sanctified:” made holy. Keith and I are drawing many ideas for this sermon series from Richard J. Foster in his book, Streams of Living Water. With the foundation of the life of prayer in “The Contemplative Tradition” Keith spoke of last Sunday, today we look at the Holiness Tradition of Christian formation practices. In Foster’s words, the goal of these practices is “an ever deeper formation of the inner personality so as to reflect the glory and goodness of God; an ever more radiant conformity to the life and faith and desires and habits of Jesus; an utter transformation of our creatureliness into whole and perfect sons and daughters of God.”[i]

Wow. That’s a lot to take in, isn’t it? There are some confusing words there as well, especially that word “perfect.” Now, Foster says the completion of our transformation to such glory, radiance, and perfection comes only as we enter the life eternal, but just beginning the journey sounds daunting. How, exactly, do we become holy? What could it possibly mean to live holy lives?

Biblically, holiness has always been about being “set apart” by God. In choosing Israel, God set the people apart, giving them the covenant and calling them to live in ways which demonstrated their difference. God’s commandments were not seen as a burden, but as an amazing gift, the gracious knowledge that enables true life abundant.

Psalm 1 proclaims this perspective: those who delights in the law, meditating on it day and night, are like trees flourishing by a stream of water, yielding fruit in season. In Jesus Christ, we, too, are planted by this stream, and as his life takes root within us, we become those set apart by his fruit in our lives, showing forth God’s purpose, presence, and power in our words and actions.

But, in living as those “set apart,” there are myriad pitfalls to navigate. For many the word “holy” brings up negative connotations. Theologian Shirley C. Guthrie notes: “Our minds jump from ‘saint’ to ‘superhuman,’ from ‘holy’ to ‘holier-than-thou,’ from ‘sanctified’ to ‘sanctimonious.’ We think of very pious people who live by a long list of thou-shalt-nots and are rewarded for their sacrifice of a normal life in the world by the assurance that they are superior to everyone else.”[ii]

So often, in our longing to be made pure and holy, to be undeniably touched with glorious God-light, we overreach. We are not content with the ways God sets us apart, so we separate ourselves from others. Uneasy with being made “saints,” we try to make ourselves superhuman; impatient with God perfecting our lives, we become perfectionists. Grasping for “divine things,” we find ourselves seizing instead upon merely “human things,” and holding on with all our might. 

This is Peter’s predicament in Mark’s gospel this morning. Peter has been on a breath-taking journey. He has witnessed wonders: Jesus healing on the Sabbath, casting out demons, walking on water, and feeding multitudes, wonders that have confirmed the grand hope he articulates when Jesus asks, “Who do you say that I am?” “You are the Messiah,” Peter says without hesitation.

But then Jesus begins to speak openly, that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the religious authorities, be killed, and after three days rise again. You can almost see the horror on Peter’s face. He pulls Jesus aside, rebuking him privately, so as not to shame Jesus by pointing out his error in front of the rest of the guys.

Here’s what I imagine him saying: “How could you say those things, Jesus! This Son of Man, suffering, rejection, and being killed stuff—that’s not for the Messiah! You’re different, better, above all that. It couldn’t possibly happen to you!”   The vehemence with which Jesus then rebukes Peter reveals the powerful temptation embedded in Peter’s words. “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Jesus recognizes this temptation, because he’s faced it and rejected it before, during the 40 days of his wilderness testing. It is the temptation to set ourselves apart, to seek for ourselves control, knowledge, or spiritual enlightenment and remove ourselves from the messiness and limitations of the human condition.  

As it turns out, this is not what God has ever been about. Holiness isn’t a self-satisfying superiority that erects impermeable barriers between things or people to maintain purity. No, the God we see in Jesus Christ—the Holy One—is a God who puts on flesh and enters fully into human reality. Maybe that’s why Jesus calls himself the Son of Man, a phrase that can also be translated “Human One.” In the rush to name him Messiah, the disciples don’t initially get it,but maybe later Christians had an inkling, such as the early church father Irenaeus, who said, “The glory of God is the human being fully alive.” One author suggests, “We could accordingly hear the ‘Human One’ as Jesus saying, ‘I am a human who is fully alive.’”[iii]

Let me suggest that from now on we hear the call in Jesus Christ to be “holy people” in just that way: we are being invited to an amazing opportunity, to become human beings who are fully alive. What might that look like?

First let’s clear out the negative imagery of holiness, starting with what it does not look like. It does not look like slavery to either a long list of “thou-shalt-nots” or an endless burden of “shoulds.” It does not look like world-negating separation from the messy and mundane to avoid contamination; nor does it look like body-punishing severity for the betterment of our souls. Any idea or action labeling things or people into categories of good and bad, clean and unclean, thus dividing people from one another or creation, is emphatically not holy. Holiness does not look like perfectionism, “works-righteousness” or any exertion of superhuman willpower to exceed the limitations of our creaturely nature.

All of these ideas are false, because they assume that human creatures can somehow make, will, earn or force our own holiness. We can’t. Holiness comes from God alone. Like salvation, it is a gift. A gift! Only God can give it, and we can only receive it. There is nothing—nothing—we can be or do to improve our standing in the eyes of God, who loves us simply because God has decided to do so.

Now, friends, I know how hard this truth is to take in. You might not know it, but I am already half-Saint, literally. My mother’s maiden name is Saint! I like to joke that it means I don’t have as far to go to full sainthood as everybody else! But the truth is, in half-Sainthood, I inherited a double portion of the confusion about holiness I’ve been describing. Growing up as the daughter and granddaughter of ministers, my peers thought everything had to be “sanitized for my protection,” when I just wanted to be a regular kid. Yet along with the name and assumed vocation of the Saint family, I also inherited perfectionism, the compulsion to maintain a high and holy reputation by achieving always and all fronts.

Perfectionism is a curse. The constant inner pressure to perform to exacting—and often superhuman—standards paralyzes and poisons. It turns “coulds” into “shoulds,” liberating possibilities into arduous burdens. Much of my Christian formation journey has been about getting well from perfectionism.

The only antidote I’ve found is repentance, returning again and again and again to Jesus Christ, crying out, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner!” Jesus always answers this prayer, reorienting me from perfectionism’s illusions to the truth of grace: I am both a sinner in need and a saint in formation as God is at work transforming me bit by bit into a fully human, fully alive human creature. Releasing my tightly gripped burden of “shoulds,”I need do nothing but open my hands to receive the free gift.

Yet, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer famously notes, God’s grace is free, but it is not cheap. God’s grace is no shrugging permissiveness which says “whatever.” Holy humanity does not look like self-indulgence or even self-actualization, as pop psychology claims. We are free to be formed in a specific shape; the image of Christ—fully alive humanity. And that form, Jesus tells his disciples, is the shape of the cross: “Let those who would become my followers deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.”

Holiness, Jesus tells us, means learning the ways of self-denial and cross-bearing. To be fully alive is to be willing to lose your life for the sake of God’s grace and mercy.  This does not mean negating the very human self that God created us to be; but we are invited to hold that self with open hands, and, as Jan Richardson puts, it, learn “to see what it is within our humanity that hinders us from God, and letting that go. It means not clinging to our human desires at the expense of seeking to know God’s desires for our human lives. It means finding the path that will best enable us, in all the particularities and peculiarities of our lives, to find that intersection—that crossing, that cross that Christ invites us to take up—where the human and the divine meet in fullness.”[iv]

This learning is neither painless or effortless, and though we must never confuse our efforts with God’s work in our lives, the Holiness Tradition of Christian life and faith describes practices which we can undertake much like athletes train to improve in their sport.[v] Foster writes, “By undertaking Disciplines of the spiritual life that we can do, we receive from God the ability to do things that under our own steam we simply cannot do, such as loving our enemies.”[vi]

So, what kind of efforts can we make to open ourselves to God’s holy work in us? We begin by deciding to hope and believe that “God isn’t finished with us yet,” and to consciously entrust our growth in holiness to God. Next, we turn our focus to our hearts, the “inner wellspring” of our actions. Recognizing that only God can transform our hearts, we cry out in prayer, as in Psalm 139, for God to search us, know our hearts, and root out every wickedness in us. And then we commit to obeying the Word of God we receive in response to our prayer.  In so doing, we “open the door to the Spirit” to help us and make changes in our behavior possible. [vii]

Our Holiness Tradition forbears in the faith affirm that engagement in the classical disciplines and practices of the Christian life, prayer and meditation, study and fasting, solitude and service, worship and celebration, the ways we present our bodies as a “living sacrifice” to God, do open us up for transformation in holiness. And the ultimate mystery is this: letting go of merely human things to set our minds on the divine life in Jesus Christ, we are empowered to live fully, deeply, holy human lives and we are blessed to bless the world, as God’s light is glimpsed through us. 

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

---

[i] Richard J. Foster, Streams of Living Water, 62.

[ii] Shirley C. Guthrie, Christian Doctrine, 338.

[iii] Carl Gregg, http://thehardestquestion.org/yearb/is-jesus-the-human-one/

[iv] http://paintedprayerbook.com/2009/03/03/lent-2-in-which-we-set-our-minds-somewhere/

 

[v] James Bryan Smith with Linda Graybeal, A Spiritual Formation Workbook, 41.

[vi] Foster, 88.

[vii] James Bryan Smith with Linda Graybeal, A Spiritual Formation Workbook, 41.

“Wilderness First Aid: Reflections on the Contemplative Tradition” Sermon by Keith, 1st Sunday in Lent, 2.26.12

Scriptures: Psalm 25:1-10; Mark 1:9-15

(Note to those reading, during the silent time of confession, we had two minutes of silence versus our regular 1 minute)

          How many of you noticed that we had a little bit longer of a pause during the time of Silent Confession and Reflection? How many of you were uneasy or got restless during that time? I could hear the papers shuffling and people moving in their seats. I even peeked up to see who might be looking around. Now, we didn’t do this extended time because I knew some of you had a weekend of wild living and needed more time to confess all the things that you done. But I wanted us to grasp what it felt like to be alone with God and have our thoughts focused on God. Whether you realized it or not, what we did was contemplated God and our relationship with him. In that particular moment we focused on our brokenness and the healing and wholeness that God in Christ brings to our lives. Now, don’t let the word contemplate, contemplation, or contemplative scare you away from what we are talking about this morning. They are big words that simply point to a prayer filled life.
          So, who wants to take a guess at how long we spent in silent prayer this morning? It was two minutes. Anyone want to guess how much longer it was than our regular time? Double. Who thought it felt longer than that? Silence, even brief moments of it, can seem like a long time, especially in our culture where the TV and radio with their advertising and sound bites surround us in our homes, our cars, and just about everywhere we go. We are surrounded by voices and sounds that are vying for our attention, drowning out the voice that God for his people. I’ll be the first to say that when I’m up in the morning by myself, I turn on the radio for nothing but background noise. Don’t ask me what the news broadcaster said or what music was played, it is just becomes babble in the background. We live in a society where silence makes us uneasy, and we can easily turn off the silence with the flip of the switch.
          Now, we only spent two minutes in intentional silence. It’s not like I asked you to sit there for 40 days in silence, prayer and fasting, like Jesus did in the wilderness.  One of the things that you will hear Laura and I talk about between now and Easter is intentional imitatio Christi, the imitation of Christ, in our daily lives. And Christ prayed. He prayed a lot. Scripture is filled with stories of how he went off to pray and even how he taught his disciples to pray. He went into the wilderness to pray, he went to the temple to pray, he prayed in people’s homes, he sat beside the sea to pray, and he prayed for and with his disciples. And we are called to pray as Christ prayed. But imitating Christ doesn’t mean copying everything he did, including his prayer life, in exactly the way he did it. We have a friend in Alaska who felt you had to have a life that copied Jesus, but only up to a point. He headed out for his 38 day fast and prayer time  on a mountain top in the remote Alaskan wilderness. Thirty eight days because that strove for the completeness that is found in what Christ did, but not quite 40 days because he didn’t want what he did to compete with the perfection of what Christ did. I think he was missing the point. Imitating Christ means catching the Spirit of what he did, how he lived, and striving for unity with the Father that he experienced. It means taking on the nature of his Chirstlikeness, sharing his vision, love, hope, feelings and habits. And this doesn’t just happen out in the wilderness. It happens in our homes, our workplaces, and in the relationships with those we encounter on the way.
          The first question that this brings up is, “what is prayer?” Sounds like a simple question, doesn’t it? So it is a question that I will ask you, “what is prayer?” In the margins of your bulletins, take a moment to write a definition of prayer.
(Ask what people wrote) Many different answers to a simple question. A basic definition that I would come up with is prayer is a personal communication with God. Personal communication. Not just a one-way communication, like radio waves traveling through space. And we don’t pray to a something, we pray to a someone. In his discussion on prayer, Daniel Migliore, says, “God…is primarily someone spoken to, rather than only spoken about. Moreover, this someone addressed in prayer is not feared as a tyrant but genuinely loved as the sovereign and free God
who exercises dominion with astonishing goodness and mercy.”
          In our baptism, we are called into a personal relationship with this someone. This someone is the Creator of the universe that has been revealed to us in Jesus Christ. By the Holy Spirit, we are bound to the One who created us and knows us more intimately than we know ourselves. And that same Spirit that thrust Jesus into the wilderness for forty days of prayer is also pushing and nudging us into a life of prayer so that we can come to know more deeply this God who created us and loves us. The first question of the Westminster Catechism is “What is the chief end of man?” The answer: “To glorify God and enjoy him forever.” The glorifying part makes sense, but how do we enjoy God? In the same ways we enjoy the company of a good friend, our spouse, or our children. You spend time with them, experience them, delving daily deeper into their personality. We invite friends over to our homes, we laugh and cry together.
We do the same with God, and our fundamental way as Christians of building and experiencing our relationship with God is through prayer. As we invite God into our hearts, we get closer to the heart of God. It goes both ways. And this frees us to call upon God in confidence. This doesn’t mean mastering prayer techniques, it means we become more open and honest with God, not only praising God but also crying to God in our need, and even sometimes crying out against God.
          Calvin called prayer our “chief exercise of faith.” It’s interesting he called it an exercise, because for some folks, a prayer filled life comes easy and naturally, and for others, it is like pulling teeth, just like in any other exercise or practice. But, just like any other exercise, the more you do it, the easier it becomes. And of all people, you would think that the disciples would have known how to pray and pray well. They had spent their entire lives going to the synagogue and temple on the Sabbath, hearing the rabbis and priests pray. But they turn to Jesus and ask, “Teach us how to pray.” What Jesus teaches them is uncomplicated and bold. Pray first to glorify God’s name, for the coming of God’s reign, for the doing of God’s will, and then also pray for daily bread, for forgiveness, and for deliverance from temptation. Basically, Jesus is telling his disciples to keep it simple. As we learn to live in the presence of the one we pray to, we begin discerning the difference between what we want and what we need. Every action becomes rooted in prayer for God’s reign, for God’s forgiveness, and for God’s empowering grace, just like the Good News that Jesus proclaimed in Galilee after his 40 days in the wilderness.
          In the introduction to his book titled Prayer, Richard Foster creates a picture for us of what a prayer filled life will look like: For too long we have been in a far country: a country of noise and hurry and crowds, a country of climb and push and shove, a country of frustration and fear and intimidation. And God welcomes us home: home to serenity and peace and joy, home to friendship and fellowship and openness, home to intimacy and acceptance and affirmation. We do not need to be shy. He invites us into the living room of his heart, where we can put on old slippers and share freely. He invites us into the kitchen of his friendship, where chatter and batter mix in good fun. He invites us into the dining room of his strength, where we can feast to our heart’s delight. He invites us into the study of his wisdom, where we can learn and grow and stretch…and ask all the questions we want. He invites us into the workshop of his creativity,  where we can be co-laborers with him, working together to determine the outcomes of events. He invites us into the bedroom of his rest, where new peace is found and where we can be naked and vulnerable and free. It is also the place of deepest intimacy, where we know and are known to the fullest. The key to this home, this heart of God, is prayer…and the door is Jesus Christ.
          Friends, it is the first Sunday in Lent. When you leave this place and go home, I would invite you to pray. Take your shoes off, sit back, and share yourself and your home with God, because he wants to share his heart with you. Tell God you love him. In Christ, you are able to come into the heart of God and share those things you would never share with another, your hopes, your sins, your fears, and your dreams. Then be still and listen and know God’s heart is wide open.

“Listen to Him!” Sermon by Laura on Transfiguration Sunday B, 2.19.12

Dear Readers,

Our apologies for our neglect of this blog! We’ll do our best to post a bit more regularly in the future. At First Presbyterian Church, La Grande, OR we are now beginning a sermon series which focuses on various traditions of Christian Spiritual Formation Practices. Each week in Lent, we’ll be focusing on one of the traditions Richard J. Foster names in Streams of Living Water: Celebrating the Great Traditions of Christian Faith. Yesterday, on Transfiguration Sunday, the sermon was an introduction to the series. Here it is:

Scriptures: Mark 9:2-10, Psalm 50:1-6

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say, ‘I am spiritual but not religious,’ then I might not be any wiser about what that means—but I would be richer…” so begins Barbara Brown Taylor’s reflection on everyday Christian practices in a book I highly recommend, An Altar in the World.  She continues, “I think I know what they mean by ‘religious.’ It is the ‘spiritual’ part that is harder to grasp….It may be the name for a longing for more meaning, more feeling, more connection, more life. When I hear people talk about spirituality, that seems to be what they are describing. They know there is more to life than what meets the eye. They have drawn close to this ‘More’ in nature, in love, in art, in grief. They would be happy for someone to teach them how to spend more time in the presence of this deeper reality, but when they visit the places where such knowledge is supposed to be found, they often find the rituals hollow and the language antique. Even religious people are vulnerable to this longing….”[i]

Taylor’s words strike a chord, don’t they? How many of us here—us “religious people”—long for the “more” she’s talking about? And how many of us here want to know how to spend more of our time in the purpose, presence, and power of the deeper reality which gives life meaning?

Today is Transfiguration Sunday. Transfiguration is a strange word, maybe one of those “antique” ones, and we rarely hear in our usual speech. It literally means to change figure or form, and it is a good word to consider in the transition space between the church season of Epiphany, in which we celebrate the surprising ways Christ’s light shines out of the darkness, and Lent (which begins on Wednesday) in which we examine that which hinders the full brilliance of Christ’s light in us.  It is a good time to consider our longings for “more,” God’s desire to complete us, and the opportunities God gives us to draw yet closer to him.  

Now, the disciples were certainly longing for “more” from Jesus. They had seen some amazing things: people healed, demons rebuked, Jesus walking on water, thousands miraculously fed. Yet they longed for this man whom they believed to be God’s anointed one to pull out all the messianic stops and liberate their people from Roman oppression. Jesus has just begun teaching them that the Messiah must be rejected, suffer, be killed and be raised three days later. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me,” Jesus says, but his words fall of deaf ears.  They want a Messiah of power and glory, not the suffering Son of Man. Still, these fishermen who left their nets behind keep close to this one who said “Follow me.”

Up a high mountain, they are finally given the gift of “more.” Jesus was transfigured, his appearance radically changed, his clothing become dazzling white “such as no one on earth could bleach them.” I must admit it tickles me that Mark adds those words. I can’t help but imagine that Jesus has an “ancient Palestinian secret”! But despite the domestic, laundry imagery, there was nothing domesticated about this experience for the disciples. The brightness stung their eyes, and it triggered every story they’d ever heard about angelic messengers and every fear that went along with those stories. Everybody knew it was dangerous, or at the very least, life altering, to look upon God’s glory. Mark says “they were terrified.”

But if Jesus’ radiance were not enough, the disciples are given yet more. Moses and Elijah appear by his side, revealing that the same Spirit which rested upon Moses and Elijah also rests with Jesus. God’s power and glory is on full display for those with eyes to see it. What an overwhelming experience of “more”!

But is it enough? Peter’s response seems to indicate otherwise. As Jan Richardson puts it, “Faced with an event of overwhelming spiritual import, he responds at a physical level: Let me build something.”[ii] Maybe he was just so flabbergasted that he said the first thing that came to mind, but I think Peter’s words reflect desires we often have during spiritual experiences. Maybe the disciples want to freeze time and linger in the wonder, or maybe they are grasping for a “container” to define and stabilize the experience so that it can be fully absorbed. Or maybe they just don’t want Moses and Elijah to get away before they can ask them a few burning questions!

Do you know the difference between an idol and an icon? This has been a tricky question throughout church history. Ought we be permitted to make images which help us to “see” Christ?[iii]  Some have thought Christians should keep the Jewish ban on making graven images, because of the risk of idolatry. Others argued that, because Jesus is the image of God incarnate, images might now be permitted.[iv] The acceptable form of divine imagery came to be called “icons.” Where an idol is any object in which we try to “freeze” an experience of God, an icon is a picture by which our vision may be opened to experience the divine presence beyond the image. The only catch is that we must be taught to “see” through the window of the icon.

In the same way, I think there is a difference between “spiritual experience” in and of itself, and what I’ll be calling “Christian spiritual formation.” “Spiritual experience” is always elusive, always intangible; just a glimpse, just a foretaste. And the trouble with human beings is our insatiability. A foretaste of the divine can never be enough—we crave a full banquet, every night of the week. So, in our seeking after “more,” the danger is that we will just keep consuming so-called spiritual experiences, and, gluttonous for power and glory, we ultimately get sick on rich foods and perish from lack of true nourishment.   

But the good news is that God loves us and wants for us the “life abundant,” so God provides rigorous opportunities to be shaped as vessels fit for Christ’s presence and power. For the disciples, Christian spiritual formation, is what begins when that cloud overshadows and envelops them on the mountain. With vision obscured, they can hear more clearly as God calls them back to their purpose: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” These words are not a new revelation. They simply instruct us to focus again on what we’ve already heard Jesus saying, and on what we will hear him say again: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Author Jan Richardson notes that the only other appearance of the word “overshadow” in the gospels comes in the angel Gabriel’s response to Mary, when she asks how it will be possible to give birth to the child she’s been asked to bear. Gabriel tells her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” [v] Connecting the Annunciation and the Transfiguration, Richardson writes, “Each tale reminds us that we cannot contain or confine God within man-made structures. When God shows up, God often appears in and through people: God goes not for architecture but for anatomy. Or, rather, God makes architecture of our anatomy: God seeks to make of us a dwelling, a habitation for the holy.”

Richardson’s insight helps us understand the goal of Christian spiritual formation: God wants to fulfill our longing for more light by making us bearers of Christ’s light to others! It also helps us understand why Jesus asked the disciples to keep quiet about the transfiguration, until after he had risen from the dead.  Like Mary, they need time for God’s vision to gestate within them.   For, while the transfiguration reveals the glory of Jesus, fully human, fully divine. A snapshot of that moment is not enough. There is yet more.  The full picture comes as we are opened to a long-term relationship with the divine beyond the image.

When the cloud passes, there is Jesus, standing there just as he’d been, in the travel-stained garments of the discipleship road, ready to lead us back down the mountain, right into the thick of human suffering and confusion, all the way to the cross, the resurrection, and beyond.

This Lent, Keith and I want to challenge you to seek more light, more meaning, more life, gaining a more complete picture of Jesus as you follow him down the mountain, and grow in your relationship with the divine beyond the image. I know that some of you have had “mountaintop experiences” which led you to a deeper longing to experience God in everyday life, and thus a deeper attentiveness in prayer and practice to the words and ways of Jesus Christ. Others of you have spoken of your struggles to find the time and space to live out your faith amidst the everyday chaos of our time. Wherever you are on the discipleship road, now is a great time to experiment anew as we delve together into the rich traditions of Christian spiritual formation practices.

We undertake this Lenten journey in the recognition that only God can transform us as Christ was transfigured, a gift of grace we cannot earn or merit; but also that God has given us instructions to help us place ourselves where we are available to his sanctifying grace. “Listen to him!” God tells us, and so we will listen, attending to the words and imitating the ways of Jesus our teacher, savior, Lord, and friend.

As we pursue these practices, and as we gather for conversations about the joys and struggles, let us pray for the courage to place our lives again in God’s hands, that he may shape us to bear forth yet more, yet more, of Christ’s startling light, the image of God and the image of true humanity. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World, Norwich: Canterbury Press, 2009, xiii.

[ii] Jan Richardson, http://paintedprayerbook.com/2009/02/15/transfiguration-sunday-show-and-dont-tell/

[iii] Ragan Sutterfield, http://www.ekklesiaproject.org/blog/2012/02/plastic-minds-and-magic-eyes/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=plastic-minds-and-magic-eyes

[iv] Ragan Sutterfield, as above.

[v] Jan Richardson, http://paintedprayerbook.com/2009/02/15/transfiguration-sunday-show-and-dont-tell/

No Good Nor Harm: Ord. 33A/Proper 28

Scripture Readings: Matthew 25:14-30, Zephaniah 1:7, 12-18
This past week, we had a date which generated much excitement, 11-11-11. It was one of those numerical synchronicities we find handy for commemorating the momentous. Among our church community, we had a wedding that day, at 11:00 am no less (say Congratulations to Mike and Carla when you have a chance).

It was also Veteran’s Day, which was originally Armistice Day. Armistice Day was specifically set aside to honor veterans of World War I, thought to be “the war to end all wars.” Of course, tragically, our wars have continued, and after World War II and the Korean War, Armistice Day became Veteran’s Day, a day we now honor all of America’s Veterans for their service to our nation and their willingness to sacrifice for the common good. It is a celebration worthy of the festivities, parades and speeches. Yet it might do us good to reclaim the solemnity of the original occasion. A quote from Kurt Vonnegut’s 1973 novel Breakfast of Champions made the rounds on social media this past week. It depicts the original practice of pausing in silence to remember an especially significant minute in history.

Vonnegut writes, “…When I was a boy, all the people of all the nations which had fought in the First World War were silent during the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of Armistice Day, which was the eleventh day of the eleventh month. “It was during that minute in nineteen hundred and eighteen, that millions upon millions of human beings stopped butchering one and another. I have talked to old men who were on battlefields during that minute. They have told me in one way or another that the sudden silence was the voice of God. So we still have among us some men who can remember when God spoke clearly to mankind.”

“Be silent before the Lord GOD! For the day of the LORD is at hand…” These forceful words from the prophet Zephaniah command us to seek again that sudden silence. Whatever the historic importance of 11/11/11, the truly momentous day is still to come: the Great Day of the Lord.
Zephaniah sees this day coming, like prophets throughout Scripture, and he describes it in language Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann calls “vigorous, hyperbolic (?), searing rhetoric.” Brueggemann continues, “This rhetoric is not prediction. It is rather an extremity of emotive speech designed to penetrate denial with the hope of evoking response that takes seriously the non-negotiable holy purposes of God.”

Brueggmann’s comments can help us get a handle on this scripture, which most mild-mannered mainliners usually wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole! The Harold Campings of religion have often read scripture as fact, attaching all manner of time-tables and speculation to the coming of the Lord’s Day. But this text does not offer fact. Rather, it offers the “truth beyond fact” in extravagant poetry, daring to articulate the danger of the people’s collective sin.

Now, certainly, Zephaniah does aim to frighten. He sees a real trouble in the complacency of Jerusalem’s people. Zephaniah imagines God carrying a lamp, searching out and bringing to light those whose self-indulgent, self-preserving lifestyle have made them like the sedimented “dregs” at the bottom of a wine bottle, those who say to themselves, “The LORD will not do good, nor will he do harm.” These folks have become “functional atheists.” They still show up to church on Sunday, but their everyday actions reveal that they no longer recognize God’s power or purpose in the world. Thinking of themselves as highly religious even as they say, “God helps those who help themselves,” in truth, they have forgotten the law, disregarding God’s will as they neglect their neighbors. They go along keeping their heads down, assuring themselves that everything will always be as it is right now.

But Zephaniah wants to break through such feeble assurances. Zephaniah is telling them there will surely be a day, God’s day, when life will, as Brueggemann puts it, “burst out beyond our control and our management in ways that threaten and undo us.” Zephaniah wants to scare these people out of their denial of God. compelling them people to stop stark still and turn anew to God.

It strikes me that the people Zephaniah addresses are not unlike that third slave Jesus describes in today’s parable from Matthew, the one who digs a hole and hides his master’s money in the ground. Now, this guy has gotten quite a bad rap. From our modern-day capitalist perspective, we have too easily concurred with the judgment of the master in this story, calling him silly or lazy for burying “his talent” rather than investing it.

But the ancient listeners to this parable would not have thought the one-talent slave foolish. They would have thought him prudent and virtuous. First of all, they would have known what the word translated “talent” means to describe—not a special ability or knack we have for doing something, A talanta—even just one—was an enormous sum of money; some suggest it was worth fifteen years’ of labor.

The first shock in the story is that the master was willing to entrust his slaves with such enormous funds. You don’t want to mess around with that kind of money, however it falls into your lap. Much like we might set up special funds with large bequests, carefully maintaining them, the one-talent slave is trying to be careful and conservative.

Tom Boomershine points out, “In the ancient world the one way that you could protect yourself from being sued for losing money that had been entrusted to you was to bury it in the ground. There were treasures buried all over the ancient near east because that was how people protected their money. The banks were unreliable so people buried money in the ground. This is in contrast to the modern capitalist norm that the best thing to do with money is to invest it.”

But not only is the one-talent-slave being careful, he’s also being street-wise. His assessment of the master as “harsh” is the “conventional wisdom” of his time regarding Galilee’s wealthy landowners. Everybody knew they were corrupt. Jesus’ audiences of working folks could certainly identify with the idea that these rich men “reaped where they didn’t sow and gathered where they didn’t scatter seed.” Boomershine suggests that Jesus would have presented the one-talent-slave’s speech to the rich man with a “wink-wink, nudge-nudge:” essentially saying, “I buried the money because we all know how you guys operate.” “The servant’s expectation is that the master will smile and receive the money back with a pat on the servant’s back.”

The real shocker, therefore, is the master’s fierce hostility toward the one-talent slave. After all, while the slave has done no good with the money he was given, he has done no harm with it either. He has simply fulfilled basic expectations. No landowner in Jesus’ day would have cast such a slave into the outer darkness! That conclusion reminds us that we are in the world of the parable, which is not meant to convey factual historical experiences but to open a window into the spiritual, truth-beyond-fact of God’s Kingdom.

For you see, the day the Master comes back is the Day of the Lord. Zephaniah insists that on that day, all that has been hidden from the light will be searched out and accounted for. Jesus would have us bring to light not just the enormous God-given gifts we’ve buried underground, but the cynical, self-preserving, and ultimately faithless attitude which leads us to do so.

“God will not do good nor harm,” we say, excusing our passivity towards discerning and doing God’s will. “It doesn’t really matter what I do,” we shrug, excusing our self-indulgence while refusing to take responsibility for the needy other God has placed in our path. It’s a rough world out there, so why should we give of ourselves or take the risks of commitment, vulnerability, confrontation, and tenderness that love requires? It’s a hard crowd to play to, so why should we speak our sincere witness to the transforming power of God in Jesus Christ? It seems the safest, surest route is to bury our treasures.

But, it turns out that this logic is faulty. For to choose the safety of burial is to choose the finality of death. Clinging to what’s comfortable, hoarding and hiding what they have, the dreg-like Jerusalemites and the one-talent slave assume that there are only two possibilities: wealth or poverty, acclamation or shame, winning or losing. Author Jan Richardson notes, “They have forgotten the God who startles with stunning abundance in the midst of the starkest lack.” There is always another possibility in the presence of our Resurrection God.

The scriptures abound with stories: water provided to slaves in the wilderness; Jesus turning fish and a few loaves into a feast that fed thousands; or that woman who won a healing from Jesus when she observed that even the dogs ate the crumbs beneath the master’s table. “Ask, seek, knock,” says Jesus, calling us to persistently push up and outbeyond all seemingly limited options.

The parable gives us two slaves who take what they’ve been given and risk it all where the prospects are dicey. Doubling their money, they are rewarded with even greater responsibilities as they enter the joy of the master. But I believe, even if those slaves had risked and lost it all, the master would still have applauded their efforts.

For while Zephaniah wants to scare us into taking God seriously, this parable wants to scare the fear of God out of us. Yes, we are called to stop stark still and turn from our cynical self-preservation, but we are also called to go forth boldly, trusting in the God who makes a way where there is no way. It means walking and talking our faith where we will be vulnerable to the criticism and satire of others. It means investing our material resources in seemingly dicey propositions, which we’ll find out next week, turn out to be the priorities of God’s Kingdom: caring for the hungry, thirsty, naked, and sick, welcoming the stranger, and visiting people in every kind of prison.

Even when our efforts fail, more possibility is always our reward. The biggest risk is taking no risk at all. God is not mocked, for there are consequences to our actions or lack thereof.
But the Master we serve created us to risk it all in love again and again, and empowers us from within to walk with courage into the light of every new day. The Master we serve is the One telling us this parable, the One who risked everything, traveling to the farthest outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth, so that, even there, we might enter the ever-new possibility of life in God.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.

“Sinking Steps” Preached by Keith. 8th Sunday in Ordinary Time. 8.7.11

Texts: Romans 10:5-15 and Matthew 14:22-33

This had been one of those incredible days with Jesus. They had been with Jesus when the great crowds had come from the surrounding towns to out in the middle of no where along the Sea of Galilee to hear Jesus preach and heal their sick. And then Jesus fed them, thousands of them, with just a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. The disciples started handing the food out, figuring things would run out in the first group, but they just kept handing it out, to the next group, and then another, and then another, until all were fed. Then they collected the leftovers, twelve baskets in all.
They hadn’t even had time to have a bite when Jesus sends them off in their boat without him, so he can say goodbye to those he had healed. But the fishermen know that this is not the best time to go out on the water. Evening would be the time to come off the water from a long day of fishing to take care of that day’s catch. You can’t see much out there at night, maybe the lights of a few villages that surround the shores, the stars, and the moon. But they go, headed to the far shore that cannot be seen. They can see the crowds dispersing as they leave the shore, headed further out in the lake, with the light of the sunset slowly fading.
And then about midnight, it hits. Just a few moments before, James and John realize that some of the stars have become hidden behind the clouds. First the wind slams the front of the boat and a few minutes later, the waves grow from a few inches to white caps. Their elation turns to exhaustion. They shouldn’t be out there, but there they are, together, rowing for all their might on a stormy night. It seems they are getting nowhere. Finally, the storm clouds begin that faint graying of pre-morning light. If you have been out in the water, it’s the time of day when the waves on the horizon meld into the sky because they are all the same color. And that is when they see something. James stops rowing and points. Soon, everyone has stopped. Because of the waves, one moment they see it, the next they don’t. Then they realize it is a man. Where’s his boat? He has no boat! They become totally freaked out! It must be a ghost, a water spirit, a something! These churning waters represent chaos, and only those things that destroy and wreak havoc would be found out here in the midst of the storm.
Then comes a familiar voice from the figure, the voice of Jesus, “Take heart, ego eimi; It is I, do not be afraid.” Ego eimi? Peter’s mind jumps to a familiar story that he has heard from his rabbis since he was a child. Aren’t those the words of God from the burning bush when Moses asked God his name? Peter’s response shows just unsure he is of all this, the figure on the waves, and who he thinks it might be. Peter calls out, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” When Jesus answers, “Come” all eyes turn toward Peter. He sets down his oar, with his eyes fixed on Jesus, and steps over the wale and on to the water.
He steps toward Jesus. At first he takes small steps, but slowly gets his stride. His focus stays fixed on Jesus. He doesn’t even really feel the water on his toes and his feet. And then the wave rolls in between them. At one moment, Peter can see Jesus from head to toe, in the next, Jesus is out of sight, with only a whitecap wave in front of him. Peter looks down and feeling the water and the wind, slips down into the water. In fear he shouts, “Lord, save me!” Jesus’ hand grabs Peter’s and keeps him from slipping beneath the waves. “Oh, you of little faith, why did you doubt?”
Here is where I want us to stop for a moment. Keep that image of Jesus reaching down holding Peter’s hand as Peter is about waist deep in the water in your mind. This scene has become so multifaceted and rich with meaning, especially what it means to walk a life of Christian discipleship. On one side, we see the image of personal salvation, of calling out to the Lord for help and finding Christ’s grace lifting us up. We can also see the image of a risk taker, of one stepping out of their comfort zone on faith to follow the voice of Jesus out into the world. It also speaks to how doubt is an important and real part of our faith and discipleship and how our faith is always in tension with our doubts. These and the other truths this passage speaks to make it one of the most often used and useful images in the life of a disciple.
Now, I want you to remember the scene of Jesus standing on the water reaching down and holding Peter up as he is half sunk in the water. The thing to realize and see in this scene is the storm still rages around them. When Jesus reaches out and saves him, the waters do not calm and the sun does not shine. The waves still come crashing down and the wind still blows at a gale. Peter still had fear, even though he was in the firm grip of Jesus.
I want to add something to this image, something that is easily overlooked at we get wrapped up in the excitement and the fear that Peter must be experiencing. Back behind Peter as he is holding on to Christ’s hand, I want you to add the boat. And in that boat, I want you see those eleven other disciples all gripping the edge of the boat, leaning out so far watching that the boat is about to tip. Their words are not recorded, but I can guess they went something like this: “Peter, what are you doing?” “Look, he’s walking on the water!” “I can’t believe it!” “You’re about to him Peter!” “No, what’s happening? Peter, you’re slipping! Go up! Go up! Don’t stop believing!”
See, these are Peter’s friends, his companions, those who made up his community. They probably though Peter was crazy at times, they knew his likes, his dislikes, his good and bad habits. They knew he liked to exaggerate a story a bit, he was a fisherman, it was in his blood to do that. But they are also the ones who had faith in Peter even when he didn’t have faith in himself.
Then another miracle happens that involves Jesus, Peter, and all the other disciples. Jesus and Peter get back into the boat. That is when the storm stops. It was when Peter was back with the other disciples and their teacher, it was when he was back with his community, and they worship Jesus, that the winds die down and the waves cease to crash against the boat.
What does this say to us, the church, Christ’s community? It points to the fact that our faith is not our own. Our faith as individuals is shared among the community. It is between us and God and at the same time involves everyone around us. Here, we don’t have to hide our faults because God already knows them and probably everyone else does, too. We don’t have to be perfect, we don’t have to walk on water, to come in the doors of the church. This is the place we worship God, even in our brokenness and with our doubts. This is the place we can come to on those days when we just don’t know if we believe, when there appear to be more clouds than sun. We can come here because we know God in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit reaches out and saves us, but we also come here because that person sitting next to us, the one whose faith is imperfect, is in the same boat as us. It takes all of us, each with our imperfect faith, to venture out together, having faith in each other as we witness the Holy Spirit working in and through us. And it is because of and in spite of these imperfections that we heed the call of the one who is perfect, the one who has perfect faith in us.
We cannot live out our faith by ourselves. There are no single seat kayaks in the life of faith. The life of faith becomes “It’s just you and me Jesus” if we try to go it alone. In doing so, it affects how we hear Jesus’ words, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” There is a school of thought out there that says, If you believe enough, have a strong enough faith, everything will be ok. You will be blessed with a stable family, large bank account, nice home, and great health. It’s all up to you and your faith. Then disaster hits, say cancer, or divorce. Jesus words chastise. They belittle. “Ok, I’ll hold on to you, but just enough you don’t drown. You have to muster up enough faith to get to the surface and start walking.” Your faith, or lack of it, rests solidly on your own shoulders. There is no one else to turn to.
But when you have a community to turn to, Jesus’ words become an invitation, not a condemnation. “Let’s go back, start over, and build on what faith you already have and we’ll do it with everyone in the boat.” Christ pulls us out of the water and leads us back. We get the opportunity to grow in our faith with each other. We have the joy of praying with and for each other. We get the honor of rowing that boat together in the direction that Christ would have it go. And most importantly, we get to worship God in Christ together, experiencing his love and salvation as the Holy Spirit molds us into the people of faith Christ would have us be.
Friends, the good news of this passage is that God in Christ takes hold of our doubt filled lives and saves us. There can be no greater news than that. But he gives us even more. He gives us a community to live out that life. Last week, Barbara reminded us of this church’s mission statement while talking about the Friday Backpack Program. About how “we are individuals called together to worship a loving God in response to the saving grace of Jesus Christ” and the things we are called to be and do. Sounds a lot like what happened on that boat that day. Thanks be to God, that when Jesus pulls us by our hand out of the consuming waves, he never lets go. But in never letting go, he also places us in the hands of one another. Amen.

“Hiding Places,” Sermon by Laura, Lent 1A 3.12.11

Scripture Readings: Matthew 4:1-11, Psalm 32, Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-8

Our three-year-old son Lucas has recently begun to enjoy playing “hide-and-seek.” He does the “seeking” part well enough, counting slowly to ten or fifteen—counting being half the fun for him—then walks through the house shouting, “Where are you, Mommy?!” But Lucas doesn’t really get the whole concept of “hiding.” He tends to choose the same, rather obvious places, in plain sight of whoever is supposed to be “seeking” him. And he doesn’t like to stay hidden for long. Only half-covered by his Thomas the Train blanket, he throws it off to uncover himself as we approach, and he jumps up with joy, proclaiming, “Here I am!”

Though they are perhaps just as unsophisticated at hiding, Adam and Eve do not want to be found. They are hiding from God, having disobeyed and eaten of the “knowing” fruit. They are also hiding from each other. Distrust entered the garden, along with disobedience, and these two, who previously stood before God and one another, “naked and unashamed,” a relationship of trusting intimacy, have covered themselves with awkward fig leaf garments. Finally, it turns out that they are also hiding from themselves. Hiding from their sense of shame by diverting it to another, Adam blames Eve, and Eve blames the serpent for the choice they both made to eat the forbidden fruit. How did it come to this?

God had given them so many gracious gifts! After tenderly breathing life into the dust-made man, God placed him in a garden with every tree “pleasant to the sight and good for food,” and gave him an important vocation: tilling and keeping the garden. And if that was not enough, God made companions for the man, first the animals, and then the woman, the one of whom the man said with joy, “flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone.” Finally, God gave them freedom—within limits. “Eat freely of every tree,” God told the man, “except one.”

Oh, but that’s where the trouble starts, isn’t it? One limitation set by God to preserve and sustain a creation where harmony between God, humanity, and all creatures is the way of things. But the serpent takes that one, little limitation and subtly sows distrust of God’s intentions. “You will not die,” he tells them, making us all wonder. Suddenly there is suspicion of God and God’s intentions. Did God lie about the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, as the serpent suggests? And why does the serpent seem to know the insatiable curiosity of human nature better than God? Or has God somehow set Adam and Eve up to fail this temptation?

It begs the question about the Creator which continually nags us in these days after Eden. If God created all things “good,” than how and why did distrust, disobedience, and the sin and evil which ripple out from them, come to exist in our world? It is a mystery which has not been fully answered, and the text we are given does not satisfy in this way. The story of Eden, like much of scripture, simply testifies to the predicament human beings find ourselves in.

The bad news is that we also find ourselves “set up.” On the one hand, we have been gifted with life and placed in a marvelous creation, from which we derive what we need for sustenance. We have been given the purpose of stewarding the creation for the good of all. But we have also been given limits which are to be respected. These limits are not arbitrary, but are established to sustain relationships of harmony with God, each other, and all creation.

And so, temptation is ever-present in our individual and collective human experience. Temptation strikes whenever we hear that voice provoking us to exceed our own or others’ limits. And as we exceed them, we move into abusive behavior. Derrick Jensen notes, “The guiding principle of abusive behavior is that the abuser refuses to respect or abide by limits or boundaries put up by the victim.” Feeling entitled to take whatever we desire, we pervert good things to bad purposes.

Ultimately, God didn’t lie to Adam and Eve, and God doesn’t lie to us. Adam and Eve were evicted from the garden, and it did mean death—death to the abundant life of trust and intimacy God had intended. In our world, we see every day the pernicious ripple effect of transgressed limits. Families and communities are destroyed by addictions. Hunger, homelessness, and violence are the costs of the poverty we sanction, lauding the few who amass fortunes while many barely scrape by on leftovers. Our waters and air are polluted, and life-giving soils erode, as we continue to pursue an unlimited growth economy. Our young men and women die in far off lands as we engage in wars securing our access to the oil which fuels our way of life.

Or do we see?

The truth is, rather than be faced with the shame of our abusive choices, we often try to hide like Adam and Eve from the mess we have made with God and one another. Walling ourselves in our wealth, professional status, familial relationships, and even our religion, we seek places we can feel secure amidst the chaos. Ironically, the hiding places we choose turn out themselves to be temptations, as we again misappropriate things and people to deny responsibility and secure ourselves.

The Hiding Place is Corrie Ten Boom’s autobiography about her life in World War II, German-occupied Holland. At first, it appears the book’s title refers to the safe house Corrie and her sister Betsie ran, or the secret room in which they hid Jews. But as their Dutch Resistance work is discovered, and the Ten Booms are captured, eventually ending up at the notorious Ravensbruck concentration camp, the title comes to have a different meaning entirely. At their first imprisonment, Corrie remembers her father, faithfully keeping his evening prayers, reciting Bible verses from memory: ‘Thou art my hiding place and my shield: I hope in thy word… Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe.’” Later, after Betsie has died at Ravensbruck, Corrie is released, and she experiences their sufferings transformed by God into the mission of creating safe places for both persecuted and persecutors to recover from the war. Corrie remembers her sister’s soft words: “There are no ‘ifs’ in God’s world. And no places that are safer than other places. The center of His will is our only safety…”; “His will is our hiding place.”

“You are a hiding place for me,” proclaims Psalm 32 “you preserve me from trouble; you surround me with glad cries of deliverance.” This is a lesson well-learned, the psalmist tells us. While remaining silent and attempting to cover up feelings of guilt and shame, the weight of that burden was unbearable. But: “Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity. I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,’ and you forgave the guilt of my iniquity.” The Psalmist experiences great relief—and even happiness—in the experience of confession and forgiveness. As he releases guilt and shame to God, he is relieved of their burden, restored to a relationship of trust, and freed to share that good news with others.

We see it again in the story of Jesus, carried from his baptism to the desert by the Spirit for forty days and nights of fasting. Just like Adam and Eve, just like us, Jesus seems to have been “set up” in his encounter with temptation. Physically weak and hungry, all the usual hiding places are stripped away. There is no running for cover in the desert.

So of course, the devil comes. He invites Jesus to an attitude of entitlement. Surely the One whom God named “Beloved Son” is entitled to exceed the limitations of human life, first by magically turning stones into bread, then by spectacularly avoiding suffering and death, and finally by claiming the power to control all the kingdoms of the world.

But Jesus denies the devil all three times. How? Accepting God’s limits as good and gracious, Jesus holds fast to the refuge of God’s word, clings to the center of God’s will, and hides himself fully in God’s trustworthy love. “Away with you, Satan!” he rebukes, and suddenly angels wait upon him.

So what about us? Our temptations may not seem quite as dramatic or as blatant as Jesus.’ But they are just as powerful and destructive. They come upon us, not just once in our lives, but relentlessly in subtle, everyday moments, spoken by mundane faces without names.

Yet, we are not unprepared to hear and rebuke those voices. I’m not claiming it’s easy. It is a lifelong struggle to overcome sin, and there is there is no magic formula. And it is a lifelong labor to recognize and accept the limits upon our lives as the blessings they truly are. But we do have Jesus to show us the way. We, too, can learn to recognize and reject the voices which seek to sow doubt in our relationships with God and one another. We, too, can put our trust in the gift of God’s word, learning the scripture by heart and holding fast to God’s purpose. And if Jesus’ example is not enough, we can take refuge in the whole truth of his life, death, and resurrection. No matter how far gone we feel we are, Jesus goes with us all the way to redeem us.

We have entered the season of Lent, the church season in which we deliberately face up to the limits of our lives. We began by marking ourselves with ashes and reflecting upon one of the most painful limits we experience, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Such a practice is in direct contradiction of the endless voices which suggest, as one author notes, that if you only “take fish oil…exercise in strenuous short outbursts, buy hot shoes, do something outrageous–eat dog cockroaches if you have to on TV,” you can avoid insignificance, possibly aging, maybe even death.” There is a strange refreshment in accepting our limitations.

Further, we also have the opportunity in these forty days to deliberately face up to the ways we have tried to escape or exceed our limits and thus transgressed against God and each other. Openly and humbly confessing all the ways we have strayed from God’s purpose, we can let go of the things we use and abuse to hide our shortcomings and destructive behaviors. We can return to a way of life characterized by intimacy and trust.

My friends, there is nowhere to hide from the dangers of this world. There is nowhere to hide from the guilt and shame we experience when we have succumbed to temptations. The only true hiding place, the only place we are preserved from trouble, the only place we are surrounded with the joy of deliverance, is in plain sight. Let us throw off everything between us and the God who steadfastly loves us and promises to forgive us, each and every time we return to his arms, saying, with the humble joy of God’s children, “Here I am!”

In the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, Amen.

“Mother and Child Reunion,” 2.27.11, Ordinary/Epiphany 8A

[Note: we've posted the last two sermons out of order! Oops! But now we're all up to date again.]

Scripture Readings: Isaiah 49:8-6a, Psalm 131

“No I would not give you false hope, On this strange and mournful day;

But the mother and child reunion, Is only a motion away, oh little darling…”

So sings Paul Simon in his 1972 solo release, “Mother and Child Reunion,” from which I took this morning’s sermon title. There are many theories about the meaning of this song. Is it about a mother who has given up her child or received news that her son won’t return from Vietnam? Is it about someone comforting a child who has lost her mother? Those are just the most basic interpretations I found. But the truth “behind the music” is a bit less romantic. Turns out, Paul Simon saw the phrase “mother and child reunion” naming a dish on a menu at a Chinese restaurant and knew an evocative turn of words when he saw it![1]            

And he was right. I think the song is powerful because the image of the “Mother and Child Reunion” puts a finger on what is simultaneously a profound hope and sorrow in human experience. Whatever our actual experience, we seem to always harbor the hope that we might find that place of homecoming, where we are drawn back into the secure embrace of unconditional love and abundant provision.

But there is also that basic grief. As one preacher puts it, [E]ven if we have a home with people we love, we never quite reach that true destination, that place where our souls are fully connected, and we know the full meaning of home is all its shapes and contours. In this life, we remain in a kind of exile.”[2]

“Exile” is a generally appropriate metaphor for that existential grief rooted in being born, growing up, and individuating from one’s parents, realities which always have spiritual dynamics as well. Yet many of us also experience more specific kinds of exile, finding ourselves in relationships broken by addiction or abuse, trudging through bouts of depression or times when purpose and meaning seem absent, journeying ourselves or with a loved one through a long illness, or trying out a different mode of faith than we learned as children. In any of these experiences, we might feel like strangers in a strange land, alienated from “home.”  In any of these experiences, we might feel like we inhabit an empty space and wonder if God has left us out here to make it on our own.

Today’s reading from Isaiah addresses a people who were living in a very specific, historical exile, after the kingdom of Judah was conquered by Nebuchadnezzar and Jerusalem destroyed by the Babylonians. Thousands of Judah’s people had been deported from Palestine to ancient Babylon, current-day Iraq. These people expressed their grief in words like Psalm 137: “By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion…”

But Isaiah 49 strikes a different chord. Through the prophet, God speaks an invigorating word of hope, a huge vision which makes extravagant claims not only for what God will do, but for what God has already done. “I have answered you, I have helped you, and I have kept you,” God tells his Servant. Furthermore, “I have given you as a covenant to the people.” Promising that the homeland will be rich and abundant again, that the desolate places will bustle with new life, the Servant is empowered to liberate prisoners and call out those who hide in shame to identify themselves anew as God’s free people. All will be led home by God, who like a compassionate shepherd, will provide every necessity and make the roads smooth and straight. Isaiah’s Word of the Lord culminates in an imperative of praise: “Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the LORD has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his suffering ones.”

It is as if, in the very announcement of what God intends, God has already accomplished it.[3] But how do the people respond to this bracing call to action and empowerment, this great vista of new possibility? Our text tells us, “But Zion said, ‘The LORD has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me.’” As preacher Doug King comments, “What would a grand a powerful gesture by God be if we did not respond with a whine?”[4]

And yet, can we really blame these folks for their unenthusiastic response? The first time I read this passage, it seemed that commanding the exiled people to “sing for joy” is like telling someone in clinical depression, “Cheer up! Get out there and enjoy the sun!” To a person who feels like they are drowning, two hundred feet below the surface, the sun seems like a false hope. Another author notes, “Israel cannot see beyond the present boundaries of Babylon, yet God speaks as if they are already home.”[5] Homecoming may be on God’s horizon, but to Israel, it feels like just another day in Babylon.

Yet we also need keep in mind, Isaiah is not addressing the original victims of the catastrophe, heartlessly telling them to “get over it.” This text—and most of Isaiah 40 through 55—were probably written about fifty years after the great disaster and deportation. Isaiah is speaking to a new generation. They still carry the memory of their people’s pain, but not as a fresh wound.  The collective grief of separation has become a shrug of complacency, as they have acquiesced to the ways of Babylon. And after what happened to the earlier generation, why would they want to risk acting on God’s magnificent vision of homecoming?

What I love about this text is God’s next response. “Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb?” Of course it won’t surprise you that I zeroed in on this imagery given my current state of affairs! But what I like is that God hears Israel’s complaint and recognizes that something more basic is at stake than a simple lack of initiative. History and experience have taught the people a suspicion and distrust of God’s dreams and grand hopes. What they need right now is something more elemental.

Developmental psychologist Erik Erikson used the words “basic trust” to describe the bedrock confidence that a baby comes to have in a primary caregiver—usually the mother—that she will be reliably attentive to the baby’s needs, even when the baby cannot see her. From this basic trust in the mother, the baby comes to have confidence that the world is also stable and reliable. [6]  The trust forged in the earliest years between children and their primary caregivers is the foundation for later growth and freedom.

This is the kind of relationship with God the author of Psalm 131 describes. “O LORD, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.” The word translated “weaned” here can also mean “fulfilled” or “ripened;” the sense is of a child who has been reliably given everything he or she needs to grow. Walter Brueggemann submits, “To be fully human, so Israel testifies, is to have a profound, unshakable, elemental trust in Yahweh as reliable, present, strong, concerned, engaged for; and like Erikson’s child, to live and act on the basis of that confidence, even when Yahweh is not visible and circumstance attests to the contrary.” [7] Because a weaned child is no longer totally dependent for full nourishment from the mother’s body, he or she has more freedom to venture out to explore the world.

Yet what kind of explorations does a weaned child take? Nothing too high or grandiose, as the Psalmist notes. They start small. Little, baby steps. One theologian describes her daughter’s explorations of a pre-kindergarten room: “Despite the teacher’s urgings to explore the surroundings, my daughter found my lap the best spot from which to view the classroom. After a bit, though, she slipped down and moved away to study an aquarium, while I continued to converse with the teacher. Then she returned to my lap, where I welcomed her. In time, she ventured out again to see what the shelves on another side of the room might hold. This pattern continued until she had seen every corner of the classroom.”[8]

Israel’s basic trust in God’s reliable presence and provision has been shaken. So, before the people can leap into the great vision of homeland restored, Israel must learn anew the baby steps of trust in God. For God’s word in Isaiah proclaims the good news. Israel is not forgotten, can never be forgotten. Though a nursing mother might forget, God will not and cannot forget God’s people. Now, a nursing mother will likely not forget her child, not primarily because of their emotional bond, but because of the biological imperative: when the milk is there, you gotta give it away or suffer the consequences! And it is that biological imperative that the prophet is drawing on in this metaphor. “God is intimately connected to us, intensely aware of our experience and our needs and incapable of forgetting,” writes one theologian.[9] God cannot forget us, God says, because God has inscribed our names on the palms of God’s hands.

And so, it is not false hope, my friends, little darlings! “The mother and child reunion is only a motion away!” And God has already taken the first motion. God has chosen to make God’s people part and parcel of God’s very identity and being, and those hands will faithfully provide all that is necessary for the journey home from any kind of exile. So how will we respond? The next move is ours. We are not as helpless, hopeless or abandoned as we may have presumed, and we have been empowered by God to make a choice.[10]

Even in the darkest moments of our lives, even when home seems unbearably far away, we can choose to trust. And it is not so much that we must take a great, flying “leap of faith” to throw ourselves back into God’s arms. All it takes is that first baby step. The quietest, whispered prayer begins a new life with God. The smallest, most tentative act initiates the journey home. Just do that next righteous and loving thing, trusting in the God who is our true home beyond anything we’ve experienced and imagined. All Glory Be to God, our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer! Amen.

---

[1] These and other interpretations found at http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=1997.

[2] Could not find name of the author of this sermon posted at: Knox Presbyterian Church

http://knoxpasadena.org/podcast/archives/index.php?id=8909646939291369975

[3] Walter Brueggemann, Texts for Preaching Year A, p.155.

[4] Doug King, quoted by Kimberly L. Clayton, “Homiletical Perspective on Isaiah 49:8-16a,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Gen. Eds. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010, 389.

[5] Kimberly L. Clayton, as above, 387.

[6] Erikson’s theory paraphrased from Walter Brueggemann’s use of it in Theology of the Old Testament, Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament, Fortress Press, Minneapolois, 1997, 466.

[7] Brueggemann as above.

[8] Ellen J. Blue, “Theological Perspective on Psalm 131”, (394).

[9] Laurel Dykstra, http://www.sojo.net/index.cfm?action=magazine.article&issue=soj0805&article=080549

[10] Clayton, 387.

“From Top to Bottom” sermon by Keith. Transfiguration Sunday. 3.6.11

Texts: Psalm 99 and Matthew 17:1-9

            How many of you have had a mountaintop experience?  Now, you may not know exactly how to answer that because the term “mountaintop experience” has come to mean a couple different things.  One is a literal experience of being on top of a mountain and exhilaration that is felt of achieving a summit after a long hike or horseback ride from the valley below.   Being able to see a vast 360 degree panorama can be dizzying, where everywhere you look you see pure beauty.  The mountaintop is a place that brings about huge emotional reactions for people.  Some people feel elated, as though they are part of the mountain, or almost able to fly out over the horizon.  For others, the experience makes them feel small, just a tiny grain of sand in a vast universe.  Some are just brought to tears.  This past summer, I got to climb the Eagle Cap here in the Wallowas with two of my old college buddies, and it is a place where I know many of you have been, too.  The views of the other mountains like Hurricane Ridge and Sacajawea, and the Lakes Basin is nothing but awe inspiring.  It is almost as if you are at the heart of the range as the rivers and major streams radiate out from the summit in all directions.  A mountain top experience allows one to see forever and sense they are a part of something, something greater and grander than oneself.  Almost as if there isn’t anything one can’t do.  The eyes seem to see the world with greater clarity.  One can see where one has come from and the direction one is headed.  One is changed by the experience.

            So it is not surprising that when someone has a deep spiritual encounter with or revelation about God, a spiritual high so to speak, it is also called a mountaintop experience, even when a mountain isn’t involved.  People use that term when they have an epiphany, a sudden understanding of the way things work with their life with God.  This kind of mountaintop experience is an “aha” moment when something falls into place about faith or the nature of God. Emotions can go in any direction in such an encounter with the Holy.  Some feel elation, others feel fear.  But the main thing that happens is the person is changed by the new revelation or encounter.  Their life changes, how they interact with others changes, how they view God changes.  Life no longer proceeds like it once did, but now proceeds down a new path.

In scripture, we find God revealing himself and encountering humanity on several occasions.  And based upon what just being on top of a mountain can do to us, it is of no surprise that some of the most momentous God/humanity encounters happen there.  Probably the two most well known biblical mountain top stories are of Moses and Elijah’s encounter with God.  Moses had several of these meetings with God.  It is where he received his calling from God at the burning bush and it was where he became the law-giver to his people after God had lead them out of Egypt.  As the Hebrews were in the wilderness, God’s presence would descend onto the mountain and the mountain would appear to be devoured in flames.  Not only did these encounters with God change Moses’ calling from a sheep herder in the desert to Israel’s liberator and law giver, his meetings with God changed him physically.  When Moses would come down off the mountain, he had to wear a veil because his face shined so brightly that his appearance frightened the people. 

Elijah, the great prophet, encountered God on the mountain in almost as spectacular fashion as Moses.  He had just been on a mountain top where God had defeated the prophets of Baal with a spectacular show of fire from heaven.  When he receives a death threat from Jezebel, he flees for his life and ends up on a cave on mount Horeb.  God asks him what he is doing there, responding that he alone is left in his zeal for the Lord.   After the great wind that split the rocks, after the earthquake and the fire, God spoke to Elijah in a small, still voice from the silence of the mountain top.  Elijah met with God and the experience reaffirmed Elijah’s as God’s prophet and confirmed that he wasn’t alone in his love of the Lord, so that he could turn and face whatever lie ahead.

In today’s text, we find Jesus and his closest disciples climbing a mountain, probably to pray.  From the top, they could see both literally and figuratively where they had been and where they were going.  Six days previously, Jesus had been meeting with his disciples, and had asked them one of the most important questions in scripture, “Who do you say that I am?”  Peter responses that Jesus is the Messiah, Son of the living God.”  He orders them not to tell anyone about this, and begins to teach them that the messiah must suffer, must die, and must rise again from the dead.  Peter says no, that is not what is to happen to the messiah, and is rebuked by Jesus. 

Now, Jesus and three disciples are on a mountaintop in prayer. Jesus’ face changes and his clothes become dazzling white, so white that it was unbearable, like looking at the midday sun. Suddenly, in the midst of this light, Moses and Elijah appear to talk with him. They too appear in glory and talk to Jesus.  Peter’s reaction and suggestion to build three dwellings or booths was probably to prolong this incredible experience, but before he could even finish his words, a bright cloud overshadowed them and a booming voice from the clouds that says, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”  Peter, James and John fall to the ground in fear, and with the reassuring touch from Jesus, look up, and see only him.  Their encounter with the Holy has left them frightened and unsure how to proceed.  Jesus tells them not to be afraid, he is with them.

If a mountain top experience changes people, how was Jesus changed when he met with Moses and Elijah?  Literally, the word that is translated transfigured in our reading this morning is metamorphosis, a complete change of physical form.  It can also mean to change the outside to match the inside.  His full, true nature is revealed.  In a way, his disciples were witnessing his glorified self that they wouldn’t witness again until after his resurrection.  They were seeing his full humanity and full divinity revealed at the same time.  Jesus is the culmination of the Law and the Prophets.  All the law taught and that the prophet’s spoke was of him.  The law and the prophets pointed to his coming; his birth, life, death, and resurrection.  He was fulfilling all that God had been preparing for this moment and for the weeks to come. The disciples were seeing the true glory of the Messiah as God had promised. 

How does this mountain top experience change the disciples?  Peter had a perception of what the messiah must be and do.  The messiah would be both a religious and a political figure, freeing Israel from Rome and bringing the glory back to Israel they once knew.  And the disciples would be the Messiah’s right hand men, so to speak.  Jesus’ transfiguration is just the beginning of seeing that he is not the kind of Messiah that God has sent.  They must set aside their preconceived notions about discipleship and messiahship and listen, truly listen to Jesus and journey with him.  And the journey begins by coming down the mountain.

Friends, we can’t stay on the mountain.  We must leave our preconceived notions about who we think Jesus is and listen to him about who he says he is.  This encounter happens to help us take the first steps down the mountain.  From the top, we can see where they are going.  From Peter’s declaration that Jesus is the Messiah and his transfiguration, Jesus now sets his sights on Jerusalem, to show them that the Messiah is also the suffering servant of all.  Jesus had been telling them about what was to come, but they either wouldn’t listen or understand.  Now it is time to listen.  The path leads to Jerusalem, to his betrayal, to his arrest, and to a cross that stands on another mountain.  That is where he will find his glory.  Today’s mountain top experience is to prepare them, to prepare us, for that journey. 

This Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, when we begin the journey with Jesus as a time of self reflection, repentance, and renewal.  Jesus will continue teaching us about what it means to be his disciples and what it means that he is the Messiah.  Like Peter, James, and John, we need to follow for awhile and listen to Jesus, listen to him about what it means to be his disciples, that it means for him to be the Messiah of God.  We are invited to listen, truly listen to him, to see where we have come from and realize where he is leading us. 

Friends, it is time to get up and begin the journey off the mountain.  There will be times we will question, moments we will be tempted, incidents that will cause us to doubt, and times we will want to walk away from this Messiah because he doesn’t fit our understanding of what a true messiah should be.  In all that, along this journey to the cross, we may experience fear.  Jesus tells us not to be afraid.  He says that because he is with us on the journey.  He is with us on the journey as we look back over our lives to see where we have been and he is with us as we look ahead where we are going.  He is with us so that on Easter morning we will be prepared to meet our once crucified Lord, risen in all of his glory.

Choices Set Before Us: Sermon by Laura, Ordinary 6A 2.13.11

Scripture Readings: Deuteronomy 30:15-20, Psalm 119:1-8

As massive protests finally ended Hosni Mubarak’s 30-year rule, the news filled with the joyous exclamations of Egyptian people and supporters of democracy around the world. The Associated Press noted that “from London to Gaza City to Seoul” people were celebrating the largely peaceful revolution.[1] But there was also that persistent question: What kind of government will replace Mubarak’s regime? Witnesses to a threshold moment for the people of Egypt, we watch and wonder. There is the potential for a new way of life, in which regular people have a voice. But there is also the potential for yet one more dictatorship to succeed the old. What choices will be made in the next days and weeks? And, in the long run, will those choices matter?

Watching Egypt at the threshold of democracy, we celebrate again the power of the people’s choice in our own country. We are a people who value choice as a “staple of the American dream,” one commentator notes, and “[M]ore choice is always the preferred value.”[2] Yet even as we celebrate, we realize that unlimited choice turns out to be incredibly demanding. We must be constantly discerning which option among many will lead to the “good life” for us as individuals or a community. Which choices really matter? Paper or plastic? Organic or conventional? Nissan or Ford? Presbyterian or Faith Center? Sunday worship or sleep in? And how do we go about making good decisions in any of these matters? Inundated with information that is always mixed with liberal measures of “buzz” and “spin,” it seems impossible to find a reliable guide.

Our choices can be so endless, and our information so conflicting, sometimes we just refuse to commit ourselves. Such abdication of responsible choice is rooted in despair, yet lack-of-commitment has become a valid option in our society. Priding ourselves on our autonomy, we actually have a diminished sense of accountability. Our choices seem to matter little, to God or to anyone else, as our lack of accountability blinds us to the impact of our lives, ultimately disempowering us. Brett Younger sums it up well: “Most of our decisions do not seem important, but life and death are before us every day. We choose death when we ignore God and choose anything inferior. Death is a slow process of giving ourselves to what does not matter. Modern life is impoverished with a lack of purpose. We rush to meet deadlines that are insignificant and bow before ideas that are not worthy.”[3]

Our readings this morning confront us right at the threshold of choice, boldly asserting both that our choices are, indeed, of life and death significance. We are accountable for ourselves and for our world. Yet the good news is that God has provided everything we need to choose well. And when we fail to choose well, as we often do, God graciously makes it possible for us to return to the true life in him.

In Deuteronomy, we stand with the people of Israel in the wilderness at the edge of the Jordan River. God has delivered them from the sufferings of slavery under an earlier Egyptian dictator, Pharaoh. Moses has led them through forty desert years to this boundary time and place. They have overcome many dangers, and they have been formed as God’s people, yet a new challenge awaits. Moses warns them, that they will encounter many temptations to forget God and abandon God’s ways upon entering the Promised Land. Reviewing God’s mighty acts on their behalf, reiterating God’s commandments, Moses urges them to accept and live out the covenant God has graciously made with them. God is giving them everything they need yet ultimately the choice to flourish is theirs. The time has come to choose. “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity,” Moses tells them. “Choose life, that you and your children may live!”

Moses explains that choosing life means obeying God’s commandments, and this introduces some tension for us. We like the initial sound of “choosing life,” but the few of us get excited about “obedience.” It sounds like a summons to again submit to a tyrant’s demands. But where the God of Israel is concerned, obedience means much more than simply “doing as one is told.” For God is not a tyrant but a deliverer who chose to love Israel when they were the least of peoples. Israel’s obedience is the loving response to the God who first loved them. It summons them, not to mindless submission, but to deep listening, a wholehearted seeking of the ways God’s word invites them to live out God’s purposes.

Further, it turns out that the commandments God gives are not a “to-do” list so much as they are a “to-be” list. They are meant to form us “to be” in loving relationships with God and with our neighbors, for mutual love is what covenant is all about. Walter Brueggemann notes that “covenantal obedience,” as taught in Deuteronomy, includes the following: “sharing feasts with the hungry, canceling debts the poor cannot pay, organizing government to guard against excessive wealth, sharing hospitality with runaway slaves, not charging interest on loans in the covenant community, paying hired hands promptly what they earn, leaving the residue of harvest for the disadvantaged, and limiting punishment in order to protect human dignity.”[4]

Specific behaviors result from God’s commands, but the bigger picture of covenant obedience is “essentially a different valuing of social reality, refusing to reduce social relations to power, force, greed, and brutality.”[5] And it follows that the natural consequences of such covenant relationships will be life-giving and prosperity-enhancing, for the whole community. On the other hand, to turn away from God and to serve others is the way of death and destruction. In practical reality, obedience to foreign gods means acceptance of perspectives and practices that contradict covenant relationships. “Perishing” comes about, not because God is waiting to hit the “smite button” every time someone disobeys, but as a natural result of relational patterns which engender fear, anger, hate, and diminishment of fellow human beings.[6]

With these understandings of covenant obedience, we might better appreciate of Psalm 119, an elaborate song praising the instructions God provides in the commandments. “Happy are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the Lord. Happy are those who keep his decrees, who seek him with their whole heart.”

Christians have often viewed the Torah, God’s instructions, as a burden, but in verse after verse—we only read the first eight of 176—the Psalmist “expresses the Israelites’ joy at the perfect guidance the Torah provides.”[7] Rather than constricting their freedom, the Israelites saw God’s commandments as empowering them to make far-reaching, life-giving choices for themselves and their people. Rather than a list of burdensome demands they could never fulfill, the Israelites saw God’s commandments as a gift.

“The Ninety-Nine Acre Field,” a brief reflection Margaret Silf writes in the book the Women of Wisdom have been reading, begins with a young man contemplating plowing a 99-acre field, double the size of any field he’s worked in before. He’s a bit overwhelmed, but an older plowman mentors him in the work.  Reflecting later upon what he learned, Silf writes,

“he still knows that a ninety-nine-acre field is a very big field to plow, just as he remembers the old plowman’s wisdom on how to accomplish this task…The first furrow has to be perfectly straight because it sets the course for every furrow after it. To achieve that perfect straightness, you had to look into the far distance, between the heads of the two horses, and fix your gaze on a landmark at the farther edge: a tree, a rock, or perhaps a cluster of bushes. The secret of the straight furrow was to keep your sights always on that chosen landmark and plough toward it. If you let your attention wander for long to the immediate surroundings, or to the horses or the plough in your hand, you would soon lose the focus, and the furrow would start to wander…”[8]

At the edge of the Promised Land, the time has come for choosing. Yet Israel’s history bears out, we do not choose only once. Our wanderings off-course lead us into destructive patterns and find us exiled from the homeland where life can flourish. Charles Cousar points out, “ancient Israel was under no illusion about the ability of individual men and women, or of the community of faith as a whole, to attain moral perfection…To be sure, the mark was often missed (as it is missed by modern people of the faith community), but the mark remained: the only true guide for worship and conduct in a difficult world.”[9]

It turns out that God’s gift of the commandments was a gift, even when it seemed far off. Sighting that mark in the distance made it possible for Israel to return again and again to the straight furrow of God’s ways. As Christians in our day and time, we face the same choice, life or death, blessings and curses. We follow the One who said he came, not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. As Silf reflects, Jesus is the One who makes that first perfectly straight furrow, “the Way that follows [God’s] dream.”[10]

Jesus is the One who is also the answer to the Psalmist’s prayer. We know that God has never and will never utterly forsake us. For no matter how far off-course we get, no matter how blurry our focus becomes on the way of life God has chosen for us, in Jesus Christ, we have a way back home.

Wherever you stand right now, my friends, it is a threshold. The life that is truly life has been made abundantly available to you by God in Jesus Christ. The choice is always open, the first and last choice that really matters. The choice is yours. Choose life.

 In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

---

[1]http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5h2WH6Nd0n9X8CSpLpRQleIk_4bvQ?docId=33e590bdbf1740ddb048c74291dcb2d5 (Associated Press, Feb. 12, 2011, London).

[2] Andrew Foster Connors, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010, 338.

[3] Brett Younger, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010, 343.

[4] Brueggemann, Texts for Preaching Year A, WJK, 138.

[5] Brueggemann, Ibid.

[6] Brueggemann, Ibid. 

[7] Kevin A. Wilson, “Exegetical Perspective on Psalm 119:1-8,” Feasting on the Word, 345.

[8] Margaret Silf, Compass Points, 96-97.

[9] Charles Cousar, Texts for Preaching, Year A, 140.

[10] Margaret Silf, Ibid.

“All Ya’ll Are the Temple of God” Sermon by Keith, 2.20.10

Text 1 Corinthians 3:10-23           

 I like to think of myself as a fix-it, hands-on kind of guy.  Ok, maybe just a hands-on guy.   That fix-it part of me comes out when I look around our house and see all the things that need repaired, or changed, or remodeled.  And to make matters worse, I have too many do-it-yourself books.  They make it look so easy to tear out a wall, move some outlets, or install a bathtub.  “I can do that,” I mutter to myself.  Just give me a drill, a saw, and a jackhammer!  But I have one do-it-yourself book that helps put things in perspective.  It’s from Home Depot, and down in the corner of every page that a new project begins is the estimated time it would take for people of differing skill levels to do the work.  It might say, expert, 1 hour, intermediate, 2 hours, beginner, 4 hours.  I know what category I fall into.  But the other thing I like about this particular do-it-yourself book is that it has a character named Homer.  From what I can tell, Homer is a guy who jumps into the middle of a project without really thinking things through and shares his misadventures.  They are called Homer’s Hindsights, as they highlight mistakes he made and how he could have avoided them.  Stories of broken toilets, hair raising electrical wiring adventures, and windows that weren’t quite square fill the corners of the pages.  Now, if Homer just would have asked the right questions and planned things out, had the right tools, but especially had the right help, he wouldn’t have had such misadventures.  What he needed was help from a master builder.

In some aspects, the folks in Corinth had proceeded in being church as if they were being led by Homer.  If you recall, the Corinthians had started rallying around leaders and personalities in their church.  They separated themselves into groups based upon who had been their teacher or who had baptized them.  At a time when this new church was most fragile and in need of becoming stronger in the faith, these divisions had the capability of tearing apart and destroying what had been built.  Paul comes in and gives them a different message.  They are to be united in Christ and as Christ’s followers in the same mind and purpose.

Today’s reading continues with this theme of unity in Christ.  Paul uses the imagery of skilled, master builders, each building upon the work that the other has done.  These leaders that they are following, that they have divided themselves among, are not there to compete with one another, but to build upon each others’ work in Christ.  We see this as a house is built:  a foundation is poured, then the carpenter comes in and frames the walls, the electrician runs the wiring, the plumber solders and lays the pipe, until the house is completed with the finishing and trim work.  Each one expertly completing their tasks and building upon what the others have completed before them.  If even one person contributes poor work or materials, the building will not function well when it is completed. 

Paul says that each builder must choose with care how to build on the foundation.  The NIV translation says each one should be careful how he builds.  Paul was the one who laid the foundation.  It is the one who unites the, Jesus Christ. That foundation is what is what everything else is built upon.  Now, each one that follows builds upon that foundation.  They do not come in and lay a new foundation, but build upon the foundation that already exists.  Peterson’s The Message says it this way, “Using the gift God gave me as a good architect, I designed blueprints; Apollos is putting up the walls.  Let each carpenter who comes on the job take care to build on the foundation!”

As master builders in their own disciplines, Paul, Apollos, or whomever don’t compete with one another to build a church; they need each other to build the church.  They each must be intentional in building upon the foundation of Christ, to be intentional in all aspects of the life of the church.  They must be intentional in how they build for the same reason when a house is built, the carpenters, the plumbers, and the electricians must be careful in how they build and what they use for building materials.  It is because there will be an inspection of their work.  For the church, the inspector is God, who will reveal and test everything that has been built upon the foundation of Christ.  Again, Peterson’s Message, “If you use cheap or inferior materials, you’ll be found out.  The inspection will be thorough and rigorous.  You won’t get by with a thing. If your work passes inspection, fine; if it doesn’t, your part of the building will be torn out and started over.”    Nothing will be hidden.  Nothing is to be done half-hearted.  God wants to see the church built up and will reveal and remove what doesn’t build upon the foundation of Christ.

Next, Paul lets them know what they are building and what they are apart of. They are not building an organization or association or joining a club.  They are building God’s temple and the building material are God’s people.  At this time in antiquity, it was understood that the gods resided in their respective temples.  Corinth was a large and prosperous urban center with a religiously diverse population.  Temples to various gods and goddesses would have dotted the landscape.  Even for the Jewish population, it was understood that God’s presence, or shakina, resided in the temple in Jerusalem.  Paul’s words that God dwells with believers in Corinth would have been radical, almost incomprehensible to them.  Paul extends the understanding of God’s dwelling place in the temple to assert a new idea:  Yes, God dwells in the temple, but the temple is not a building, it is the community.  When Paul says, “You are God’s temple,” he is using the plural “you” in the Greek that we lose in the English.  The temple is all of them.  Community is what they are called to build, especially in knowing that the Holy Spirit actively dwells in that community.  Each part of the temple, the community, becomes important.  Each person becomes necessary for building up and supporting all the others.  Remove or exclude one, and they have vandalized the temple of God.

For the Corinthians, intentionally building upon the foundation of Christ with the community was critical for the newly created church to thrive.  For us, it is just as important for sustaining the church, so that it can continue to thrive.  Paul reminds us to take care and be intentional about the deep foundation that is Christ.  A foundation gives the footprint to the building.  Paul asks us to consider the question:  What kind of footprint did Jesus leave for us to build upon?  In light of the metaphor of a building, we have a lot on which to continue constructing on.  This church, this congregation in La Grande, is celebrating its 125^th anniversary this year.  We have heard the stories of Sunday school classes taught in the bell tower and children collecting pennies to buy bricks for the education wing.  The traditions, the outreach, and the programs that the members of this church have been involved with over that time are well worth celebrating.  But where do we go from here?  How do we keep building upon what they have built before us?  What stories will next generation say about us?  What kind of materials do we use? 

I see there are really only two ways to build.  We can build Homer’s way, jumping in, not spending much thought on things, and hoping that we get things right.  Or, we can ask the help of the master builder.  Friends, being church, building the temple of God, is not a ‘do-it-yourself’ project.  The foundation is Christ, and the Holy Spirit is the master builder who guides our efforts as God makes his presence known to us in this community.  It takes discernment, time, and careful listening to God’s voice in our midst as we build upon Christ’s foundation. 

Over the next few months, Laura and I hope to begin the process of long range planning.  You, all ya’ll, as the temple of God that makes up First Presbyterian Church, will be part of that process.  We need all of you to help us hear the voice of God in our midst.  We will be inviting you to pray and discern with us the process of building this church.  And we know that no matter what God calls us to do; we will have all the tools we need to make it happen.  First and foremost he has given us the greatest gift, the gift of himself in Jesus Christ that is our foundation.  And it is through the power of the Holy Spirit that those tools, our power tools, are discovered and used, nourished and sustained.  But God has also given us each other.  Look around, each one of you, from the youngest to the oldest, is important and necessary in building God’s temple.  The temple is not complete without you.

Friends, you are the temple of God’s Spirit.  Let us go forth together and continue to build upon that foundation that is our Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen.