traveling mercies

Disruptive Words

2012-01-15T21:49:00.000-08:00

John 1:43-51
1 Samuel 3:1-20

January 15, 2012

Words have power. A simple phrase or question can disrupt your life, changing its course forever.

“You have cancer.”
“Will you forgive me?”
“I love you.”
“I will, God helping me.”
“I have a dream…”

Perhaps you can recall moments when words disrupted, changed, unsettled your life. What comes to your mind?

One particular experience of disruptive words kept coming to my mind as I studied this passage from Samuel.

It was a lovely June day in Chicago. I was sitting in the office of a pastor who was to be my internship supervisor for a year, one of the final steps in the ordination process. I had just graduated from seminary, and Peter and I were contemplating the cross country move and finalizing details. He would go to graduate school and I I would intern in a Christian Reformed Church. We had a plan. This was perfect.

The pastor’s first question to me was “What are you still doing in this denomination?” It stopped me.

I was baptized as a baby and formed in the Christian Reformed Church. At the time, the denomination’s polity did not allow for the ordination of women. Women were being ordained by exception, and it was a hard road. I had scraped my knees as I tried to walk down that road, being affirmed in that call in spite of a church that did not think a woman should be a pastor. I came to Chicago having networked for over a year to find one church willing to take a female intern let alone me.
This church internship was the only option.

The pastor’s words disrupted that plan and forever changed the course of my life. His words opened me up to seeing another option.

I put the ordination process in the Christian Reformed Church on hold. After prayer and conversation with many in my life, I stepped onto an entirely new path. We moved to Ann Arbor instead of Chicago. We joined First Presbyterian Church of Ann Arbor, and I took three more years to begin the ordination process all over again in the Presbyterian Church USA, where I have found a home to live into my call to preach and teach, to minister.

Disruptive words carried me here to you, and I am grateful.

Disruptive words have power don’t they? Spoken at just the right time they can forever change the status quo.

God’s words overturn the status quo in this passage from 1 Samuel.

Young Samuel, just a boy is asleep in the temple. I imagine him being a sixth grader, like our very own Ben or Michael. Samuel is an apprentice to august old priest, Eli.

Remember Eli? Eli is a head priest whose sons, Hophnai and Phineas are also priests. But the sons do not follow in their father’s upright footsteps. They are the playboys of the temple. They have defiled the priestly order, running around, stealing temple gifts. And, Eli, the head priest cannot keep his sons in line. He is rendered useless.

This relationship is a mirror for Israel at this time as well. Israel is still a group of tribes, not a nation…They are in an in-between place between the era of the judges and kings, and it’s not pretty – it’s chaotic, and lawless, breeding abuse and fear. Eli’s role as priest is to be setting forth the law, yet it seems that he has given in and given up.

The only bright spot is Samuel. Samuel, born to barren Hannah. Samuel, a miracle boy, who is apprenticing with Eli in the temple with respect for the priestly vocation.

Samuel is awoken in the middle of the night by a voice. He thinks he is hearing Eli, but after three calls, Eli finally snaps out of grouchy man mode into priest mode, and recognizes that Samuel is hearing God.

The message disrupts more than a good night of sleep. For Samuel, the message is not just a warm fuzzy call to follow God. No, the message contains a challenge, a condemnation, and a call.

Hear it again from The Message translation:
“11-14 GOD said to Samuel, "Listen carefully. I'm getting ready to do something in Israel that is going to shake everyone up and get their attention. The time has come for me to bring down on Eli's family everything I warned him of, every last word of it. I'm letting him know that the time's up. I'm bringing judgment on his family for good. He knew what was going on, that his sons were desecrating God's name and God's place, and he did nothing to stop them. This is my sentence on the family of Eli: The evil of Eli's family can never be wiped out by sacrifice or offering."

Imagine hearing that message as a child, and then having to deliver it? Eli is Samuel’s mentor and father figure. Samuel is dependent on Eli, and he has just heard Eli’s entire household and family will suffer the consequences of their sins. Yet, Samuel delivers the words with courage and directness. Eli hears it and accepts it. The words do not surprise him.

But the word of God has forever disrupted Samuel’s life and the life of Israel. The status quo has been overturned, and the power dynamic of Eli as mentor and leader, and Samuel as student and pseudo son is reversed.

Disruptive words.

Disruptive words and change are no strangers for us. From Samuel’s call to Jesus’ life, to the early church’s declaration “I believe in God…” to the Reformation to the present, God’s word as discerned by the body of Christ has disrupted lives and communities.

Tomorrow many of us will mark Martin Luther King Jr. day. A day off from school, and a day in which we as a church have decided to serve and love our neighbor with our 3rd annual day of caring.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was a pastor, an organizer, a prophet, and his words and the life he lived in response to those words ripped up the system of segregation and racism, forever changing the course of history.

While many were content to maintain the status quo of segregation, Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream for a different way of life. As a pastor, he was guided and shaped by Scripture, the word of God, and by prayer, listening for God. He helped to lead the Civil Rights Movement, and was killed, a martyr for the cause of full inclusion.

King’s “I have a dream” speech elicited action. Words disrupted.

Yet, it seems different to us in 2012. We are bombarded with a cacophony of words that seem to drown out the word of God. Religious leaders no longer make the New York Times. The actions of the Presbyterian Church USA no longer warrant a warning from the Secretary of Defense as the Confession of 1967 did.

Some have thrown their hands in the air proclaiming the church is dying, because the church does not have the same power and cultural capital it once did.

The North American mainline church is changing. Gone are the days of cultural prominence, and of blue laws. Your experience of church as you knew it 10, 20, or 50 years ago is not our present reality. If you follow news from General Assembly you will know that many congregations are struggling to support a pastor, and to keep their doors open. I have sat at a number of tables with colleagues who lament this transition, who long for the past.

The Presbyterian Church USA is facing splits and fissures. Next week a group called The Fellowship will meet in Florida to discuss splitting off or staying.

But yet, here we sit. Northridge Presbyterian Church is a thriving, healthy church. We value worship, mission, and education. We value differences and are able to be united with those differences. We care for our neighbors. We respect our past as we are listening and leaning forward into the future.

We are ready to hear and answer a word from the Lord.

The Good News is that God still speaks.

God calls forth a new beginning in this text, and invites Samuel, just a boy, to be a co-creator. The Word of the Lord unsettles unhealthy patterns, setting hope into motion.

Yes, Eli’s house is doomed, but it is time. Notice also that, Samuel doesn’t just hear God’s call and prophecy and then act alone. No, Samuel needs Eli to help him hear God. Samuel needs Eli to confirm this message by responding in verse 18 “It is the Lord; let him do what is good to him.” And, in verse 20 “All Israel from Dan to Beersheba recognized that Samuel was a prophet of God.”

If you read the rest of 1 and 2 Samuel you will read a narrative of God’s presence with and continued disruption of Israel’s community. Always overturning and new building. Tough endings and new turns.

Walter Breuggeman notes that “God’s new thing is not a grand religious act, but an invitation to a fresh, dangerous, social beginning.”

God is still speaking. Just as God called forth Samuel, just as Jesus called out Nathaniel in our passage from John 1, so God still speaks to you and me.

I find that comforting. Now, don’t get me wrong…God’s words of disruption are scary. They should make us anxious. We have something to lose. We lose control.

When that pastor asked me “What are you still doing in this denomination?” Followed up by, “have you thought of leaving? “ I was not happy to follow. I had a plan and it did not include starting a process all over again and working at Ann Taylor setting display tables of cashmere sweaters while my seminary classmates set communion tables and preached their first sermons. But, I would not be who I am without that experience.

The Presbyterian Church USA is in the process of being disrupted by God’s word.
At the end of February Presbyterians from around the country are gathering here in Dallas to have a conversation called the NEXT Church conference. Ben and I are attending as part of our continuing education, and we invite you to attend if you can.

Pastors, Elders, Deacons, seminarians, and lay leaders, will worship together and vision about how to be the body of Christ in a changing context. We’re going to talk about failures, strengths, and risks. We are going to study Scripture, and pray together as a body.

I’m excited by this conversation because it speaks to something deeper going on in the larger body of Christ. You and I are hungry for real connection, to hear God’s word, and to carry it out of this sanctuary into the rest of our lives. We know we cannot follow God in this world alone, or by ourselves, but in partnership with one another.

I have hope, because Northridge, you are unique. As one Elder said at our retreat yesterday, Northridge has something to offer to this conversation. While other churches are dying and struggling, we are growing in many ways and on many levels. While others are splitting, we are open to new ways of partnering, and welcoming all.

I have hope, because I have learned in my first year with you that you too believe and know that God is still speaking.

You keep Baptismal vows when the future seems uncertain for us and our children.

You hunger to read and study Scripture for a word that might rock your world.

You risk living into the charge we say each week to “Go out into God’s world in peace”, you have courage, and you love and serve the Lord in your homes, workplaces, and at school.

God is still speaking. What do you hear?

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

References:
Interpretation Commentary on 1 & 2 Samuel by Walter Brueggemann, page 27.
God is still speaking tag line from the UCC
Sermon title is a phrase in Breuggeman's commentary on 1 Samuel 3.

Image from: After googling disruptive words, image
http://frrl.wordpress.com/2011/04/08/radio-is-dead-long-live-radio/

Christmas Eve Sermon

2011-12-25T08:21:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 9:2-7
Luke 2:1-20

House of Bread

Christmas came early this year. A few weeks ago, in the middle of Advent a few of us gathered with English Language Ministry students for their Christmas program. We sang Christmas carols in Spanish and English, and heard students share their homeland traditions with their newly born English skills. One woman’s tradition caught the ear of a few of us. She said, “On Christmas Eve we clean the house, singing, praying and asking God for love.”

Singing, praying, and asking God for love. Isn’t that why we gather here in the darkest hours of this night in worship? You sense in your inmost being that you need to be here, don’t you?

Our journey to Bethlehem has been full. You have shared meals, broken bread, and prepared your homes. You have decorated, shopped, wrapped, cooked, and baked. You have caroled, visited the shut-ins, and hosted end of the year parties. Many of you have travelled by air or car to be in Dallas. Or, you are preparing to travel to your hometown or extended family. I’m guessing many of you have not experienced a quiet and peaceful Advent bringing us to this night.

But, then, neither did Mary and Joseph.

It was a long walk from Galilee to the little town of Bethlehem. I imagine Mary and Joseph chatted with other travelers, the road full. Perhaps they made family connections, swapping stories about family members. My guess is that a woman or two sidled up to Mary asking questions about her pregnancy, and offering baby advice. And then they arrived in Bethlehem.

Bethlehem. A small town whose name is translated: house of bread.

Imagine the scene in Bethlehem. Because of the Census, Bethlehem, a city of 100 has swelled as full as Mary’s belly. Generations are squeezed into one place. It was like DFW Airport on Christmas Eve: packed full of tired and harried masses of people, long security lines, and those in charge trying to prevent bedlam.

Now, what happens when you go back to your hometown? Do you stay at a hotel? No. If you have family in town, you most likely stay with them.

Mary and Joseph would have been expected to stay with family, because that’s what you do when you go home.

We often visualize a scene with Mary and Joseph knocking on a quaint cottage, or inn door filled with other strangers and being turned away by an inn keeper.

Luke 2:6-7 recounts, “While they were there the time came for her to deliver the child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.” The Greek word for “inn”, kataluma, used in the passage actually means guest room. The very same guest room you or I stay in when you we visit family.

Apparently even this guest room reserved for out of town family is full. So, Mary and Joseph are relegated to the only open space, the barn. The manger, a table that feeds animals, is the resting place for Jesus. The stable is not exactly homey or comfortable, but it is warm and dry. Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were welcomed, but yet displaced all at the same time.

Isn’t that how you and I approach Christmas? At home and yet displaced? Perhaps you have mixed emotions on this night. Perhaps you’re excited to be back home, or wondering where home is exactly. Maybe you have never set foot here before, or you feel like an outsider, on the fringe. Perhaps you are thrilled to have your family together again, or perhaps you ache seeing that empty space next to you in this pew. Maybe you’re home here but worried that Christmas won’t, can’t, live up to your expectations. So you’ve created distance from those feelings, those memories. Maybe you have never set foot here before, or you feel like an outsider, on the fringe. Home and yet displaced…

Mary and Joseph are not turned out into the cold, they are not rejected, for they are among family, they are home. Yet, they are displaced from their normal guest room to the stable. Mary delivered Jesus in that lowly, simple space, with Joseph, the animals and shepherds?

The shepherds run to the scene. Now, if you were about to welcome your first child, would you welcome anyone but family into your birthing room? No. In fact, when babies are born, who greets them? The medical staff and family are present. In fact, only family is allowed into the delivery room. You certainly don’t want strangers there—dirty strangers to boot. Young guys who live around animals and pick up all their bugs and dirt. Shepherds.

But, the shepherds come just as they are, displaced from their night shift of tending sheep and welcomed as if they are family. Shepherds were considered the lowest of the low, and they find a home in the stable. The displaced in society, the excluded are included. I’ll say it again, the excluded are included just as they are. The excluded in society are welcome witnesses to God made flesh.
Like those shepherds traveling to Bethlehem on that night, you come as you are. And, God comes where God will…squeezing in where there is no room, on the fringe, on the edge, in the hidden spots, gathering those who are excluded to the center of God’s love and peace…

Remember that word for “inn” or guest room? Well, the writer of Luke uses this word again for the upper room in Luke 22. In that story, Jesus gathers with his disciples in the upper room, takes bread, and breaks it . Jesus’ birth and death are linked. The At the end of his story we see that a room is finally ready, and Jesus has collected a few more people beyond the shepherds to follow him. Some of them maybe were there when on a hillside far away he gathered the little bread that was at hand and broke it and fed thousands of people he did not know. Maybe two people in that upper room will be those disciples, driven off by fear after his death, who will suddenly recognize him again in the breaking of the bread.

This Breaking bread for the estranged will prove to be a theme, right up until Jesus’ death. The unimportant are welcomed to houses, to tables, to community and treated like family. With Jesus, bread is multiplied and shared with all who will come.

The same principal applies to us on this night as we sing, pray, and prepare to see God’s love. Some of you have not been for a while. You Some may not feel worthy. You Some do not feel full of Christmas cheer, but empty. Some are so glad to be here in this fitting place. Regardless of your place, your status, your emptiness or fullness, you have come, and you are welcome here.

Born in Bethlehem, the house of bread, Jesus is broken, the bread of life for all.

Tonight you and I gather around a manger, and around a table, where the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ is host. We are gathered in from the fringes or from the center. You and I are all given the bread of life, and the cup of salvation. We gather for this moment singing, praying, tasting, and touching the mystery of God’s love.

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

References: The textual point about kataluma is lifted up by Marina and Raurhbaugh in their Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, page 231 as well as by Swanson Provoking the Gospel of Luke: A Storyteller’s Commentary pages 74-80.

Image from washingtonmo.com

Playing it Safe

2011-11-14T15:44:00.000-08:00

Psalm 123
Matthew 25:14-30
November 13, 2011

Do you feel free to risk, to take a chance, to seek adventure? Now, I enjoy taking a risk, but only if it involves safety measures and boundaries.

Perhaps you are like me and you can tolerate taking calculated risks.

Traveling or trying Thai food have definite endings. I can tolerate this sort of risk because won’t have to wash my clothes in a sink, sleep on a floor in a hut, or savor the burning curry forever.
Do you feel free to risk?

This morning we hear the last parable in the gospel of Matthew. The parable of the talents is a familiar one to many of us sitting here today. You’ve probably heard more sermons on this text than I have preached!

Matthew 25 is nearing the end of the Gospel. Jesus is days away from traveling to Jerusalem, to be treated like royalty with a parade of palms, only to be delivered to his death. Jesus has shifted from healing back to teaching about how to live in the kingdom of God, as he did in his opening Sermon on the Mount. These parables are bookends to the Sermon on the Mount, and a literary device meant to draw the hearers and readers of the Gospel back to these early themes.

The genre for these parables is different. These last parables are apocalyptic. Apocalyptic. Say that ten times. That is one strange academic word, isn’t it? Put simply, the apocalyptic genre refers to waiting for the second coming.

In this parable Jesus tells the story of an absentee property manager or investment manager who gives generous amounts of talents or money to three slaves to take care of with no further instructions. Two double the talents and the third buries it. The master rewards the risk taking servants and casts out the third slave who played it safe.

The familiar interpretation is that talents represent gifts that we have tangibly and intangibly. Talents are something we possess. We must invest the talents, use the talents, hone the talents. Talents have come to be connected to money. If we bury our talents or hide them, we will not experience the blessing of God. Now, if you follow the logic of this interpretation, it’s easy to see how one might begin to think that wealthy people have more talent than the poor. Or, how one might see this as supportive of the prosperity gospel: blessings are linked to your hard work. Our Protestant work ethic has roots in this passage.

In recent years scholars and preachers have come to look at this parable from different angles. Looking at a familiar story from a different angle requires risk.

Consider the third slave with me. I am intrigued by this third slave, because more is written about him, and he says something different from the other two slaves. The third slave gets one talent. Now one talent was equivalent to 15 or 20 years of wages…A lifetime of wages were given to him in one lump sum. Wow.

The master returns and the third slave says something interesting: “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”

Now, can you blame the third slave? He shared his view of the master as harsh, as predatory (reaping where you did not sow), as a tyrant.

If you were that third slave who had that perspective of the master, would you dare risk the one talent in a high risk investment portfolio at the risk of losing it all? No.

The third slave is prudent, is wise even. He does not want to take a chance with the precious gift that he does have. He does not spend it, but he buries it.

If you were that third slave and thought your master was harsh, would you dare to even speak to the master? Probably not. This slave speaks out boldly. For his efforts he is treated harshly. Cast out. This third slave is similar to the virgins who didn’t have extra oil last week.

That is hard to stomach. Especially if the master is God, right?
Being prudent and wise, playing it safe, when you have tremendous fear has its merits.
How many of you look forward to taking risks in this scenario?

Taking risks: taking what you have, and being willing to part with it, perhaps permanently, well that is fear inducing.

Stanley Hauerwas notes that the third slave was fearful not only of the master, but of the gift. The third slave “assumed the giver had given a gift that could only be lost or used up. The slave assumed he or she was part of a zero-sum game. Those who think they are part of a zero-sum game think that if one person receives an honor then someone else is made poorer.”

The third slave thought this was an all or nothing, either or dichotomy. Either I try to invest and lose everything and upset the tyrant master, or I bury the treasure and at least have something to show. Either I spend this and it goes away, or I save it and I still possess it. This sort of thinking brought about fear and paralysis.

What about the other two slaves? They were given the gifts and they were able to risk. They felt free to risk. They also don’t use the same adjectives to describe the master. Isn’t that interesting? They risk freely, and their risk could have resulted in complete failure and loss of everything. What was the difference?

What was different was their perspective. They saw the gift differently. The first two slaves saw the talents as generous, abundant, and limitless. The first two slaves understood that they could not possess or control the gifts, and they risked.

If the talents cannot be used up, if they are not possessions, and if they are not earned, but given freely, then what are the talents?

The traditional understanding of talent is gifts. For example, you have been given the gift of clear writing, thinking, and a passion for the law, so you study and become a lawyer. To pick a purely hypothetical example.

But, our human gifts are fleeting. They change as we age. Our gifts are also easily impacted by external factors.

Ben posed an interesting question in his Sunday School class on money earlier this fall. What if the talents given are not physical gifts like money or intellect which gives one the ability to make money, but what if the talents given are the Gospel? How does that shift our understanding of this parable?

If the talents are the Gospel, then the gospel is a generous gift given to all.
The Gospel cannot be earned, cannot be lost, cannot be used up.
What if the gospel is a freeing gift rather than just one more thing to juggle?
Isn’t that freeing? Doesn’t that take the pressure off?

Now, how do we define the gospel? Well, going back to the context of Matthew, what if the gospel is what Jesus had been preaching, teaching, and modeling to the disciples up to this point?
The Gospel is freedom to care for the least of these: welcoming the stranger, healing the sick, caring for those in prison, comforting those who mourn, feeding the hungry. This is the good news, the kingdom rule that Jesus had been proclaiming up to this point.

Presbyterian minister, John Buchanan writes about this parable, “The greatest risk of all, it turns out, is not to risk anything, not to care deeply and profoundly enough about anything to invest deeply, to give your heart away and in the process risk everything. The greatest risk of all, it turns out is to play it safe.”
“Dietrich Bonhoeffer said that the sin of respectable people is running from responsibility.”

Passing it up the chain of command, deferring, deflecting.

Running from responsibility is not a new dynamic in our world.

We’ve seen that in the news this past week with the Penn State scandal. From the news coverage, it sounds like those in power deflected, they ran from responsibility and did not report abuse to the police in part because of the risk to their power and the prestige of a football program.

“The sin of respectable people is running from responsibility.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote this quote during tremendous conflict and tension during the rise of Nazism in Germany. Some of you sitting in these pews lived through this period in time. You have your own stories of risk.

My own grandparents lived in Germany and the Netherlands respectively during WW II. I grew up hearing their stories of risk at our family gatherings.

My grandpa and grandma Sytsma lived in the Netherlands and were dairy farmers during WW II. Their Reformed church felt compelled to join the Dutch underground resistance network. This was a high risk venture as it was the Gestapo’s policy to assassinate any suspect. Yet, churches in particular played an important role in the resistance movement. The Reformed church became a hiding place. People hid under the pulpit in the floor and in the organ cavity. Farms including my grandparent’s farm also served as hiding places. People, food, radios traveled from church to farm to farm. The entire community took risks. Some paid with their life as they were killed or sent to concentration and work camps. Can you imagine?

Freedom to risk was not just theology that I read in a book, but lived by people I know.

You and I don’t live in the same context as Bonhoeffer. I struggle with that. I have the freedom to live a relatively safe and comfortable life. I go about my day like many of you, grabbing my coffee at Whole foods, reading the newspaper, paying the bills, all risk free.

Yet, there are challenges for us too, aren’t there? We still have the hungry, the poor, the imprisoned, the homeless, and the suffering in our midst.

I think you and I have the risk taking slave and the fearful slave in us. Sometimes we feel the tyranny and live in fear, playing it safe, keeping silent, refusing to see the person put in front of us, deferring or deflecting change. We cling to security and permanence.

Other times we experience the freedom of abundance and are willing to risk, to buy that man a meal, to sit with that struggling friend, to forgive that person who wronged you. Sometimes we play it safe, other times we risk.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t do so well risking on my own. Sure, I have some will power and discipline, but it is limited. I do better with accountability and a community backing me. Jesus knew that too. In fact, that is precisely why he tells this parable not to an individual, but to the disciples, the body.

What if this parable does not simply apply to individuals, but to those of us entrusted with the gospel, the body of Christ, the church?
In my first year here at Northridge I have seen and heard risk taking because of the Gospel.

Think back to 1984. That year you followed the lead of your youth, who had been going on mission trips, and decided to take an adult mission trip to Haiti. You risked: traveling to a poor country, willing to learn as a group and serve across cultural, racial, and socio-economic lines. You risked being changed as you entered into relationship with Haitians that has resulted in a 27 year partnership with a school and hospital.

Think back to the mid-1990’s East Dallas Cooperative Parish involvement: ecumenical, totally new…You did not know what to expect, and you did not have total control. You risked partnering with other churches and other denominations, investing your time and talent to impact poverty in East Dallas. The parish worked together to support a number of non-profits including English Language Ministry, Agape Clinic, the Wilkinson Center, and a legal clinic.

You risked when the Session approved the youth mission trip attendance policy. Youth felt disconnected on mission, and a couple of youth worked across generations to draft a policy requiring attendance in worship, fellowship, and service throughout the year so that mission would not be an entitlement, but a calling. We saw the fruits of that policy this summer yet again, when our youth returned from New Orleans bonded as a team throughout the year and energized by their service.

You risked when you called two new pastors under the age of 40.

I imagine there was some fear and discernment as you embraced each of those risks.
You might have wondered how things would turn out, would this fail, what are the costs?

But, you overcame that fear, and felt free to risk. You followed a bold path, because you are passionate about the gospel, because you know with all your being that the the gift of the gospel needs to be shared and requires risks on your part.

Again, you are risking by discerning whether we can welcome a mission opportunity here in our church building that would involve all generations, and that puts us into relationship with those who are different from us.

You risk in spite of the fear and because of the gospel.

You risk because you know it is not all about you, but about God and God’s gift of grace and love.

Risk taking defines us as the church, not playing it safe.
I know, it’s hard to believe as Presbyterians who like to do things decently and in order.

There is a line in our Book of Order that describes the mission or great ends of all Presbyterian churches it says: “the Church is entrusted with unique tasks. We are called to proclaim the gospel for the salvation of humanity; to shelter, nurture, and provide spiritual fellowship for the children of God; maintain divine worship, preserve the truth, promote social righteousness, and exhibit the Kingdom of Heaven to the world…”
“ The Church is called to undertake this mission, even at the risk of losing its life. “

Called to undertake this mission of shelter, nurture, fellowship, worship at the risk of losing its life. Now, that’s a tough call to follow. I don’t think I can do that alone. But together, we can risk sharing God’s abundant grace and love in some unexpected ways.

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

References:
-Stanley Hauerwas quote from his Matthew Commentary, Brazos Press 2006. page 210
-Buchanan quote from Feasting on the Word Year A Volume 4 page 308.
-Bonhoeffer quote Ibid.
-Book of Order references:
2011-2013 Book of Order F-1.0304.
2009-2011 Book of Order G-3.0400. This line is not in the 2011-2013 Book of Order.

Cradle of Grace

2011-10-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

Exodus 33:12-23
Psalm 139:1-14, 23-24

October 16, 2011 Northridge Presbyterian Church

What does it mean to be known? Now, I’m not talking about the fact that the Ranger’s are now known for being the ALCS champions.

In our social media driven world, you and I have the opportunity to be known in many different ways. With the click of a mouse you can create a facebook profile and let friends know as little or as much about you as you prefer. You can share your favorite TV shows, what you ate for dinner, pictures from your last vacation, and what Wall Street Journal article got you thinking. Hop onto twitter and you are known 140 characters at a time.

You and I know that social media cannot every replace the understanding that comes through incarnation, relationship, and community.

Think about any relationship that lasts beyond the honeymoon phase. Whether it’s your best friend or a partner, you know that other person’s faults and strengths. You know everything from the mundane details like their favorite pizza topping, to profound like their hopes and their fears. You know them, and you love them “warts and all” as the colloquial phrase goes, “for better and for worse” as our marriage vows go.

Families also know in this way. Your mom knows what you need when you are sick, and your grandma has the uncanny ability of speaking truth into your life. Your siblings know just how to get under your skin and your dad knows you’ll never ask for help, so he offers.

If you are a parent, particularly a new parent, knowledge about your child grows exponentially with each passing day. You know that mole above your baby’s left eye. You know how to hold her to soothe her. You know his cry distinct from any another child in the nursery.

The Psalmist uses this definition of knowing to describe God’s relationship to you and me. God, the omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient, is brought down to earth in Psalm 139. What is striking is God’s concern, God’s intimate knowledge, and God’s connection to the human experience. Several times the Psalmist uses a word in Hebrew, “yada.” Our English translation “know” doesn’t quite fit. Yada meansnot just head knowledge, but intimate flesh and blood knowledge.

The Psalmist uses, “yada” throughout the entire hymn of praise. God searches us and knows us. As a mother knows the cry of her baby, so “God knows when you sit down and rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.” God does not simply know us in a casual way. God knows us intimately, and is active in not only knowing, but forming and fashioning us from the beginning, in our mother’s womb. God has flesh and blood knowledge of us.

The subtitle in our pew Bibles for this Psalm is “The inescapable God.” God behind you, God before you, God in your mind, God all around you. John Calvin wrote of Psalm139, “It is impossible to deceive God. God discovers every secret; there is nothing that can escape God’s notice.”

Perhaps God’s intimate knowledge of you may not be appealing. God knows your thoughts; God hems you in, behind and before. If God knows everything, why do we walk through the valleys of the shadow of death? If we affirm a belief in the Triune God who knows us, who goes before and behind us, why do we suffer? That is the quandary isn’t it?

Or, to pose another question. If God knows me and holds me, why don’t I always sense God or feel God?

Theologian, Serene Jones wrestles with this very question in her book Trauma & Grace Theology in a Ruptured World. Serene started with this question, “How do people, whose hearts and minds have been wounded by violence, come to feel and know the redeeming power of God’s grace?”

Serene shares a story in the book from her church that got her thinking about this connection between trauma and grace. Serene was teaching at Yale Divinity School and living in New Haven, Connecticut, and worshiping at a UCC congregation in downtown New Haven. If you have ever spent time in New Haven, you know it is not a safe sleepy college town immune from violence. It is rough.

One afternoon a 14 year old youth from her church was walking home and she witnessed a drive-by-shooting and death of a young man. Since this youth was the only eye witness, she had to deal with the trauma of what she witnessed and the trauma of recounting it on the witness stand during the trial and conviction of the perpetrator.

The church walked beside this girl and her family. One Deacon took her to her therapy appointments as her mom was not well, another sat with her in the courthouse, and most importantly these deacons listened to her as she processed what she saw. Together, the entire deacon board started a weekly Bible study with the girl and her family.

Jones recounts that the Deacons, “turned to the Psalms for solace and guidance as they walked with her. In the midst of their well-orchestrated, support-group-style Bible study, they asked Serene to provide scholarly interpretation of these much beloved poems.” A Calvin scholar, Serene brought John Calvin’s commentary or all things which they read alongside each Psalm, one by one. They read the Psalms of lament, the cursing Psalms, and in time, Serene, the Deacons, and the youth came to the Psalms of rejoicing and thanksgiving, like Psalm 139.

Serene writes, “In these Psalms, hope returns not because evil is explained or immediate justice is invoked, but because through the activity of thanksgiving, the goodness of God is publicly attested to and reaffirmed. By invoking such goodness, the world in all its complex wonders returns as a gift from God.” Hope returns through the activity of thanksgiving and the testimony of God’s presence with us in life and in death.

This wrestling with the tension of God’s presence in life and in death is not new. Pastor and theologian, John Calvin wrestled with this throughout his ministry. Like us, he lived in a context that was filled with conflict and violence. At that time Geneva was filled with refugees that found their way to Calvin’s church. Geneva was also a city wracked with violence. Parishioners and pastors were being burned at the stake in Geneva. Torture, trauma, and suffering abounded.

Calvin was the sort of pastor that was not afraid to jump into the struggles and messiness of life. Ministering in the midst of the reformation must have been a challenge. Calvin turned to the Psalms. He found the Psalms contained a powerful exploration of the painful and wonderful nature of life, and of God’s intimate presence. Calvin was so compelled by the Psalms that he included Psalm singing in every single worship service I think, both as a source of comfort and challenge to the congregation. Imagine singing the words of the Psalms so frequently that you had them memorized. The words of the Psalms would come to their lips during times of struggle and joy.

We don’t have to go far to imagine this tension as you and I live in the midst of life and death each day. The Psalmist writes in verse 7 “Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.”

Theologian, Neal Plantinga writes about Psalm 139, “The stubborn fact is that we can’t get away from God…our only choice is to surrender. Inside the cradle of grace, our only choice is to take our heart in our hands and offer it to God.”

You and I are inside the cradle of grace.

Now, perhaps the metaphor of cradle brings to your mind a number of images. What do you think of when you hear the word cradle?

Maybe you think of a running back cradling the ball, trying not to fumble. Now, many of you know I’m not a huge NFL fan, or sports fan for that matter. So, the image I have in my head is of a parent cradling a baby in their arm.

You have to be strong, yet tender to cradle a baby.
Cradling provides security.
Cradling implies love.

Or, I think of the noun. A cradle is a bed that holds a baby while it sleeps.
A cradle is both delicate and strong.
A cradle has protective sides so the baby will not fall out.
A cradle has movement, it is not static, but perhaps it swings, offering comfort to a colicky infant.

Whatever your image, God cradles us in grace from conception, throughout all of life and in death. Grace cradles us regardless of the stumbles and sleepless nights.

God’s graces cradles us, envelops us, holds us.

That metaphor is deep and powerful, but we forget it. I know I forget about the safe cradle of grace when I have watched yet another news story about the famine in the Horn of Africa, a tornado in Joplin, or the miscarriage of a friend’s baby. I don’t always sense the strong arms holding me when I try to do something myself.

You and I need eyes to see the cradle of grace in the midst of life and death.

Again, drawing from Calvin, we need to put on the spectacles of Scripture regularly, so we can see the cradle of grace. The Psalms offer a unique cradle, for they contain praise, lament, and thanksgiving.

The entire worship service each week helps us experience the cradle of grace. Through the movement of confession, assurance, song, the Word, our affirmation of faith, and offering of prayers and tithes we begin to notice the love of God that goes with us into the world. We hear God’s grace through song, Scripture, and prayer.

Yet, we don’t just need to hear the cradle of grace; we need to see and touch the cradle of grace.

Each Sunday you sit in front of a Table and Font. Calvin said that the sacraments are signs and seals of God’s grace.

The table is always set each week, to remind us of the grace of God. The font always has water each week to point to God’s claim of us as covenant children.
All of your senses are engaged as you touch the bread, and taste the cup.

This morning you not only see the water in the font, you can hear it when I will baptize Sierra Grace. Baptism is perhaps the most powerful sign and seal of the cradle of grace.

As you know, our Reformed tradition practices infant baptism. We baptize infants because we affirm that God’s grace comes to all of us even before we can see it or respond to it on our own. Although Sierra won’t be able to answer any questions this morning, her parents will, and you the Northridge family will. You will promise to love her and support her in her faith because you can see the cradle of grace, entering into a covenant.

Some of you teach about this cradle of grace in Sunday school. You open up the Bible and help us all see and understand God at work.

Some of you engage in mission. You serve meals at the Stewpot, teach English at ELM, or travel for a week long mission trip and you feel God’s grace as you serve a meal or hold a hammer.

Youth, you model for all of us what it means to ask questions about this cradle so we can understand it more fully, and what it means to follow God into the world with passion.

All of you come alongside one another as the body of Christ.
You listen.
You pray.
You comfort.
You study.
You discern.
You serve.
You know, “yada”.

You know...through sweat and tears, in life and in death you know, “yada” the loving God who hems you in, before and behind in a cradle of grace.

In the name of the Triune God who Creates, Redeems, Cradles us all, Amen.

References:
Title and cradle quote from Dr. Neal Plantinga's Psalm 139 devotional in My Heart I Offer. Published by the Calvin Alumni Association in 2000. Page 1.

Serene Jones quotes from viii,44, 63. Much of the Calvin section and crafting of this theological point is from chapter 3 in Trauma and Grace.

Calvin quotes from Calvin's Commentaries Volume VII. Published by Baker in 2003. Page 207 is directly quoted.

Exodus 16:1-21 Sermon

2011-09-18T12:52:00.000-07:00

Matthew 20:1-16 September 18, 2011
Exodus 16:1-21 Rev. Susan Sytsma Bratt
Enough?

Escape, expectation, and exhaustion are the back-drop for today’s passage. The Israelites have fled Egypt, Pharaoh’s land of slavery, where there was backbreaking work. Egypt, where there was not enough food, and not enough time, and not enough freedom.

Today we read about the beginning of the long journey post escape. The adrenaline of the flight from Egypt had worn off, and the newly freed Israelites find themselves in a unique place. They are free from the tyranny of Pharaoh, and yet they are not yet in the Promised Land of milk and honey.

The Israelites have been a dependent people for so long, depending on slave masters who would dictate their schedule, and their work, and dependent on Pharaoh who controlled their neighborhoods, food and access to resources.

Now they are free.
Now they find themselves cut off from resource, rhythms, and routines in the wilderness.

They are stripped of everything that is familiar: they are without shelter, without work, and without food. Their response is to complain, to despair, to fear. They go directly to Moses and state their desire to return back to Egypt, and the old familiar way of life, they demand to return to slavery.

Return to slavery…now, that is a bold request. They have just fled from Egypt, the land of slavery and tyranny, and they want to go back? Why? Well, at least in Egypt they knew what to expect, where they would sleep, and where their food came from.
They want to go back to Egypt because at least they knew what to expect in Egypt. In Egypt there was enough food, enough water, and enough security . There is not enough food, not enough water, not enough security for them in the wilderness. There is not enough. The wilderness is dry, desolate, disorienting.

This is a dry, desolate, and disorienting time in American life right now.
The September 2011 issue of The Atlantic has a cover story highlighting our own disorientation in the United States. The essay’s title is “Can the Middle Class be Saved?” While most of us do not live or wander in a literal desert, our unfolding great recession has as Peck puts it: “Illuminated the widening divide between most of America and the super-rich. Both developments herald grave consequences.” The essay is an excerpt from Don Peck’s book, Pinched: How the Great Recession Has Narrowed our Futures.

In the book, Peck looks back at political and economic history of the United States over the last century. Peck argues that the US has undergone wilderness times; the 1890’s, the Great Depression, the 1970’s, and now.

I have not lived through any of those previous wilderness times. We honored our nonagenarians last week, who lived through all of them, most notably the Great Depression. The Great Depression is the most poignant recent wilderness experience for Americans. As jobs dried up, families entered desperate and disorienting circumstances. Families struggled to pay their mortgages and remain in their homes, they struggled to eat, they struggled to work. There was not enough.

Here we are, 80 years later in the wilderness again. Yet, this time it looks different. We don’t have shantytowns, but we do have vacant and foreclosed properties. We don’t have bread lines, but our food pantries are no longer serving the most vulnerable, and those that used to donate food. We don’t have men waiting in long unemployment lines, but we do have a high unemployment rate, and many who are underemployed working several jobs out of their fields. We have used our homes as ATM’s when we feared we did not have enough, and we became bound to untenable mortgages and lived well beyond our means. We became slaves to debt, slaves to scarcity.

Peck notes that as in 1928, so in 2010 the top 1% of our nation’s population held 60% of the wealth. How much is enough?

Even Warren Buffet, one of the richest men in the world is asking this question. In his August 14 New York Times editorial “Stop Coddling the Super Rich” Buffet states, “My friends and I have been coddled long enough by a billionaire-friendly Congress. It’s time for our government to get serious about shared sacrifices.”

The wilderness is disorienting. New questions come to the fore, and we struggle to make sense of it. Fear and anxiety compels us to complain, to turn back, but we cannot go back.

Theologian Walter Brueggeman reminds us that when we do not trust in God’s abundance, we must supply the deficiencies from our own limited resources.
And so, we find ourselves in the wilderness thinking we do not have enough.
“not have enough to be loved, not enough to be well liked,
not enough to advance, not enough to secure my family,
not enough dollars, not enough members,
not enough published articles, not enough bombs, not enough stocks and bonds,
not enough…”

The driving question behind the perceived scarcity and resulting anxiety to possess more is this question: how much is enough? And, the foundational question: where do we find our security?

Exodus 16 shows us a different way to live in the wilderness. Living in the dry, desolate, and disorienting wilderness requires adaptability, openness to change, and dependence on God.

The Israelites, conditioned for generations to be slaves, to work to earn their place needed time to break that mindset in order to be adaptable, open, and dependent on God. This change did not happen overnight, in spite of the miraculous deliverance of God the shackles of slavery bound them even in their freedom in the wilderness.

They did not become more adaptable as they crossed the Red Sea, they did not learn how to be open to new things after God gave them water at Marah, and they did not understand dependence upon God even after seeing the pillar of fire by night and the cloud by day.

The journey into the wilderness caused them to complain. Did you hear it at the beginning of the passage? They complained and they doubted God’s providence and questioned Moses.

When they complained, God answered.

God replied to their fear based complaints, not with judgment, but with generosity.
Even though they didn’t deserve it, or earn it, God provided abundantly.

God provided manna, the bread of heaven. In Hebrew manna literally means “what is it?” Manna fit none of their categories. The gift of bread and quail is generous. The food did not fit into their expectations of a quid pro quo economy. The economy of the wilderness is one of grace, of generosity, of providence.

Biblical commentator Terence Fretheim points out that the gift of manna and quail was part of the gift of the created order. In the Sinai Peninsula, “a type of plant lice punctures the fruit of the tamarisk tree and excretes a substance that is a yellowish-white flake or ball. During the warmth of the day it disintegrates, but it congeals when it is cold.”

The Israelites didn’t know that about the terrain in the wilderness. So, through Moses God opened their eyes to this bounty and they were able to see the gifts of food that already surrounded them. God gives daily bread, daily meat, just enough for all the Israelites to be nourished for their daily journey to the Promised Land.

God’s grace filled gift of manna and quail breaks the vicious cycle of slavery and scarcity. God’s glory turns them around. They are no longer looking back toward Egypt, but ahead toward the journey to the Promised Land. No longer bound by Pharaoh the rules of slavery and scarcity, they are free to adapt and explore this new relationship with God. This relationship with God is one of radical generosity, abundance, and enough for the discipline of daily living.

The Israelites still did not fully understand. In spite of clear direction from God, fear was still present. Some gathered extra manna, left part of it until the next morning and it had worms and grew rancid. It turns out God’s provision is daily. It is enough, so that the Israelites are fed and nourished each day. Abundance is not for hoarding.

God’s gift of abundance and grace in the wilderness extends to us as well. Do we see grace in the wilderness as enough?

Sometimes we need one another to see God’s providence and grace in the wilderness. The wilderness can be a disorienting time. But, it’s also liminal….giving us an opportunity to adapt and be open, and depend not on ourselves, but on God.

I think back to the Dummalolly split at Northridge. It was a time that few of us here know personally. Yet, it was a critical time for Northridge. As I’ve heard the story, a good portion of the congregation split as the pastor at the time did not want to submit to Presbyterian polity.

A remnant remained, committed to being a Presbyterian congregation, committed to being connectional. That remnant was kicked out of the building, without a pastor, but with the support of Presbytery.

You were in the wilderness. It was disorienting and seemingly desolate. You didn’t know what would happen, and you didn’t have the resources stockpiled away in an endowment. When the church split and you were meeting in a school, a lawyer stepped forward. Strausburger and gave his time pro bono to the legal case for the church property. His gift won the Supreme Court case, and you got this building back. The case also set important case law precedent for future congregations.

When you got back into the building it was falling apart. Some of you worked on the doorway to put it back together again. Others crafted Sunday School furniture and bookcases. Your membership was small and struggling to pay for the church budget, and the $80,000 mortgage.

Each family discerned how much they needed, how much was enough and generously pledged to the church. I have heard one story of a family that went without new shoes in order to increase their pledge to the church.

That wilderness time could have been perceived as one of scarcity, but you took the discipline of seeking God’s daily bread seriously. You came to see how much was enough, and you recount God’s providence and abundant grace.

God built in a pattern for helping the Israelites to see their daily bread and to begin to experience enough: Sabbath. For the Israelites Sabbath meant they ceased their work, they didn’t need to gather manna. They took time to worship, to fellowship, to stop. This required trust. Trust that they did not need to earn God’s grace.

Sabbath was not a part of Pharaoh’s 7 day a week slave schedule. Until the wilderness, the Israelites could not afford to cease working.But, in the wilderness where God is present very tangibly, the Israelites are learning a new rhythm and routine.

Like the Israelites we may need a little help to see the abundant provision set before us each day.

We live in a frantic and fear filled world where there is never enough, but stopping for one day counters that fear and shows us there is enough. Taking time for Sabbath is to trust in God’s assured abundance, to embrace our freedom as children of God that our culture resists.

God promises and guarantees abundance, and Sabbath is one way we are able to fully experience and enjoy God’s gifts.

Yet, it is hard to take a day, or a chunk of a day to stop and ponder God’s grace. There are billable hours, kids to shuttle to soccer, home projects to complete, the ongoing job search to maintain, and extra shifts to pick up to pay the rent. I imagine Sabbath looks different for each of you. It may mean time here on Sunday morning in worship in study, time outside enjoying nature, time spent with your family, time spent reading Scripture, or journaling, or praying. Or, time spent horizontal on your couch for a Sunday afternoon nap.

Practicing Sabbath, is one important way to see the path ahead in this wilderness. Sabbath, stopping to see God’s creation, stopping to rest, stopping to worship is one practice that opens our eyes to see God’s abundant grace set before us each day. Sabbath helps us to see that we have enough by God’s grace.

When we practice Sabbath:
we set aside individualism and are able to see our neighbor
we unshackle the chains of scarcity, and we are open to seeing abundance
we let go of fear and we embrace Love.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer of us all. Amen.

Seven Years & Counting

2011-08-20T11:37:00.000-07:00

Our seven year anniversary is tomorrow. Seven, a biblical number of fullness, wholeness, completion. Or, maybe not. We are full, but we have not arrived. Like the seven days of creation in Genesis that call into being a world full of evolution, change, and transition our seven years of marriage have called into being seasons of evolution, change, and transition. The Sytsma Bratt union has not remained static as we embraced our vows to one another, community, and God. Seven years ago we were in Grand Rapids MI and took our covenantal vows in our CRC home church. Seven years later Peter will be home in Dallas, Texas, worship at our PCUSA church and I will spend the day among Benedictine monks and writers while on study leave. Our love has grown, shaped, and transformed. Thank God it is not complete, but full, not static, but dynamic.

As I have for seven years, I will revisit our four fold vows.

The Way of Creation (Genesis 2:18-25): Here at last is bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh, divine help in a form I understand. You are the image of God for me. God speaks to me in your voice. God looks at me through your eyes. God touches me with your hands. And, in my love for you, I too may reflect God.

The Way of Denial (Ephesians 5:21-33): I take you, to be my husband/wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death parts us. Nothing else will have the power, for today I turn away from all other options. Forsaking all others, I commit myself to you. I will seek to serve you with tenderness and respect, energy and intelligence, imagination and love.

The Way of Renewal (Matthew 12:46-50): I take you, to be my brother/sister in Christ, for this life and for the next. Let our love be loved within the community of God's church, and our home be embraced by a household of faith. However much our love for one another deepens, I promise to love God even more than I love you. I ask you to love God even more than you love me, that our growing love for God will draw us closer to one another.

The Way of the Spirit (Romans 12): I take you, to be my partner in Christ’s service. I will help you develop God’s gifts in you and work with you for the coming kingdom of God. I will listen with you for God’s call on our lives, that our home may be a place where the good news is proclaimed, where justice and mercy are lived, where God’s children are welcomed, and where God’s name is honored. May our marriage give God joy!

vows written by Dr. Laura Smit

Down to Earth

2011-07-29T05:53:00.000-07:00

Psalm 105:1-11
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Ordinary 17A
July 24, 2011

Down to Earth

Do you remember Highlights magazine? If not, let me refresh your memory. Highlights magazine is a children’s magazine. It’s been around for 65 years. If you ever spend time in a pediatrician’s office, elementary classrooms, or the children’s section at the public library you have probably run across Highlights Magazine.

Highlights magazine is unique from other magazines. It has hidden pictures throughout the magazine for you to find. For a child, the game of looking and looking could take up a good amount of time, and sometimes longer for adults.
In order to find the hidden pictures, you have to have eyes to see them.
You have to look carefully. You have to sometimes flip the magazine around, or at other times the hidden picture just seems to pop out at you in plain sight. With time and practice, the game of finding the hidden pictures can get a bit easier as you begin to know how to look. The delight of finding the hidden picture never grows old.

Today we turn from our recent exploration of Romans to the Gospel of Matthew. But, don’t forget what we talked about the last couple of weeks…Remember, you are free for service to God, and you are children of God as you live in a liminal place.

Theologian, Stanley Hauerwas is fond of saying that, “Jesus uses parables to train his disciples how to be family.” Parables are great teaching tools because they usually involve a metaphor or a simile that’s strange, exaggerated, sometimes humorous and not easily forgotten.

Parables are designed to shake up the status quo. A parable rarely provides answers, but does ask the right question. In fact, it’s a wonder we teach them to our children as parables are subtle and subversive.

At this point in the Gospel Jesus has gone off the road and retreated to a boat and is teaching on a boat to gathering crowd and disciples. Our lection reading from Matthew 13 is in the middle of a longer section of parables given to the disciples regarding the kingdom of heaven. The focus of all of them is to help the disciples discern how the kingdom of heaven is established and how to see it.

This particular reading has multiple parables, each using a different simile to describe the kingdom of heaven. This is rapid fire teaching on Jesus’ part. One commentator notes that Jesus is “on a simile binge. The kingdom is…a mustard seed…a bit of yeast in dough…a hidden treasure…a pearl of great value...a net catching fish.”

While Jesus may be pitching too many similes to follow good writing, teaching or preaching rules, he is repeatedly illustrating one point: the kingdom of God is unpredictable and hidden.

The kingdom of God is unpredictable and hidden. What is a kingdom exactly? The kingdom of God doesn’t consist of power that’s consolidated, in a large ornate palace, or capital cities…Usually the word kingdom implies a monarch: king or queen that holds all the power. A kingdom is consolidated, obvious, and grand.

Jesus draws a paradox with the first unexpected image. The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed. The mustard seed, the smallest seed, it is weightless, and wild. The mustard seed grows into…wait for it…a mustard shrub. A weed. Not something strong and mighty like a tree or even a beautiful flower, but a weed. The Kingdom of heaven can disappear in the soil and sprout up in the middle of a field, in places where it isn’t desired…it’s inconvenient, invasive, an annoyance, it’s revolutionary…you might want to use Round-Up to get rid of it.

You don’t stop to marvel at a mustard shrub. Sure, Jesus says it is great and many birds and animals make nests in its branches. The mustard shrub is a nice little eco-system in this description, but the reality is that it was unwanted by most, even in antiquity it was regarded as a weed. Mustard seeds mix in with other seeds and mustard bushes sprout up, not in neat rows like the cornfields you drive by, but they invade the rows of cornfields. Mustard seeds know now boundaries.
The Kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed? A wild weed that springs up in unexpected places?

While living in Philadelphia Peter and I enjoyed exploring the city. One day as we were walking from the Museum of Art to the train station, we happened upon this Presbyterian Church that had a large gate around it and looked closed. Many Presbyterian Churches in Philadelphia have died and closed over the years. But, this one caught our eye because of the beautiful architecture and its prominent location right next to Comcast Center and Comcast headquarters on Arch Street. We were curious. We both wondered aloud what would happen. I was cynical; they’ll probably sell out to the Comcast Center and add the money to the Presbytery mission fund. After all, it’s prime real estate.

We learned Arch Street Presbyterian Church was once a landmark congregation at the center of the Fundamentalist and Modernist controversy in the 1920’s. Arch Street has dwindled in active membership and at best there were 7-12 in worship for nearly a decade. The building was preserved and the church alive because of a generous endowment, but everything else was dead as there were no children, no youth, no full time minister, and no mission. Most thought Arch Street had died. Many were ready to close the church and sell the property, and an Administrative Commission was looking at options.

Yet, a few folks in the Presbytery and those 7 in worship were willing to take a risk and let their old vision die. The congregation with the support of the Administrative Commission chose to risk and take on the wild and unorthodox idea to spend the unrestricted portion of their endowment on salaries for three part time pastors. Three part time pastors for a church of 7? The church also applied to have seminary interns from Princeton Seminary come and learn and use the congregation as a place to experiment, risk, and dream in big ways.

These pastors also happen to be our friends. I remember talking to my friend Becky who is their pastor for family ministries over lunch one day. We were sitting the old side room that Becky and the congregation had converted into a nursery. We sat surrounded by a few simple donated toys and a pack and play, Becky’s daughter Anneke toddling about. At that point church only had 3 children, and they were all pastors’ kids. Becky noted the nursery space and her position were created in faith that an intergenerational body might worship at Arch Street again.

Taking a risk, planting a seed, this congregation and new pastoral team have committed to risk and re-envision what it means to be a church in a changing context.

They started by looking around them at the neighborhood and needs of the neighborhood. Sharing a wall with the Comcast center and near the heart of City Hall and downtown Philadelphia, the church has realized she has a calling and opportunity to minister to working people primarily during the week. They offer worship, a meal, and Bible study mid-week during the lunch hour. They see themselves not only as a traditional Sunday worshiping body, but also mid-week space and community where people can drop in during the week. In an age where loneliness and vocational restlessness abound, Arch Street has become an important sanctuary for many to gather.

Now, two years after taking this risk the church has a membership not of 7 but of 50. It’s a diverse group comprised of the young adults living in lofts across the street, the homeless, and a few transplants, like my husband Peter who were invited to be part of strategic planning and visioning. Arch Street now has enough members to have a Session again and is present in the neighborhood in vibrant ways. The gates and doors are open.

Now, the church is taking another risk. They are renovating the huge unused Sunday school portion of the building and turning it into a faith based pre-school. They hope to welcome children from the neighborhood as well as children from the employees that work at the 7-eleven across the street.

I’ve got to say, the approach to ministry at Arch Street is both life giving, exciting, and scary. This church takes risks many wouldn’t dream of. But, seeing and hearing the vision and mission in light of the parables of Jesus and the kingdom of heaven makes me think they are on to something. The members and pastors see something that was hidden for so long.

To think, two years ago Arch Street Presbyterian Church was dead. But now, it’s a wild growing piece of the kingdom of God.

Jesus goes on. The kingdom of heaven is like “yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flower until all of it was leavened.” Yeast did not come in nice little packets. No, yeast was rotten bread. You would set aside a bit of bread to spoil in order to use for future baking. If leaven was allowed to spoil too long it could ruin the loaf of bread being baked and cause food poisoning and be fatal. Leaven was understood by Jesus’ disciples as unclean.

The amount of flour mentioned is also strange. You only needed a pinch of leaven for a loaf of bread. The “three measures” of flour mentioned in the passage was enough to bake bread to feed well over one hundred people, or a wedding feast. This woman mixing and kneading the dough had a large project on her hands. She wasn’t just kneading one tiny lump of dough, but a large table full.

Jesus’ inclusion of a woman is also interesting. Women were not exactly respected at this time. They were treated as property and had no role. Yet, Jesus places the kingdom of heaven in a baking woman’s hands, and the kingdom of God is like leaven…something unclean, that can produce enough bread to feed multitudes.

Unexpected and hidden. The kingdom of God will be kneaded and handled by a woman? It will be nurtured by a person who has no place in society? The kingdom will multiply and feed others?

The Kingdom of God is present in hidden and unexpected ways.

The kingdom of heaven is down to earth, as we say. You all know people who are down to earth. It could be your unpretentious Aunt Beatrice who tells it like it is and doesn’t bat an eye. Or, your down to earth neighbor who has driven the same car for the last 30 years on principal.

Or, your down to earth best friend, who is grounded and doesn’t get caught up in the latest trends, usually a step behind them, but who makes you feel at home each time you spend time together.

The kingdom of heaven is down to earth…it is modest, sometimes hidden. The kingdom of heaven always requires vision from those that have eyes to see it.

I was chatting with a friend this past week. She was telling me about her brother, Dan . Dan was a bit intellectually slower than his peers, and didn’t go to graduate school like my friend.

But, her brother was the kind of person who walked through the park each day on the way to work and paid attention. He would frequently see someone asleep on a bench. Knowing that person had been there all night, he would usually stop, slightly tap the person and say hello. That’s more than most would do, or even recommend. It seemed like a reckless act to reach out and touch someone whom he didn’t know.

Dan would then invite the person to breakfast at the Denny’s across the street from the park. My friend recounts that Dan wouldn’t just buy some toast and coffee; no Dan would buy the person the Grand Slam breakfast and have one himself. You know the Grand Slam. It includes pancakes, toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, orange juice, and coffee. They would share a meal and conversation. Then, Dan would bid the person farewell and go on to work.

My friend is also a Presbyterian minister, but she says the real minister was her brother. Now, no one would ever know that about Dan. He didn’t win awards; he didn’t donate large sums of money to charity, or make the news. But, he had compassion, and dared to offer it to someone that you or I might walk by.
The kingdom of God is hidden and unexpected.

Thankfully the kingdom of God is not in one geographic place, but everywhere…If we have eyes to see it. Sometimes it’s growing in a corner and we have to trim away the dead brush to catch a glimpse of it. And, we do…we can little by little. Sometimes it requires spinning around, looking at a different angle, or looking through the lens of Scripture in order to see it more clearly.

We are ambassadors of the kingdom of God…our job is to see it, point to it, and invite others to see it with us…It’s not escapist, but quite the opposite.

Seeking the kingdom means being down to earth, grounded…it’s the leaven in the bread, it’s the wild mustard weeds, it’s the meal you offer, the visit you pay to someone who is sick, the accountability you provide, the impossible baptismal vows we strive to keep, and the bread we break and the cup we share.

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

References:
Image from Sunshine & Lemonade Blog
commentator quote from Scott Hoezee. Calvin Seminary Center for Preaching Excellence

Understanding of these parables heaily influenced by Dr. Amy Jill Levine's lecture in Dallas on October 2010.

Hauerwas, Stanley Matthew Commentary (Brazos Press, Grand Rapids MI 2006) page 126.

Already but Not Yet

2011-07-16T19:22:00.000-07:00

July 17, 2011
Northridge Presbyterian Church, Dallas TX

Genesis 28:10-19a
Psalm 139
Romans 8:12-25

Already but Not Yet

When the taxi pulled up to the White Swan Hotel in Guangzho, China I couldn’t help but notice all the Americans pushing baby strollers, holding babies bundled in pink onesies. As I looked closer, I noticed they were all Chinese girls with American parents.

Our good friends, Laura and Mico wanted their four year old biological daughter Anna to be part of the process of welcoming Iris. But, little Anna couldn’t participate in all parts of the trip. They invited me to join them and serve as nanny and friend for ten days. So, I got permission to take my seminary exams early, and traveled to China.

I quickly learned this city and hotel was a spot where many adopting families stay. The hotel was across from the US Embassy and close to rail lines and orphanages. As I walked in, I saw many new families walking around, some clearly joyful. Others were pacing anxiously, a Chinese child noticeably absent. I greeted my friends, Laura and Mico with a big hug and their four year old biological daughter, Anna. We were nervous and excited as we had all made the journey to China to adopt Iris.

Walking to our hotel room, I couldn’t help but notice Barbie Dolls lining the hallway. I learned that Mattell had a deal with the hotel and provided an adoption Chinese Barbie to every family adopting mostly little girls. And then there was the Mattel playroom in the hotel where families could play with their new children until the Visa paperwork was processed. This hotel was a haven for newly forming families who were adopting Chinese girls.

I met a lot of families waiting to adopt over the course of the week as we waited to greet Iris. Some had chosen to adopt, others had grieved infertility, the loss of a child or miscarriage and discerned to adopt. Each family went through an intense process of paperwork, saving money, waiting, completing home visits, waiting, getting matched, waiting, and then finally getting the green light to come and pick up their child.

Those adopting their second child acted as guides to us. They gave us tips about baby formula, language development, and Chinese cultural networks back in the states. Many parents, like my friends, were adopting their first. Each adoptive parent I met felt called to welcome a stranger into their family and had tremendous hope.

I’ll never forget the moment of joy and deep gratitude when I first held their new daughter, Iris Sophia. I truly began to understand freedom as I held this little girl and helped to welcome her to her new family.

Some say adoption is an act of grace. Paul uses this metaphor of adoption intentionally in Romans 8.

If you were here last week, you recall that Paul crafted his letter to the Romans using a cumulative argument written for his pluraslistic and rapidly changing context. The first 11 verses of Romans 8 looked at what we are free from the power of sin and separation from God, and what we are free for: following God, loving as God loves.

In this section of the chapter, Paul looks at our identity and what our life of faith looks like through that identity. Paul uses an analogy here: you are free from slavery, and a metaphor of adoption. Both spoke vividly to the church in Rome.

Remember, this church is made up of Jews, gentiles, and other non-Jews, many who are not native to Rome. The church was mixed across social strata, drawing largely from lower classes including slaves and freed persons. For the Jews hearing this letter, slavery would immediately bring to mind their Exodus with Moses when God led them to freedom. Just as God led God’s people through the wilderness, so the Spirit leads all of God’s children to a life of freedom. For the non-Jews the metaphor of adoption would ring true. The covenant has been expanded to include them. Together, Jews, Gentiles, proselytes, and Romans are all God’s children. This was a radical concept in this context.

It’s wonderful to know our identity: to know who we are and whose we are, because it is from that identity that we live and move in this broken and beautiful world. You know that our identity as God’s children doesn’t make us immune to suffering and struggles….

Paul knows that too, which is why he writes in verse 22 “We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only creation, but we ourselves…”

In the film Grand Canyon an immigration attorney breaks out of a traffic jam and attempts to bypass it. He finds himself driving in a rougher part of town, the streets looking darker and darker and more deserted. Then the predictable occurs: his BMW stalls on one of those vacant streets who are ruled by a gang of young men. The man manages to use his cell phone to call a tow truck, but before the truck arrives his car is surrouneded by five young tough looking gang members. They knock on his window and threaten him.

Then, just in time, the tow truck shows up and its driver – an earnest, strong, genial man – begins to calmly hook up the disable car. Meanwhile, the gang members continue to circle the car with menacing motions and comments. They protest, telling the tow truck driver to leave.

The tow truck driver takes the leader of the gang aside and intervenes.

“Man,” he says, “the world ain’t supposed to work like this. Maybe you don’t know that, but this ain’t the way it’s supposed to be. I’m supposed to be able to do my job without askin’ you if I can. And that dude is supposed to be able to wait with his car without you rippin’ him off. Everything’s supposed to be different than what it is here.”

Yes, you and I live in a world that is groaning. You and I are not immune. We live in this tension of the already of God’s grace and kingdom but the not yet of brokenness.

The way things are do make us groan…but Paul doesn’t dwell there, because remember, those in Christ are free. Paul goes on to speak of hope, which springs from identity. This hope isn’t wishful thinking. Hope is rooted in our identity as children of God. Hope is an ability to see what one does not yet see. Hope is anticipating knowing full well the reality…the already of God’s grace, but the not yet of living in a broken and groaning world with the reality of sin...and yet, seeking to bear God’s love in the world.

When I was in seminary I had a professor, Dr. Lee, who introduced me to the concept of liminal space. "Liminal space and time is when you are in between something. This is created by a person leaving one set structure or routine and not yet returning to that old structure or a new one. Liminal times are when we are in between what has been and what will be."

Dr. Lee was fond of telling us students that seminary was a liminal time, when we were separated from our families and the world as we knew it to encounter a new rhythm of prayer, worship, and study and with time, ultimate transformation, but only if we were open to it. Not all of us were…some looked to reinforce their ideas, others found the experience threatening and debilitating.

You have lived in a liminal space. Perhaps it was while waiting for the birth of a child, or the death of a loved one. For those retiring, perhaps you experienced liminality between announcing the date of your departure, and then finally leaving. Or, perhaps you have lost a job and are waiting to find a new one.

According to anthropologist Victor Turner, “liminality is a time of ambivalence, ambiguity, and even disorientation, but it is at the same time a realm of possibility where one is open to what is new, open to different ways of being and living in the world.”

The Christian life was liminal. We were called to see possibility and remain open to new ways of living in the world. Paul is describing this liminal space in Romans 8 with the already of God’s grace and kingdom, but the not yet of final consummation.

Now more than ever as we live in a changing world and changing church and denomination, we want to know what’s next, exactly where we’re going. Sitting in this in between time, this liminal space is a challenge, but not impossible if we remember who we are. Knowing who we are as children of God gives us hope.

How do you remember who you are? By coming together as the body of Christ and connecting with God week after week in worship, prayer, and Sabbath keeping.

We have to stop regularly and reconnect through practices of prayer, Scripture reading, worship...That’s Sabbath. Stopping from work, from routine, and taking up life giving practices…spending time outside, with family. We have to pause from the pull of the office, the routine of carpooling the kids or we forget who we are and lose sight of our hope.

Remember, you are a child of God.

A fellow Presbyterian pastor, Carol Howard Merritt explores this question of our identity in Christ and hope in her book Reframing Hope: Vital Ministry in a New Generation.

She tells the story of a church member, Holly.

“Holly faced the loss of her job during a recent economic crisis. Holly had been working as a counselor for ten years when the stock market tumbled. As the board of her organization looked at the budget, her position and duties seemed expendable. Holly lost her job.

Holly’s anxiety grew as she imagined what could happen. Without her job, Holly would lose her home and her children’s livelihood would be in jeopardy. She felt trapped as she scrolled through the classifieds, as she interviewed and then didn’t hear back or received rejection letters. A depression took root.

There was one thing that got her through those difficult days. It was the simple act of prayer. A year before the crisis Holly had started attending a prayer group at her church. The group was exploring a wide range of prayer traditions from journaling to meditating, to walking. This began as an intriguing exercise for Holly, but the act of prayer grew to sustain her.

During the job search Holly felt she had to put on a mask of competence and peace. But, when she began to open herself to God in prayer, she could voice her worries and frustrations.

During the painful process three things began to happen: Holly began to feel peace. She wasn’t sure where it was coming from.

Second, Holly moved into a deeper sense of gratitude for everything she had. She noticed how her prayers included streams of gratitude in addition to petitions and laments. Finally, Holly began to sense God’s steadfast love surround her. Holly realized that no matter what the organization thought of her job, she was being held by her Creator who delighted in her. Somehow she began to understand that God loved her because of who she was as a child of God, and not because of what she accomplished.”

You are children of God, a people of hope.

Will you accept the status quo of brokenness and despair, or will you seek to connect to God and God’s family, and share your hope?

Where is God calling you to risk, to change, to be open in this liminal space of the already, but not yet?

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

References:
Romans contextual understanding from Brendan, Byrne. Romans Commentary (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press). pages 10-11.

Grand Canyon reference from Neal Plantinga's Not the Way It's Supposed to be: A Breviary on Sin. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans). page 7.

Dr. Lee references from recollection and definition of liminality and quotes from Victor Turner from his September 2006 convocation sermon published in The Princeton Seminary Bulletin Vol. 27 No. 3 (2006) page 193.

Carol Howard Merritt, Reframing Hope: Vital Ministry in a New Generation. (The Alban Institute, 2010) pages 117-118.

Sermon: Ordinary 15 on Romans 8

2011-07-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

July 10, 2011
Psalm 119:105-112
Romans 8:1-11

Freedom From & Freedom For

Freedom: one simple word that connotes a number of images and perhaps emotions. Still getting used to Texas, I sometimes fantasize about freedom from this heat. This wasn’t the warm welcome I anticipated. But, I’m digressing.

Freedom was front and center on Monday. On Monday we celebrated Independence Day. Perhaps you marked it with a day off from work, taking time to enjoy the Lakewood neighborhood parade, have a family gathering, or watch fireworks. It wasn’t until I lived in Philadelphia that I really paused to reflect on what Independence Day truly signified. Walking around Liberty Mall past the liberty bell, Independence Hall, and the constitution center, you can’t help but feel and see the history that marked our nation’s beginning and formation.

On July 2, 1776 The Continental Congress formally adopted the Declaration of Independence, on July 4 they proclaimed their Declaration to the city of Philadelphia. As many of you know, the journey to that independence was not without challenge and the declaration of independence on July 4 not without consequence. Rejecting England and her authority was treason.

As our nation was birthed, freedom came to signify new governance: democracy resulting in shared authority by the people and for the people. Freedom…the power to speak, act, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint. Freedom is woven into the frabric of our life and culture here in the United States.

Novelist, Jonathan Franzen reflects on this theme of freedom in his new bestselling novel, Freedom. Spoiler alert, Franzen is a realist, preferring to write about the broken and the beautiful through the lens of a dysfunctional family. Some might find his writing depressing.

Patty Berglund is the main character in Freedom. A Minnesota native, Patty is a star All-American basketball player who peaks in college and then slowly declines. Patty marries Walter Berglund, a do-good environmentalist lawyer. Together, Patty and Walter are urban pioneers. The Berglund’s renovate an old Victorian house in the gentrifying neighborhood of Ramsey Hill, St. Paul Minnesota. Patty is the affable neighbor who is prone to bringing you cookies, or watching your kids in a pinch. Walter bikes to work each day, and is noted in the neighborhood for his friendliness and care for the environment. Patty and Walter raise a daughter and son in a closely knit sphere. And then things slowly fall apart.

Freedom in the instance of the Berglund family is defined in part as freedom from.

Freedom from responsibility, freedom from what they think traps them…routine, urban sprawl, rules, morality… As each character explores the temtptations and burdens of freedeom each person in the family spirals downward. For the most part, their freedom is defined out of tormented self-interest.

Freedom takes a twist as the story unfolds. Freedom from another produces conflict and other serious consequences. Patty and Walter’s marriage falls apart as they become more independent. Each character, major and minor compromises their integrity.

Patty slips into depression. Walter goes off the deep end with a new job and finally breaks up their marriage. Each character’s individual freedom threatens the freedom of the other and the result is literally and metaphorically death.
Freedom twists and turns each character out of control, destroying them and their family. Freedom from another without boundaries turns out to be devastating.

Paul explores the theme of freedom throughout Romans. Remember, Paul wrote this letter to the new faith community in Rome. Rome was the seat of tremendous economic and political power, with leaders who were revered as gods. The Romans struggled with who they were in relationship to God, and they also struggled to be in relationship with one another.

Much like us, they were trying to figure out their life in relationship to following in the way of Christ. The culture and community was changing rapidly before their eyes. And in the midst, they were trying to figure out what their faith had to do with it. Sound familiar?

So, Paul writes them a letter taking into account cultural references and philosophies, specifically Greek philosophy Platonism and Stoicism. This letter is unique from some of Paul’s other letter in that the argument he’s making about God’s grace, ethics, and the Christian life is cumulative. (Ball of yarn analogy.)

Romans 8 comes immediately after Paul has described the human condition in chapter 7. He ends with a question: who will save us from our wretched captivity to the power of sin? The response is Paul’s understanding of grace.

But, Paul being Paul doesn’t tell a story to illuminate grace and its freedom, instead he continues with rhetoric, building his case, weaving in ideas he developed before. He begins with this thesis in verse 1: “There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death.”

Paul doesn’t stop there. Paul chooses to make this point about grace and freedom by setting up a dichotomy.

The dichotomy is this: the way of the flesh and the way of the Spirit. Think of the way of the flesh as shorthand for the way of the world apart from God. Let’s be clear, Paul cannot imagine any form of human life or community without the body. He’s not a Gnostic who wants us to ignore the body, or thinks we must disconnect from our humanity. Recall he talks about being the body of Christ later on in Romans 12.

The way of the flesh could be Pauline shorthand for living a life independent, or separate from God. The way of the flesh is primarily self-interested, consumed with worshipping and idolizing things that are not God.

Paul contrasts this way of the flesh with the way of the Spirit, the way of God. And as for sin, Paul doesn’t mean individual moral failings, but something larger and more pervasive. According to his argument earlier, sin is a power that resides in the world and in us and brings estrangement from God, from others, and from God’s creation.

Let’s focus again on verse 1 of chapter 8. “There is therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Through the self-giving love of Jesus God decisively bridges the chasm or separation between us and God.

Eugene Peterson’s translation of Romans 8:5-8 from The Message clarifies this point:
5-8Those who think they can do it on their own end up obsessed with measuring their own moral muscle but never get around to exercising it in real life. Those who trust God's action in them find that God's Spirit is in them—living and breathing God! Obsession with self in these matters is a dead end; attention to God leads us out into the open, into a spacious, free life. Focusing on the self is the opposite of focusing on God. Anyone completely absorbed in self ignores God, ends up thinking more about self than God. That person ignores who God is and what God is doing. And God isn't pleased at being ignored.
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The good news is that there is freedom not only from the sin that binds us, but also freedom for service to God, to others, and to creation. God sent Jesus Christ to all of creation and we are free. This freedom is grace…a free gift that comes first before we can even ask for it.

We are free from the power of sin, and we’re free to live for God. We are free for a life in the Spirit, a life following the living and moving God. We are free for a life of serving God and others.

This freedom is the antithesis to the one described in Jonathan Franzen’s novel. It is not merely freedom from sin, but freedom for following God into the world.
But, I have the sneaking suspicion that we doubt Paul’s claim. We don’t embrace this freedom fully, which is why the disintegration of Peggy and Warren and their self-interested freedom isn’t pure fiction, it’s reality. We just confessed the reality of separation from God during our prayer of confession. You see, while we are free for living in the way of God, the way of the world is appealing. We’d prefer to call our own shots, thank you very much.

You see, I think you and I are insecure about this freedom… I’m sure you can name to yourself one thing that binds you. You and I have at least one regret that we wear like a snail shell. You might feel inadequate, unworthy…You hold onto it tightly…not quite ready to be free from it, and as a result we live timidly in response to the Spirit.

Henry David Thoreau was on to this aspect of our human condition when he wrote, “Most people* lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

Writer Anne Lamott recounts a season in her life when she was living in quiet desperation in her memoir, Traveling Mercies. Struggling with alcoholism, pregnant out of wedlock, homeless, but living with a friend. Anne carried around with her regrets like a snailshell, bound to them.

Each Sunday Anne likes to wander through the flea market looking at art work, junk, and ethnic food. If she happened to be there around 11am she could hear music coming from a church right across the street, St. Andrews Presbyterian Church.
The music was so pretty that Anne began stopping to listen. She knew a lot of the hymns from her childhood. She began standing in the doorway, and then sat in the back of church. She always left right before the sermon. But,she was welcomed just as she was.

She writes, “somehow the singing wore down all the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated. Sitting there, standing with them tossing, I felt bigger than myself, like I was being taken care of…” Slowly Anne experienced freedom from what bound her and found freedom for, dependence on God, something other than herself.

She continues,“ When I was at the end of my rope, the people at St. Andrew tied a knot in it for me and helped me hold on… The people at St. Andrew’s Presbyterian church are people in community who pray or practice their faith. They follow a brighter light than the glimmer of their own candle; they are part of something beautiful.”

With time, Anne discovered grace was already at work in her life, and she was free for dependence on God, on the body of Christ.

To be in Christ is to be free from sin and free for connection to God’s grace and power. To be in Christ is to be free to do so much more than we could on our own. This freedom is an invitation to live fully for others, carrying God’s love into this world.

Sometime this week take out 2 pieces of paper. Write down what are you free from? What regret, what sin, what inadequacy, what old grudge binds you? Fold it up and throw it away.

And, on the second piece of paper write what you are free for. What deed might you dare to do? What challenge will you accept? Who will you love? What act of courage and generosity will you embark on knowing that you are free from the power of sin and death and free for life in the Spirit?

Hold onto it. Come back to it. Pray about it.

We are in the midst of summer. Summer, a season that signifies freedom from routine, freedom from school. Summer, a season that contains freedom for rest and renewal. Mary Oliver wrote a poem called The Summer Day. In it she asks, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

I ask you, “What will you do with your one wild and precious life now that there is no condemnation?”

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

Ascension Sermon

2011-06-07T17:04:00.000-07:00

June 5, 2011
Psalm 68:1-10 Northridge Presbyterian Church
Acts 1:1-14

Hello & Goodbye

Wouldn’t you rather say hello than goodbye? Greeting someone involves the exciting anticipation of connection, of time spent together, and perhaps even a few tears of joy if the hello comes after a long absence.

Waiting to greet my family at DFW Airport this Christmas Day, I got to see one of those greetings firsthand. I was intrigued by what looked to be a four year old girl all dressed up in what was obviously a special Christmas dress. She could not stand still as she alternated between clutching her mom’s hand asking “when is grandma coming? Is she here yet?” and then running and peering at the door to look for her grandmother. She ran back and forth like this for several long minutes, the excitement emanating from her. Excitement that I as an adult was trying to contain as I waited for my own family. The anticipation turned to fulfilled squeals of delight as the grandmother was wheeled through the doorway in her wheelchair.

Both the grandma and the granddaughter knew how to say hello. The grandmother was decked out in a Christmas sweatshirt, the tacky kind that you give to Goodwill, but the kind that lights up and is delightful for a four year old. Grandma was wearing a Santa hat, and had a teddy bear in her lap. The granddaughter bounded up to her wheelchair, climbed in her lap and gave her a huge hug. That grandmother was ready to receive that hello from her granddaughter, fawning over her with love. The joy was radiating from both of them….Saying hello is truly wonderful.

This is a season rich with saying hello and goodbye. Thresholds like Graduation, weddings, family reunions and moving, involve both a hello and a goodbye. Graduation involves saying goodbye to good friends and a familiar routine, but hello to a new season in life and new freedom.

The end of a school year means saying goodbye to that math teacher you didn’t care for, to those book reports, and hello to a summer full of unstructured time and freedom…or to the same routine with camps and swimming lessons meant to give parents some freedom.

Weddings involve saying goodbye to family is you knew it, and a hello to a new union and all the joy that goes along with starting a new life with a partner. Goodbye to the single life, and hello to interdependence and in-laws. Moving means saying goodbye to a chapter of one life, literally packing up and saying hello to a new space, a new routine, and perhaps even a new way of seeing yourself.

With each goodbye and hello there is an opportunity to see yourself and your life anew.

Today’s passage contains both the joyful hello of easter and the tearful goodbye of the Ascension. It is a unique moment when the disciples begin to see themselves anew.

Jesus spent the last 40 days of Easter with the disciples, breaking bread with them, teaching them…forming them…Thomas and the others worked to connect the dots about the importance of Easter and whatever is to come next.

There was some question about what was coming next. We learn that there was some tension in the already of Easter, but the not yet of movement beyond Jerusalem. Jesus kept teaching one point during these forty days: God’s Kingdom is at hand. But, what did this mean? As the forty days progressed and the literal kingdom didn’t come as they thought, they were left wondering. Much like a child asking repeatedly, “are we there yet?” the disciples asked Jesus, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”

Jesus doesn’t entertain their requests to know of a literal time and place or even literal kingdom, but instead gives them this hope in verse 8 “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

Then Jesus ascends. This is the dramatic turning point in today’s passage, and the disciples couldn’t help but look upward for apparently quite some time until they hear something strange. Angels calling them not to look up or remain fixed on the past, to say good bye, yet, but also to say hello to their new call and to the gift of the Holy Spirit. The disciples move forward back to Jerusalem without Jesus.

When I was a little girl, I remember going to church on Ascension Day. It was always strange to me to go to church in the middle of the week on a Thursday. Each time I heard the story read in church I conjured up a mental image of Jesus flying like superman, but not fully understanding the purpose of the Ascension.

I do remember that my maternal grandpa Harger was fond of Ascension Day. My grandpa explained it was important for us to mark Christ’s ascension, or the completion of Easter because it meant, in his words, that we have a brother in heaven, someone who knows the human condition and all that is lovely and ugly in the world.

Growing up in Germany, my maternal grandparents recount that Ascension Day was always the day when all the youth groups would gather for a day of worship and fun together. It was and still is a national holiday in Germany and the Netherlands. Banks and businesses are closed and folks gather for family time, and in smaller and smaller pockets attend church.

When I was in fifth grade my church stopped celebrating Ascension day and my grandfather was upset. An Elder in the church, he took it up with the pastor in a theological discussion. As the family story goes, grandpa was concerned that the church maintain its identity and the Ascension and Pentecost are both important stories that gave birth and important grounding to the church.

Growing up in Germany during WWII my grandfather was shaped by a church that fought to maintain its identity in the midst of nationalism and the rise of Nazism. As a result, he was zealous for maintaining a deep ecclesiological understanding and the Lordship of Christ. For those that took the Bonheoffer class, you can understand this concern.

This translated into my grandpa discussing the importance of Ascension Day with the pastor, and our church celebrating Ascension Day not on Thursday, but on the Sunday following… much like we do today.

But why is Ascension Day important for you and me? Do you recall the line from the Apostle’s Creed “He ascended into heaven and sits on the right hand of God the father almighty?” New Testament scholar, Mark Skinner recounts, “The Ascension begins a new chapter and expects us to come…Jesus' ascension takes him to the right hand of God (see Acts 2:32-35). But what does that mean? ‘The right hand of God’ is not a place, as if we could find Jesus and his Father sitting in a throne room somewhere, or sharing a booth in a heavenly tavern. The reference is not so much to location but to status: Jesus receives power and authority. Call it sovereignty. By virtue of his elevation to this status, Jesus reigns over all creation. Creation is his. He has a role in everything. Therefore he is present throughout all creation through the Holy Spirit. Contrary to some popular assumptions, this event does not put Jesus out of play until the end of all things. He and the kingdom he inaugurated are not on an extended break.”

Here in North America, the world around us celebrates Christmas and even Easter, but the church needs and must claim Ascension Day and it’s bookend Pentecost. The world understands Christmas because Jesus is born. Easter, although a bit more challenging, is also pretty clear: He is risen. But, Ascension Day as the church marks it is a different matter…goodbye Jesus and hello, work? Go out into the world with the Holy Spirit? That’s a challenge. Our consumer culture doesn’t have a way to market or sell that message. I can guarantee you won’t see an Ascension Day card line at Hallmark.

We mark this day in part because it turns our hearts and minds upward and away from our small selfish worlds, and because it gives us new vision to see ourselves anew, and to see a new path forward, much like the disciples. We see downward and forward to the task of bearing the love of Christ out into the world, knowing that we go with the power of the Holy Spirit, the love of God, and the grace of Jesus Christ.

The church celebrates Ascension Day and Pentecost, because both are defining moments when the body of Christ, actually takes up the Gospel and moves away from the upper room and out into the world, pointing to the kingdom of God that is actually at hand. Saying goodbye to fear and hello to hope.

Hello and goodbye. Going out into the world right now means heading into zones of struggle and destruction. The images from Joplin to Japan have sadly grown all too familiar for us this revolutionary Arab spring. Going into the world can seem daunting if you go on your own volition with your own resources and your own vision.

The recently deceased Harvard Chaplain, Peter Gomes notes that Ascension Day gives us double vision. First, we have upward vision. Just as the disciples gathered to pray and direct their hearts and minds toward God, so we direct our hearts and minds upward. We are reminded as we pray and read Scripture of the vision and journey of Christ.

You and I need upward vision, to be lifted up and reminded of the power of God…We do this each week in worship with our prayers, Scripture reading, and hymns .

Having upward vision means praying for discernment and listening for God’s still small voice as we say goodbye to the manse and hello to the resources that will come with its sale.

Having upward vision means that we pray to have the mind and eyes of Christ as we look toward new and deeper mission engagement.

Having upward vision means that we pray and discern the nominations of those in our midst to serve as Elders, Deacons, and a Trustee.

Having upward vision means that we place our hellos and goodbyes into God’s hands.

Much like the disciples though who looked upward just a little too long, there is also downward vision. Note after the Ascension the disciples kept looking into heaven and needed to be jostled back to reality. They were asked “Why are you looking up to heaven?

Saying goodbye to Jesus meant saying hello to a new way of seeing the world and living. Following Jesus doesn’t mean escapism or pie in the sky spirituality, it means movement. The disciples return to Jerusalem to reflect on Jesus’ command to go out into the world. They don’t rush out hastily, but after some prayer, discernment and thought, they begin to see their world with new eyes. They begin to see the seeds of the Kingdom that Jesus planted. They begin to follow Jesus down the road less traveled.

Indeed, the kingdom of God was present, is present, but you and I have to have eyes to see it. This starts by looking upward if you will, toward God through the lens of Scripture and through the repeated pattern of worship week after week. And, it means looking downward, actually going out into the world with this double vision, being willing to see God at work in the midst.

Later on in this service we will commission two groups of people. Commission means to give someone authority. We will give our youth our blessing, and give you the authority or blessing of God as you spend a week working on home repairs from Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, Louisiana. This group of 40 youth and sponsors didn’t just decide to go to Louisiana on a whim. No, they go having spent the year in worship, Sunday School, prayer, and service preparing to go on this trip.

Northridge requires this intentional year long preparation for our mission trips because we know that mission is not something one is entitled too, but something that requires both upward vision of who God is through a year of study and worship, and a downward vision of seeing the needs of our neighbors. These wonderful youth are taking a risk by going on this trip. As we say goodbye to them for a week, they will say hello to new friendships, to hard work, and God willing, to a new way of seeing God’s kingdom at work in the world.

We are also commissioning a group of 20 who are going on our first family mission trip. Double vision isn’t only for adults. This church realizes that children and adults alike can connect with God and neighbor.

Parents and children will travel to Arkansas for four days of service. Our families will serve a meal in a pantry, work to assemble Presbyterian Disaster Assistance kits, and learn about the kingdom of God. We will ask questions about who our neighbor is, and hopefully return home to Dallas able to see needs and gifts that we could not see before.

But, you don’t have to go on a mission trip to have double vision.

I’ll never forget my first youth group mission trip. We said goodbye to our families, stood in a circle for a word of prayer in the church parking lot, and drove all day and through the night to New Mexico. My youth group leader had planned ahead and had church members and parents write letters to us. Each evening as part of devotions our leader read letters from different church members. Our Sunday school teachers, parents, Elders, Deacons, church members and even my little sister had each written us a letter of encouragement, had written prayers, and some had sent along homemade cookies. Even Mrs. Vandergrier (name changed), who sat in the back pew each week scowling sent us a letter. All week long we were buoyed by their love and support which in turn gave us energy to paint buildings, landscape, and clean up a school for Navajo children.

And when the church bus pulled into the church parking lot there was a large group of folks waiting for us. Parents, siblings, Elders, Deacons, the pastor, and grumpy Mrs. Vandergrier all greeted us. Strung up between two pillars was a large homemade sign proclaiming “welcome home!” That hello was joyful as we bounded off the bus to greet our parents and recount our stories. You could feel the love and support of the congregation all week long, and the hello at the other end was wonderful.

Whether we are saying goodbye to our missioners or hello to their stories and experiences that will change us. Goodbye to a season of independence or hello to a season of dependence. May we have double vision.

In the name of the Triune God: Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer of us all. Amen.

References:
The hello and goodbye parallel is from Scott Hoeze's notes on this text from May 2009 at the Center for Excellence in Preaching.

The Peter Gomes concept of double vision is from a Christian Century article May 18, 2009 by Kenneth Carter Jr. "Why Are You Looking Up?"

The understanding of the Ascension from Europe and the US comes from a breakfast conversation with my grandma, Swenna Harger last week.

I am indebted to my now deceased grandpa/opa Jan Harger for instilling a care for church seasons and ecclesiology.

Easter 2 Sermon: Practicing Resurrection

2011-05-03T09:04:00.000-07:00

May 1, 2011
Northridge Presbyterian Church
Dallas, TX
Psalm 16
John 20:19-31

Practicing Resurrection

Have you ever had a wonderful teacher? By wonderful, I mean the kind of teacher that opens your mind up to concepts or ideas in fresh ways? I was fortunate to have a few in my short lifetime, but none more memorable than my high school English teacher, Mr. Tuit. I had Mr. Tuit for freshman English, worked with him on the school newspaper, and then again my senior year for AP English. Mr. Tuit was the type of teacher who could weave together a classroom of students with varying interests, engaging all of us as we studied a novel or poetry, connecting the subject to our lives. That is a feat, to get a group of freshman excited about reading and writing. He was a master though in AP English.

AP English students can be a particular Type A, anxious lot, concerned with passing an exam by the end of the year. Mr. Tuit though was able to calm our anxiety and get us to think beyond the exam. By spring of my senior year, my AP English class had become a small community. We were small in number, and crossed many social strata in school. By that spring semester Mr. Tuit took to sharing favorite poems or authors with our class. I’ll never forget the week after Easter, when Mr. Tuit shared a Wendell Berry poem with a strange title. “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.” I had never heard of Wendell Berry until that point. But, I learned from Mr. Tuit that Wendell Berry is a writer and a farmer, who is concerned about caring for creation. Wendell Berry is also a Christian, and his faith informs his writing.

Here are the last two lines of the poem: “Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection. “

Practice resurrection. That line stuck with me and with our class as we discussed the poem. To my 18 year old mind, I had an only an inkling of what that meant. I recall that many of us were concerned about scoring well on our AP exams, wondering what we would do after graduation. I recall wanting a straight line, wanting to know exactly what was next, and feeling a bit of anxiety about leaving behind good friends for an entirely new season in life.

Mr. Tuit read that last line “be like a fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.” He, in his infinite wisdom was trying to get us to see that taking the wrong path, risking, asking questions was not failure, but potentially life giving.

As for practicing resurrection…practicing means committing to try something, and a willingness to make mistakes along the way. If you have ever learned how to play an instrument, you know many practice sessions contain mistakes, but also provide you with space to try out a new technique and with time learn a new skill. For a senior getting ready to step out of the familiar pond into a new world, that line was comforting.

I had forgotten about the poem and discussion until Holy Week, when a friend posted this Wendell Berry poem on her facebook feed. Practice resurrection. Again, that line jumped out at me. I began to think of what that line from the poem could mean through the lens of today’s passage.

Today’s Gospel lesson picks up where we left off on Easter. The tomb is empty, now what? The Gospel lesson recounts the response of the disciples. They went to a house, locked all the doors, and camped out in fear. This is something out of a scary movie. Can you imagine the disciples huddled up wondering aloud?
The reality of the resurrection of Jesus was frightening. Jesus was tried, convicted, put to death. The situation was volatile surrounding his death. But, the tomb was opened and Jesus arose.

The disciples responded not with a celebration, but with fear, locked up in a house. They didn’t know if they would be called in for questioning given their relationship to Jesus. They didn’t know how to respond to the reports of the resurrection. In those post resurrection moments they lost every dimension of community, except their shared sense of fear, which is no basis for community.
Journalist and author, Sara Miles reflects on the fear of death in her memoir Jesus Freak: Feeding, Healing, Raising the Dead Sara shares a story of her previous career as a journalist who would often travel to war zones.

She writes, “Death and the fear of death, continue to drive so much on earth. They lie under all human violence, and drive our sad struggles for domination. As a war reporter, surrounded by terror, I’d experienced the power death had to make me betray or refuse help to others. I saw people in war zones who were in, their souls, no more than walking dead: they were completely ruled by fear of the grave. Death seemed unstoppable. And yet, I witnessed amazing sights as well, whenever a person left the fear of death behind, and rejected the temptations of power through violence. I saw unarmed civilians walk straight into a line of sharpshooters. I saw a mistreated woman let go of revenge, and instead offer a stranger a cup of tea. I saw a scared kid refuse to strike a prisoner.
These people had a totally different kind of power, one which comes from believing that death doesn’t have the final word. "

The promise of the resurrection is that Jesus has not only risen, but destroyed the power of death itself. In this passage, Jesus intrudes into the disciple’s life of fear…Jesus gathers and reconstitutes the community in his appearance to them.
Three times the resurrected Jesus says, “peace.” It turns out that his word is not only greeting, but assurance during this frightening time. This greeting of peace is in the imperative, it is a command and an invitation toward something new. “Peace be with you.” This peace assures them in the midst of their fear. It is the same assurance that Jesus offered before his death.

Right before his passion Jesus said to them, “peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” I imagine Jesus’ greeting in this fearful moment jogged the disciples’ memory back to that place. Jesus said to them again

“Peace be with you. As the father has sent me, so I send you.” This peace involves movement. going…moving…sending. Jesus acknowledges the fear of the moment with this word of peace. Jesus comes to them with the marks in his hands and side. He stands before them marked with visible reminders of the rejection, of the violence, and of the suffering of the crucifixion. He is in the flesh, truly resurrected for the disciples to see, hear, and touch.

Jesus does not let the disciples sit in their fear, in their brokenness. No, he calls them into something new, something unknown as he did throughout his ministry. But he does not send them alone. Jesus sends the disciples together, as a community. Jesus sends them with the Holy Spirit.

From this point on in John’s Gospel the disciples are changed. But, not all of the disciples. Thomas was not in the house at that moment. He had not yet witnessed the resurrected Jesus, and unlike Mary Magdalene he did not see the empty tomb. From the passage it seems that Thomas did not have access to any of the firsthand evidence that the other disciples did.

Thomas gets a bad rap because of this. Maybe some of you learned about Thomas from this very story in Sunday school. Thomas has a nickname, Doubting Thomas and is often used as an example of weak faith, cast in negative light. I learned about Thomas in this way, in fact I even learned a Sunday school song to reinforce this object lesson. It went something like this, “Don’t be a doubting Thomas. Stand fully on your promise. Why worry, worry, worry, worry when you can pray.”

Before we affirm the Sunday school version, let’s take another look at Thomas in context. Thomas has an important testimony to hear. Thomas was not alone in questioning. We need to take a look at Peter who sees evidence and remains skeptical. At Mary Magdalene who sees the stone rolled away but continues in her grief until Jesus calls her by name. At the other disciples holed up in a house huddled in fear. Lots of people doubted, they all had questions.

Before we discount the faith of Thomas, we must recall it was Thomas who urged the disciples to follow Jesus back in chapter 11 “so that we may die with him.” While the other disciples were trying to dissuade Jesus from returning to Jerusalem, because it would mean death.

When Thomas hears an account from his fellow disciples he says, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side I will not believe.” Can you blame him? Thomas, a follower of Christ, a disciple was doing his job. He knew it was up to the disciples to attest to the facts. He knew he might need to testify before Pilate given the circumstances of the crucifixion and burial and now mysterious disappearance of the body. Jesus was not supposed to rise from the dead.

Thomas knew the weight of the reality of the resurrection. He understood that the resurrection changed everything, and he knew he needed to see if he was to believe and testify to the Good News. Thomas got it.

Thomas took his vocation of following Christ seriously. He understood what it took to be a good disciple. He knew following Christ was not simply piety, but a way of life. He asked questions, he was honest. He wanted to know how to do the job right. He wanted to know how to follow. Thomas responds to the resurrection desiring to gather the information, knowing he needed to see, to touch, and to experience the reality of the risen Christ.

And Thomas did experience the reality of the risen Christ. Jesus stands before Thomas, again offering peace, presenting himself to Thomas. Jesus invites Thomas to see, to touch, and to experience the reality of the resurrection. Jesus also spoke to Thomas, and I imagine he spoke to Thomas tenderly “do not go on doubting, but believe.”

Thomas responds with an affirmation of faith: “My Lord. My God.” Thomas is the first one to acknowledge the humanity and divinity of Jesus by naming him “my Lord and my God.” It turns out that Thomas has the greatest faith of all. The other disciples recounted their experience of seeing Jesus in flesh, but Thomas is able to put together his experience of discipleship, of Christ’s life, crucifixion, and resurrection and therefore concludes that this man is the Lord and God.

You and I didn’t witness the crucifixion and we have not seen the risen Christ in flesh and blood. And yet, by the working of the Holy Spirit, centuries later, we believe. This text reminds us that “faith is a process not a possession. Faith is not being sure where you are going, but going anyway.” Just like Thomas did. We haven’t seen the crucifixion or witnessed the resurrection. But we believe. We walk on the path of faith honestly with our questions.

Faith includes doubt, not being sure, questioning, doubling back. Thomas expressed his doubt openly and honestly as he followed Christ. If we are to follow Christ, if we are to be disciples we must acknowledge the reality of doubt. We shouldn’t fear doubt, or glibly write it off in Sunday school songs.

Doubt is necessary because it acknowledges the fear inducing, table turning reality of the resurrection which is at the heart of our Christian faith. Frederick Buechner recounts the reality of doubt in the life of faith when he writes, “Whether your faith is that there is a God or that there is not a God, if you don’t have any doubts, you are either kidding yourself or asleep. Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it awake and moving.”

Doubts keep us on the path. Doubts have the power to raise questions and push us to live a resurrection faith.

We don’t live in an active war zone like Sara Miles. We don’t typically spend each day locked up inside our homes in fear like the disciples. However, you may be bound by fears…of the future, of taking the wrong path, and of the liability or risk of taking the road less traveled. The good news is that death doesn’t have the final word. Our Lord and our God has given us the gift of peace and the gift of Christian community where we live out this faith together.

Sara Miles left behind her job as a journalist and felt called to start a food pantry at her local church. Sara came to Christianity by way of taking communion, and sees the ministry of feeding the hungry as an extension of the communion table. For Sara, practicing resurrection is tangible, it requires the acts of feeding, healing, offering mercy.

She writes, “When Jesus appears to the cowardly disciples and gives them peace, Jesus is breathing more life into humanity. He is handing over the greatest power of all with the Holy Spirit. From this power, and from the practical acts of mercy he’s given every human being the authority to undertake...Practicing resurrection means we follow Jesus and share in God’s work of touching, healing, feeding, and mercy: not in some imaginary or theoretical way, but physically…”

Sara goes on: “Christians practice resurrection every Sunday, after all, when we stand around eating little wafers or pieces of bread, saying aloud Christ is risen. Practicing resurrection is what we do whenever we continue in simple, literal acts: breaking bread with one another in fellowship, praying without hope of perfect outcomes, admitting our weaknesses, and loving people who don’t deserve it. Practicing resurrection is what we do when we remember death is not the end. “

Jesus is risen, and has given us the ability to see, to touch, to know him through the testimony of Thomas. It’s not always a straightforward path, practicing resurrection. Sometimes you and I are “like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction.” But one day at a time you follow Jesus. As you are fed at this table, so you feed others, as you are healed, so you heal others, and as you are forgiven and loved, go and do likewise. (last line paraphrased from Sara Miles' conclusion)

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

References:
Sara Miles, Jesus Freak x, 125, 146
Frederick Beuchner, A Seeker's ABC
David Lose, workingpreacher.com letter on the passage influenced my understanding of Thomas as a realist rather than a doubter.

Review: Letters to a Young Calvinist

2011-04-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

I had the opportunity to read and write a review for Perspectives. You can read it here.

Check out the book too. It's a quick read!

Lent 4 Sermon: "Within the Circle of the Faith"

2011-04-04T09:06:00.000-07:00

I Samuel 16:1-13
Ephesians 5: 8-14
Northridge Presbyterian Church
April 3, 2011
“Within the Circle of the Faith”

Have you ever spent time wandering around an art museum? Perhaps you like me enjoy taking the occasional free day and wander through galleries and experience the gift of creation as expressed on a canvas, in a Culver mobile, or a vase. Maybe, you take joy in looking at the handiwork of a particular culture, and seeing how they incorporate aesthetic beauty with function. If you are ever at The Philadelphia Museum of Art a portion of the American collection is devoted to folk art, crafts from various eras of history. Folk art is one of my favorite art forms as I love to see how folks handcrafted items of beauty for a common use. As you round a corner from a hallway of cases filled with exquisite silver, Colonial American samplers, and case after case of china, you enter a sparse room meant to recreate a Shaker home.

The space is simple. Your eye is drawn to the clean lines of the chair with a thatched seat, the curve of the rocking chair in the corner, the vibrant color of the granny smith apples in a hand woven hickory basket. There is no clutter. Everything has been made by hand, even the birch broom that takes residence in the corner.

The Shakers are in a museum in part because they cloistered themselves from the world in intentional community. They began each day with worship, worked in their gardens and in their furniture shops, prayed, ate lunch, and worked until the evening meal in community, but also in relative isolation from the rest of the world. They also did not believe in pro-creation, adding to their number by way of adoption, receiving foundlings or orphans, or welcoming converts.

Valuing ascetic simplicity and egalitarianism they thrived and grew to number 6,000 in 1840, but over time have dwindled to just 3 in part due to their lack of procreation and their isolation. Many of the Shaker communities are museums, the furniture so lovingly crafted copied and made by other artisans or mass marketed at Crate and Barrel. The museum exhibit contains lovely artifacts of a community that could not sustain itself as it withdrew from the world, focusing so much on the present it had no future. What remains of the community is limited to museums and memory.

The letter to the Ephesians stands in marked contrast to the Shaker museum exhibit. This letter was a baptismal sermon written to a lively growing community of faith. Recall that as the gospel spread post Pentecost, folks were figuring out what it meant to follow Christ in their context. Drawing on metaphors and pieces of hymns from the baptismal liturgy and creeds, Ephesians does not make a linear argument, but circles around themes. The purpose of the letter was to remind these followers of their identity in God. Scholars note that, “The Gentile Christians who were streaming into the church in this region were adopting an easygoing moral code based on a perverted misunderstanding of Paul’s teaching. At the same time, they were boasting of their supposed independence of Israel and were becoming intolerant of their Jewish brethren and forgetful of the Jewish past of salvation history.” (Interpretation, page 5)

These new believers were forgetting their past, disconnected from an understanding of God who adopted them, and in the present they were defining themselves, forgetting the ethic set forth by Jesus.

The entire letter builds a case for living faith mindful of the past…deliverance of Israel from slavery, the ethical code set forth in the Torah, as well as the present and future challenge to follow Christ in a changing world.

Chapter five, our reading for today centers on Christian conduct and identity and the threads that weave together past, present, and future. Keep in mind that this is all in the context not of individuality, but of community. Our reading points out that being the church always entails a relationship to God. The imperative in verse 8: “now in the Lord you are light, live as children of light” is grounded in identity. In the Lord, you are light.” What is central to this identity is a relationship to God in Christ who is the light of the world. God is light, you are children of God, therefore you are light.

What is at stake for the hearers of this letter is a choice to live in the tension of the world and the darkness, or some would say powers of sin and evil…Rather than be subsumed by the darkness, or cloistered off, the author of Ephesians points to their identity as light, and the challenge to live in the world, shining that light. ..it’s a circle, from your identity springs your function.

The command is simple, live as children of light in the world. The challenge, is all-encompassing, and implies that it is not what you do, but who you are.

Preacher Will Willimon tells this story. Back in high school, every Friday and Saturday night, as Will was leaving to go on a date, his mother, saying goodbye to him at the door would leave him with these weighty words, “Don’t forget who you are.”

Will recounts “You know what she meant. She did not mean that I was in danger of forgetting my name and my street address. She meant that alone, on a date, in the midst of some party, in the presence of some strangers, I might forget who I was. I might lose sight of the values with which I had been raised, answer to some alien name, engage in some unaccustomed behavior. ‘Don’t forget who you are,’ was her maternal benediction as I left home.”

Perhaps you can identify with Will Willimon. It is sometimes difficult, amidst the conflicting messages, advertisements, and busyness to remember who we are. There are a myriad ways to define your identity, who we are. You are a consumer…meant to use your choice and purchasing power to support the capitalist enterprise, living your life in an endless loop between the grocery store, gas station, Target. Home, grocery store, gas station…

Who are you? You are intellect, studying for that history test, writing those papers, living only to learn so that you can get through high school, to get to college, to pursue that graduate degree, to get that good job, to buy that first house, to start that new family, to raise those kids so that they can get into a good school to live to learn…

Who are you? Scripture and the Church has a different answer to that question. The church stands at the intersection of the world, and tells you “you are a child of God.” You are baptized, and that covenant of grace is not dependent on you, but on God. Your identity rests not in what you do, how smart you are, or how much money you make, but in who God is as the light of the world and has chosen you.

When someone asked Martin Luther, “How do you know that I am a Christian?” the pastor replied, “You know you are baptized – that’s all you need to know.” Similarly, in times of great doubt, when struggling through his dark night of the soul, Martin Luther would sometimes touch his forehead and say to himself, ‘Martin, be calm, you are baptized.”

I saw another folk art exhibit the afternoon I first saw the Shaker house. As we left the Shaker house we entered a room filled with the Quilts of Gees Bend. Gees Bend is a small, rural community in Rehobeth and Boyken Alabama.

"Founded in antebellum times, it was the site of cotton plantations, primarily the lands of Joseph Gee and his relative Mark Pettway, who bought the Gee estate in 1850.

After the Civil War, the freed slaves took the name Pettway, became tenant farmers for the Pettway family, and founded an all-black community nearly isolated from the surrounding world. During the Great Depression, the federal government stepped in to purchase land and homes for the community, bringing strange renown — as an "Alabama Africa" — to this sleepy hamlet."

"The town’s women developed a distinctive, bold, and sophisticated quilting style based on traditional American (and African American) quilts, but with a geometric simplicity reminiscent of Amish quilts and modern art. The women of Gee’s Bend passed their skills and aesthetic down through at least six generations to the present."

While Gee’s Bend is still geographically isolated, it is no longer disconnected from the rest of the world. The quilts were discovered, and soon these patchwork masterpieces connected Gee’s Bend to the rest of the world. The Gee’s Bend Quilt exhibit started in Houston and has made its way around the country, its influence far reaching.

As I walked through the exhibit, I learned generations of women gather at the quilting circle in Gee’s Bend to this day, passing along the craft to the next generation. If you have seen the Gee’s Bend quilts, you’ll notice the vibrant colors and unique patterns, fabric pulled from a variety of sources and era’s, weaving together a story of the past, present, and future…another generation of quilters mentored and shaped, woven in to the new community of faith, connected to the larger world.

You are children of light . Remember, you are children. You are connected to God, who is your parent…mothering and fathering you, caring for you and the rest of the family of faith. If your parent is light, you will resemble your parent. You are meant to shine and move around in the world as living children of God. You do so, not in isolation, but in community as part of the family of God.

Who are you? As members of the Body of Christ, the Church we are children of light, children of God, that identity cannot be lost. You carry that identity with you as you go out from this sanctuary each Sunday.

We embody a circle of faith. Each week we come to this sanctuary to be reminded of our identity as children of God, grounded. We come mindful of the past, noting ways in which God has shepherded us to the present with our questions and doubts, joining together to worship God.

Last weekend we marked 10 years in this sanctuary, we made another turn in the circle of faith, adding another patch to this quilt of faith. Northridge looks much different today than it did ten years ago, or over 100 years ago when it was the old East Dallas Presbyterian Church. Saints have gone on before us, and other saints are yet to come.

Today we make yet another turn in the circle of faith. We will take time to remember our baptismal identity as we welcome confirmands and hear their profession of faith. Some might view this as a pinnacle, an achievement. Confirmation and membership is not an achievement. Confirmation and church membership is yet another turn in the circle of faith that weaves your future as well as your past and present together.

To be fair, this is an important day, one which celebration is due. But, confirmation or church membership is not an achievement, it is not a graduation from church or Sunday School. If it is, then we will quickly become cloistered and stagnant, much like the Shaker museum exhibit. But, thankfully you and I are not artifacts. We are living, moving children of God.

Whether you are the one being confirmed or welcoming, confirmation is an important moment where you are reminded in a tangible way of who you are, a child of light, a child of God, and that you are part of something larger than yourself, the Body of Christ.

This is a day when the covenant promises made at your baptism take on new significance. This is a moment where you might pause and reflect on the hand of God that has shepherded you to this place, sewing you into the patchwork quilt of the body of Christ. You stand today professing a faith that is still in process, still dynamic, and for that we give thanks and rejoice!

We are reminded that “when you and I came into this life, God called us by our name. Within the circle of the faith, as member of your cast, you take your place with all the saints of future, present, past.”

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

References:

Will Willimon quotes from "Remember Who You Are: Baptism A Model for Christian Life."

Hymn quote from #522 "Lord, When I Came Into This Life"

Image: Gee's Bend Quilt by Allie Pettiway, Housetop
http://www.quiltsofgeesbend.com/images/quilts/tn-alliepettway-housetop.jpg

Mountains Beyond Mountains (Transfiguration Sermon)

2011-03-08T14:03:00.000-08:00

March 6, 2011
Transfiguration of the Lord Sunday
Northridge Presbyterian Church
Exodus 24:12-18; Matthew 17:1-9

“No one comes to this mountain by accident.” Those were the words uttered by Chaplain Phil Dicks at the YMCA of the Rockies/Snow Mountain Ranch on a Sunday morning. I spent a summer working as a chaplain’s assistant at Snow Mountain Ranch in Winter Park after my first year in college. After several weeks of hearing the same welcome in worship, and growing annoyed at the lack of variety, I asked my boss, the chaplain, “why that phrase?“ The chaplain noted our chapel was a transient congregation, filled with folks who come to the Rocky Mountains for a variety of reasons. He noted many come to the mountains to get away from something or to reconnect, and they needed to be reminded of God’s presence in the mountains while worshiping in that space.

Chaplain Phil, or “Chap” as we all called him, was an avid fly fisherman, outdoorsmen, preacher who believed people experienced God in creation. He was fascinated with the grandeur of the rocky mountain range, and sought to pass that awe on to the congregation and Y staff.

No one comes to this mountain by accident. Indeed, as the summer wore on and I worked to coordinate weddings at our beautiful outdoor chapel, planned and led worship and Bible Studies, sold fishing licenses, signed guests up for fly fishing classes, and even filled in to teach a fly fishing class once…Yes, the chaplain’s office was also the fish gear office.. .I learned that staff and guests alike came to the mountains for respite, reunion, and reconnection.

Respite…Reunion…Reconnection. Many of the Y staff came for those things as well. We were drawn to work for below minimum wage and spend a summer in dank dorms because it promised a summer of hiking, biking, camping, in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Many of my friends were searching for something that summer. One was grieving the death of his college sweet heart, another struggling with questions of identity, and all of us college staff wondered just what we’d do and be when we “grew up”.

During that summer a growing sense of call emerged for many, including myself. Post work shift conversations would center around the deep questions of life. It was intoxicating to live 10,000 miles above sea level in a global village in the middle of the rocky mountain range.

I know many of you have spent time in Colorado. You can picture the scene of both passages, of what it’s like to spend time on a mountain, overlooking vistas. You might even know that feeling of respite and reconnection that a mountain top experience can provide.

Jesus, James, John, and Peter didn’t climb up the mountain by accident. Allow me to give a bit of context. At this point in Matthew Jesus has led his disciples to Caesera Philippi, the resort region. In the chapter prior to this one, Peter has confessed Jesus is the Christ and immediately following this awareness, Jesus predicts his death. Six days later, presumably on the Sabbath, Jesus gathers a small group including Peter, James, and John to get away, to pray. This is not the first time Jesus has come away for some intentional time of reflection, nor will it be the last.

What is unique about this mountain top Sabbath is the transfiguration. Transfiguration, now that’s a word we don’t hear too often in our vernacular. According to the text, “Jesus’ face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.” The glory of God, a fuller representation of Jesus’ identity is made clear. Moses and Elijah appear with him, representative of the prophets and the law, and engage Jesus in conversation.

Peter, in typical disciple fashion gets a bit overwhelmed, missing the point, and broaches the topic of staying for a while, tabernacling in booths. And then from the cloud the voice of God speaks “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” This is the second time God speaks audibly in the Gospel of Matthew, the first at Jesus’ baptism. The voice of God would stop anyone in their tracks, even hasty Peter.

What a startling course of events on that mountain top! The response to the transfiguration is a healthy mix of fear and awe, and then a desire to stay a while and relish the experience. Peter, James, and John know what is to come: death.
Fear of the unknown, a desire to control, avoidance. These are all natural human responses in the face of death or in the midst of an awesome experience. There is nothing the disciples can do to prolong the Sabbath or change the fate of Jesus.

Stanley Hauerwas points out in his commentary on this passage, that “Like Peter we desire to secure in place, if not tie down and domesticate, the wild spirit of God’s kingdom. We do not wish to face anew the challenge of God’s presence. We would like to make the success of the past our own without having to have the courage of those who followed Jesus into the unknown. Yet, the church dies or is unfaithful when the achievements of the past are used to ignore God’s command to ‘listen.’”

Peter, James, and John knew Jesus was going to die. If they were paying attention, they could see that Jesus had been teaching, healing, and leading them toward his death. The inevitability of the cross weighed on them. And so, they began to look for alternatives, for a way to stop time. Peter wants to build a shelter away from the world, to cloister from reality and the suffering to come.

There is a Haitian proverb that goes like this: “Deye Mon Gen Mon.” "Beyond mountains there are mountains": as you solve one problem, another problem presents itself, and so you go on and try to solve that one too.

Tracy Kidder wrote a biography of Dr. Paul Farmer titled, Mountains Beyond Mountains. The Haitian proverb is a metaphor for the true story of Paul Farmer. Paul Farmer is a doctor, Harvard professor, renowned infectious-disease specialist, anthropologist, the recipient of a MacArthur "genius" grant, world-class Robin Hood, Farmer was brought up in a bus and on a boat, and in medical school found his life’s calling: to diagnose and cure infectious diseases and to bring the lifesaving tools of modern medicine to those who need them most.

Tracy Kidder follows Paul Farmer around for several years, from the halls of Brigham Hospital in Cambridge MA, to the mountains of Haiti. As the story of Famer unfolds, the reader learns that Farmer cares tremendously for his patients. He even goes so far as to hike for a day to bring a patient their medicine and a bag of food that will cause the medicine to be more effective.

This magnificent book shows how radical change can be fostered in situations that seem insurmountable. We learn Farmer is motivated, not by the desire to do good. His work and calling spring from a deep faith, and from that faith hope. Paul Farmer understands that at the heart of the proverb, mountains beyond mountains, is hope. As Famer solves one problem, another problem presents itself, and so you go on and try to solve that one too because of hope.

Now, you and I are not Paul Farmer, but I think there is something to be gleaned from his courage. Paul Farmer viewed the mountains as sets of challenges to ascend and descend with hope.

Looking back at the text, Peter is not like mountain climber, Paul Farmer excited to descend one mountain with hopeful anticipation only to climb another. Peter, for all his rushing around and hastiness doesn’t understand the significance of the moment and wants to camp out for a while. God speaks, stopping Peter in his tracks, issuing a command for Peter, James, and John to listen to Jesus, the Son of God. But, God’s presence is not merely in voice form. Remember, Jesus is there with them in all his glory. Jesus, the son of God, the one who is transfigured. Jesus speaks as well saying “Get up and do not be afraid.” Jesus also reaches out and touches them, offering a hand and a word of comfort.

No one comes to this mountain by accident, especially not this group at this time. One commentator notes, “The mountain was the way for God to prepare a human band of companions for the sacred journey, to offer something to hold onto when they descend to the crushing reality of the world below.”

It turns out that no one has come to that mountain by accident. Whether for respite or challenge, all parties the disciples and Jesus alike have been reoriented. In Jesus’ transfiguration we are assured that Jesus is indeed the son of God and the son of man. In that mountain top reunion Peter, James, and John see Jesus is the one who fulfilled the law given through Moses and the one proclaimed by the prophets, illustrated by Elijah.

But, in that moment when Jesus reaches out his hand to touch them, Peter, James, and John feel and know that Jesus is Immanuel, God with us…in the flesh. In that moment the paradox of comfort in the midst of suffering is present. Yes, Jesus is with them and the glory of God surrounds them, but soon they will descend that mountain toward death.

That hand clasp though is the tangible hope in the text. God offers the disciples something to hold onto as they descend. It is a sign and seal of God’s grace and love, that has been present and will sustain them as they journey through the cross. God’s glory and majesty, God’s peace are present not only in light, and audible voice, but in a hand clasp.

We cannot escape God, even as we travel down from the mountain to a valley.

If you have ever had a mountain top experience, you know that the most challenging piece is re-entry. Initially you have energy, and a clear focus…new ideas and a fresh perspective. Eventually, with time, the mountain top experience high fades and you fall back into the rhythm of your daily life. The challenge of the mountain, while great and anxiety producing also gets woven into you your life, shaping you into the person who sits here now in these pews.

Like the disciples, you and I need something to hold onto in this world. You know that most of life is not lived on a mountain top, but in the valleys of grief and loss, or in the level places of the car pool lane or the history test.
Like the disciples, we too know that we cannot escape God. God finds us wherever we are, most often in the ordinary moments in a staff meeting, on a hike, serving with your neighbor, in prayer. But, on Sunday when we come together in worship, we encounter God in worship in a particular way, with intentionality. Worship is a mini-mountaintop experience we encounter the glory of God differently.

In worship, we pause, and we listen, just as Peter, James, and John did on that mountain. We encounter the glory of God tangibly in the sacraments. John Calvin called the sacraments signs and seals of God’s grace. Sitting before this Table of Grace, you are fed and nourished to go out into the world bearing Christ’s peace. Coming to the waters of the Baptismal Font you receive the assurance that you are claimed as God’s own.

In a few minutes I will baptize Hugo and Mia Cortez. Baptism is one of those mountain top experiences that is both comfort and challenge. It is comforting to know that we are claimed as God’s own and sealed in God’s love. We keep water in the font each week to remind each one of you that you are claimed as God’s own child. I poured water into the font during the assurance of pardon because our baptismal identity is inextricably linked to the grace in that assurance or pardon.

Baptism is also a challenge, because baptism is not an ending, but a beginning of a journey, not a place we stay, but a place we emerge from. Upon baptism we have the challenging work of fulfilling our end of the covenant, to journey in discipleship with Natalie, Nathan, Hugo, and Mia. You as a congregation will make promises to raise Mia and Hugo in the faith, to nurture them as they grow.

As you know, raising children and nurturing them in the faith is challenging work. It means some of us will volunteer to teach, others will take a week of vacation to attend the youth summer camp at MO ranch, (we still need a couple of male volunteers) and still others will journey alongside parents when they have questions and concerns. It takes a family of faith to live into our baptismal identity.

We will all descend the mountain in search of more mountains, not because we’re perfect or because we have it all figured out, but because we are people of hope, claimed as the Triune God’s own, and God is there holding our hand.

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

References:
-Matthew Commentary by Stanley Hauerwas (Brazos Press)
-Feasting on the Word Commentary
-Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder

Thanks to Rev. C. Graham Ford for his conversation with be about the text and baptismal identity.

Every Square Inch

2011-02-09T05:49:00.000-08:00

Feb. 6, 2011 Northridge Presbyterian Church
I Corinthians 2:1-12
Matthew 5:13-20

I’m glad to see many of you made it safely to church! Show of hands, how many of you had snow days? How many of you are relieved to be out of the house? Well, I survived my first Texas ice storm. I have to tell you, I was a bit cavalier, thinking I could maneuver well in this weather because of my Midwestern roots and experience with snow. When the weather predicted ice on Monday, I didn’t expect the ice to cover everything and the Metroplex to come to a halt. But it did, and rightfully so as the ice was dangerous. As many of us worked from home and caught the news, did you notice how the weather report quickly expanded from its usual slot, spilling over into everything? Cancellations ran constantly, and shots of trucks stuck and tires spinning were on repeat.

All week, I kept thinking where’s the salt? Growing up in Michigan the salt trucks are the first to be deployed after the plows. Not only does the salt provide traction for one’s car, but the friction also works to melt the snow. Instead, TXDOT uses sand and some other chemical concoction that, in my humble opinion doesn’t work as well. Why? Well, aside from the fact that this weather is unusual, I learned on the news that TXDOT is concerned about the corrosive qualities of salt. Yes salt does have corrosive qualities, but usually over time and with significant build up. In other, snowier parts of the country, like Green Bay Wisconsin and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania people use salt because it works, and are willing to risk the corrosion in favor of traction and mobility. Salt goes a long way…

But, I’m digressing from the Sermon on the Mount. Today’s Gospel Reading is a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount that Ben introduced last week. If you recall, last week we read the Beatutiudes and Ben noted in his sermon that the Beatitudes are a geography for life today. When we get off the fence to heed these words today, we find ourselves traveling to some unique places, sitting with those who long for peace, comforting and weeping with those who mourn.

Today’s passage is a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount. In this section, Jesus moves us beyond geography and plays with two metaphors: salt and light. You are salt and light. The text doesn’t say you are to be like salt, or if you want to be salt do this…The metaphor is descriptive. You are salt. You are light. That is your identity.

This collection of teachings from Jesus, this sermon could easily be titled discipleship 101. The Beatitudes are the geography, this section then describes disciple’s identity as they travel in the world. Who are you as you get off the fence?
“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?” Jesus talks about losing one’s saltiness, it’s a bit absurd. How can salt, a preserving agent loose it’s saltiness? It can’t, in fact, when salt is added to something like water or broth, it dissolves, but as it dissolves it enhances the flavor. Salt elicits goodness, and in the case of snowy roads provides traction. It is also absurd for one to have a light and not put it on a lamp stand.

David Lose suggests, “Jesus is just naming the absurdity of the possibility of losing one's character as salt and light in order to underscore the reliability and resilience of the gift he bequeaths. "You are the salt of the earth! You are the light of the world. That's the way it is and that's the way it will stay. Period."

Salt is one of the basic building blocks for life. Without salt and water cells cannot get nourishment and die from dehydration. Mark Kurlansky explores the necessity of salt in his book, Salt: A World History. The book tracks world history through the mineral. In the introduction to the book, Kurlansky notes the uses of salt. He writes, “The only rock we eat, salt has shaped civilization from the very beginning... A substance so valuable it served as currency, salt has influenced the establishment of trade routes and cities, provoked and financed wars, secured empires, and inspired revolutions... The modern salt industry cites 14,000 uses for salt. This list includes keeping the colors bright on vegetables, making ice cream freeze, whipping cream rapidly, getting more heat out of boiled water, removing rust, putting out grease fires, treating poison ivy, manufacturing pharmaceuticals, melting ice from winter roads, (did I mention that already?) fertilizing agricultural fields, and making soap.”

Salt was to the ancient Hebrews and now the modern Jews the symbol of the eternal nature of God’s covenant with Israel. The book of Number mentions “It is a covenant forever of Salt before the Lord.” And again in Chronicles, “the Lord, the God of Israel gave the kingdom over Israel to David by a covenant of salt.”

By using this metaphor of salt, Jesus is drawing attention to the fact that there is continuity between his teaching and that in the Torah. The writer of Matthew, writing to a Jewish community knew the hearers would think of covenant when they heard the metaphor salt.

You are salt. God is eternally bound to you, God loves you and will never forsake you. Our identity as salt and light cannot be changed, it is intrinsic to who we are. The identity is intrinsic, and the function of seasoning, of mixing to bring out the kingdom of heaven is implied and expanded upon with a new ethic and reinterpretation of the law as the Sermon on the Mount continues. But, today we’re pausing with identity, because our identity will influence our way of being in the world.

You are salt. You are light? What? How can that be when there are errands to run, bills to pay, and Super Bowl games to watch. The reality of our day to day lives of the car pool lane, volleyball practice, homework, dinner, bath time, and pressing deadlines is that we lose sight of our identity.

Do you go around thinking of your identity first and foremost as salt and light? Do you think about your life outside of this sanctuary in terms of enhancing, bringing out the best, or providing traction?

Jesus says, you are salt and you are light. The good news is that grace has come, the challenging news is that you and I are salt and light.

In his 1994 Inaugural Speech, Nelson Mandela needed to set the stage for a new day, for a new geography, and new identity as post-apartheid South Africa. The world was watching as this new President took over and set the stage for a united South Africa. Mandela, known the world over for his peaceful non-violent resistance quoted Marianne Williamson. Mandela said:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us… You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

These words gave the South African people their identity as one people, regardless of race. This identity set the tone for reconciliation that has knit this nation back together slowly over time.

You are Salt. You are Light, pointing to the kingdom of God at hand.

It’s not an identity only relegated to the great figures in human history, but for you and me. As Reformed Christians, as Presbyterians we believe that following Christ means engaging in the world from our identity. We use the term vocation, or calling. Our calling then, is to bring this identity as salt and light whether we are a doctor healing the sick, a lawyer writing fair contracts, a sixth grader taking a test, a retiree delivering meals on wheels, or a parent trying to raise a child of God.

Preacher and writer, Barbara Brown Taylor explores vocation in her book: An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith. She writes,
"I think most people want to be good for something. I think they want to do something that matters, to be part of something bigger than themselves, to give themselves to something that is meaningful instead of meaningless.

And yet, meaningful work is hard to come by. A parent who spends his or her day changing diapers and scraping applesauce off a toddler’s chin can have a hard time remembering that this unpaid work serves the purpose of forming a human being…”

Barbara goes on, “No work is too small to play a part in the world of creation. At the Ford plant, the person in charge of left front tire bolts is vitally important to the mother who drives her children to school each day. Since this connection is not always apparent, it calls for a little extra effort. Practice living with purpose.”

Jesus said, “You are salt. You are light.” To follow Jesus then, to be a disciple means you and I exist for mixing and moving around in every square inch of the world. We are meant to bring out goodness, we are meant to provide traction, and with God’s help, maybe even corrode that which needs transformation. Claiming our identity as salt and light means it’s not just enough to work inside these walls at Northridge Presbyterian Church. No, the result of our time together here in worship and as the Body of Christ is to bring who we are to the world.

Being salt, being light, responding to God’s gift of grace, that requires risk. It requires getting off the fence and moving around in the messy world. Being salt requires sitting with those who mourn, standing with the meek. Being salt flavors who you’ll welcome to your table. Being salt means you will ask the question who is my neighbor and how can I love?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer describes our identity as salt and light this way:

“I believe that God can and will bring good out of everything, even out of the greatest evil. For that purpose, God needs people who make the best use of everything. I believe that God will give us all the strength we need to help us resist in all times of distress. But God never gives it in advance, lest we should rely on ourselves and not on God alone. A faith such as this should allay our fears for the future. I believe that even our mistakes and shortcomings are not in vain, and that it is no harder for God to deal with them than with our supposedly good deeds.”

Leaning into God’s grace, we see who we are as salt and light and begin to discover our calling, our identity to point to the kingdom of God.

Being salt and light we can take the risk:
To go out into the world in peace,
To have courage,
To hold on to what is good,
Returning to no one evil for evil,
To strengthen the fainthearted,
To support the weak,
To help the suffering
To honor all persons
To love and serve the Lord rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Two Kings, Two Kingdoms?

2011-01-28T14:41:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 63:7-9
Matthew 2:13-23
December 26, 2010 Sermon
Northridge Presbyterian Church

How many of you experienced a picture perfect Christmas? Show of hands? If we’re honest, none of us has experienced the perfection of Christmas portrayed in a Norman Rockwell painting. There is always a story behind the perfect snap shot. I have friends who are new pastors and due to the business tried to capture that perfect Christmas card photo too late. In one the four year old is looking the other direction, in another the two year old is throwing a tantrum. In all of them the parents are distracted. They decided to forego the perfect picture and emailed a link to the imperfect album on facebook. Perhaps you can identify with a less than perfect Christmas image. Perhaps someone is missing from the Christmas table, the turkey wasn’t quite done, or Sally threw a temper tantrum. Christmas is never picture perfect as the photos we send out to friends and family.

This morning we’re confronted with a less than Rockwellian Christmas story. The lectionary for this year is taking us through the Gospel of Matthew. It doesn’t skip over chapter two, but pauses here on the first Sunday of Christmas. This is not a convenient story for this preacher to reflect on. I’d much rather sit with the angel glorias and the simple narrative of our Christmas eve pageant a bit longer…But, the challenging passage from Matthew while hard to look at, does provide a helpful a fuller and perhaps more realistic picture of Jesus Christ and God at work in the world.

It turns out not everyone was as excited to welcome Jesus as the shepherds, angels, and magi. While Luke tells the full story of the birth of Christ and the angel’s singing, Matthew takes a more sober look at the political and theological ramifications of the birth of Jesus Christ, King of the Jews.

This text is brutal. Where we might expect pomp and circumstance we encounter rejection, violence, and evil in the cold and merciless form of murdering the innocent.

The Gospel of Matthew includes this story immediately after the birth of Christ to set the theological framework for the rest of the book. You see, Matthew is concerned about examining the question of who is Jesus as King and what is the Kingdom of heaven?

Taking a look at these four scenes, this question of authority and power is at the forefront.

The magi come to King Herod looking for another King. Two Kings? How can that be? Jealousy and paranoia take over Herod. His proclivity toward murder is sadly not new. Herod, who was known to be jealous, killed three of his own sons well before Jesus was born. Herod is despised and feared around the world.

Given this violent character, it should come as no surprise that when the magi didn’t play into Herod’s scheme of passing along the location of Jesus, he responds with violence. His kingdom is threatened, his authority just might be challenged there cannot possibly be two kings in one kingdom…what better way to respond to the birth of another king than with violence?

And so, after the birth of Jesus Christ the King there is senseless bloodshed of innocent children in the town of Bethlehem. Herod kills all the male children age 2 and under to preserve his power. Being a small town scholars presume only 20-30 are slain, but that is 20-30 too many, especially after the Advent of Christ.

Mary and Joseph flee with Jesus to Egypt and live life as political refugees for who knows how long. It could have been as short as months or as long as years.

In the kingdom of violence and oppression, the innocent are often the first victims.

You and I see plainly the same drama of Matthew unfolding on this Christmas morning. The God who is born as a baby boy, who is incarnate, leads not to pretty pictures but to real, raw, gritty places. We know the birth of Christ leads from a manger to a cross.

But, isn’t that where we are this morning? The reality of Christmas for you and me is the tension between the manger and the cross.
We live a day to day existence in a world where wars rage on, where power struggles occur in every area of life from the stand-off with the two year old, to the war on poverty we see play out between the pan handling man at the Kroger parking lot and the police officer trying to follow the law, to the extra scanning you’ll undergo at the airport as part of the war on terror.

We follow Jesus out of the comfort of the swaddling clothes in a manger as a refugee, toward some challenging places.

But, the reality is that you and I are sitting in relative comfort and wealth, we experience this raw reality at the center, not as refugees like Mary, Joseph and Jesus. So, we must look to the margins.

One such place is Juarez Mexico…I didn’t hear much about Juarez back in Philadelphia. It never made the news, and when it did it was because an American tourist or wealthy business owner had been shot or held for ransom. But, living here in Texas it seems there is a news story each week about cartels, turf wars, and endless violence. We don’t know the death toll of the many innocent people that have been slaughtered by the kings of violence.

This past week a church member forwarded me a story from the Dallas Morning News about three Texans of the year finalists, including Rich Mackey the director of Arrow Outreach Ministry, one of our longtime mission partners.

I was struck by Rich Mackey’s courage. The article recounts, “The East Texan drove his pickup nine times this year to Juárez. While his Arrow Outreach ministry helps churches there with supplies, construction and planning, Mackey's real contribution has been to bolster the pastors, families and students that his organization supports. Gangs now challenge them and the ministry. This year, gangs took over one building the ministry built, harassed pastors and sprayed violence across surrounding neighborhoods.

Still, families trek to the ministry's community center for medical aid, after-school tutoring and computer training. They now enter a compound surrounded by barbwire and an electronic gate. But they have access to those services, thanks to Mackey's commitment to the deadly city.”

The kings of violence and the kings of peace are at the forefront in Juarez, and in countless other places here and abroad. Yes, tragic human destruction and the slaughter of the innocent is woven throughout the fabric of human history.

The good news is that not even evil brought about by human choice. No, not even the slaughter of the innocents and Herod, the king of violence can destroy God’s ability to save. No, not even the much feared king of violence can overturn the King of Peace. You see, today’s passage shows us that while there are two kings, there is one kingdom…the kingdom of God. God is in the midst of the violence, healing, comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable, creating a kingdom of peace. God doesn’t dictate the evil, but God is in the midst walking with the suffering, and has not abandoned the world or humanity to our own devices of fear, rejection, and violence.

God provides a path toward freedom for Mary and Joseph. An angel appears to Joseph instructing the new family to flee to Egypt. Despite the weeping of the mothers whose children were killed in Bethlehem, the Messiah escaped, and everyone even mothers who lost their sons would be comforted. The hope and promise initiated in this Christmas story is that Jesus Christ, the King of Peace, God in the flesh will ultimately reign one day, and one day there will be no more murder and violence.

The darkness will not be overcome. Violence will not prevail. There might be two kings, but there is only one kingdom. God loves us and chooses to be part of our world in the person of Jesus Christ. The birth of Christ is a sign of God’s kingdom come and God’s will and desire for grace and truth being done. God is walking with us through valleys and up mountains, calling us toward the ways of peace.

A colleague of mine and pastor, Rev. Daniel Meeter reflects on this in his sermon for this Sunday. He writes “It’s always inconvenient when the kingdom of heaven comes on earth. Even for us, for all of us, powerful or powerless, innocent or guilty, it certainly puts us in a time of trial, and forces the issue of our temptations. You can do like King Herod, and try to dispose of the inconvenience, or like Joseph, you can embrace the inconvenience for the sake of the hope that is set before you.”

This is our reality as followers of Christ, to point to the kingdom of God as we live with many kings. With that comes struggle and challenging choices, to be sure. We, who sit in the center of an empire here in the United States of America, are called to look to the margins…seeking out the lost, comforting the grieving, and welcoming the stranger. But, the coming of Jesus Christ, God with us implies that we are not our own, but belong to our Lord and King of Peace, Jesus Christ.

We find ourselves ultimately as citizens of the kingdom of God…living into an inconvenient, yet grace filled truth.

In the name of the father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

December 20, 2010 Editorial “Texan of the Year Finalist Border Heroes”

Not Your Typical Hymn-Sing

2011-01-28T14:35:00.000-08:00

John 1:29-42
Psalm 40

January 16, 2011
Northridge Presbyterian Church

This was not your typical hymn sing. I found myself swaying and singing with twenty thousand other people at the United Center on a snowy January evening in 2002.

U2 was on their Elevation tour, and four friends and me skipped our afternoon classes driving three hours from Grand Rapids MI to Chicago. As we walked in we could see a heart shaped stage that Bono, the Edge, Larry, and Adam would perform on throughout the evening. The heart became a symbol as the band created community among thousands of strangers. The concert was just five months after 9/11, and the theme of non-violence, love, and care for neighbor was explicit throughout the evening

As the concert came to a close, the band went old school, ending with “Forty”. Based on Psalm 40, Bono started and the crowd sang along…
I won’t sing for you now, because you don’t want to hear that, but imagine the scene with me.

Bono started out by slowly singing:

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined and heard my cry…
He lifted me up out of the pit, out of the miry clay…and the crowd joined in:
I will sing, sing a new song…I will sing, sing, a new song…
How long, to sing this song? How long, to sing this song? “

Larry, The Edge and Adam crescendoed with drums and guitar as together we joined in repeating this Psalm…As Bono and the crowd sang these words of hope, proclaiming God’s presence and faithfulness, images from 9/11 flashed on the screen in front of him, images of children from around the world, images of the civil rights marches.
The images interspersed both our lament at the injustice that mired us down, and images of hope; an image of a mother holding a baby, of a field of wheat, and then the heart shaped stage. As the crowd continued to sing “I will sing a new song. “

Bono called us to respond to the recent terrorist attacks not with more violence, but with non-violence with peace and love...to sing a song of love.

Slowly the band members faded out and walked off the stage. Bono lingered singing with the crowd acapella, and then he walked off the stage and we were left singing…We lingered…the crowd singing “I will sing, sing a new song” until the house lights came up…We exited the stadium in a quiet peaceful silence. As the crowd poured out into chilly Chicago streets, my friend turned to me and said, “I do believe we just went to church.”

I still get chills, thinking about how we all joined in that hymn, crossing barriers…not falling into the trap of cynicism or the saccharine…reoriented toward hope.

It was not your typical hymn-sing where we sit in pews around a piano or organ and call out our favorites. This was a hymn sing where we were asked to tell the truth about the muck and mire as well as the hope found in a God who is living and moving in our midst.

You don’t have to be at a U2 concert to be drawn into Psalm 40. After a week of yet another list of tragedies beginning with the shooting in Tucson, the floods in Australia, the mudslide in Brazil, and a coupe in Tunisia perhaps you identify with the opening lines…”I waited patiently for the Lord…” Our English translation of the Hebrew, to the phrase “waiting patiently” doesn’t full capture the pathos of this prayer. In the Hebrew, qavah, means to anxiously wait with every fiber of being, or waiting in hopeful anticipation.

Waiting with every fiber of being …Hopeful anticipation…That hardly seems possible after the struggle that the Psalmist recounts of being stuck in the muck and mire of a pit. The Psalmist is hopeful in the midst of struggle and after struggle because God has been, is, and will be present.

Psalm 40 is an affirmation of faith. What is unique about this affirmation of faith -- this testimony of God is the fact that the Psalmist does not gloss over the struggles in life. Many of the Psalms are raw and honest, containing lament and even anger at God. Faith in God does not mean life is easy – the pit and the muck exist, which is explicit in this passage.

The psalmist points to God’s action, and presence on the journey. In the midst of disorientation of being in the ditch and asking questions comes with time, reorientation. The process is compressed here, we don’t know what the pit represents, or how the Psalmist was literally or figuratively lifted up. We do know that the Psalmist is no longer in the ditch, but set on solid ground, with a different perspective and is able to sing a new song…a song that speaks to the deep abiding faithfulness of God not only to this individual, but from generation to generation.

This Psalm speaks of a faith that takes into account the journey. It’s a pilgrimage story, a traveling song, one that notes the grace filled imperfections of a life with a living, moving God in the midst of a chaotic and confusing world.

This week also marked the one year anniversary of the earthquake in Haiti. I had the opportunity to travel to Haiti last fall with my previous congregation. Bryn Mawr Presbyterian has a decade long mission partnership in Haiti. In preparation for the trip our group read and studied. We learned through our study and our experience that Haiti is a nation of paradoxes. It is the world’s first black nation to free itself from slavery, and yet it is bound by struggles to govern. It is deemed to be the poorest nation, yet I experienced the most extravagant generosity. We stayed in a village with some of the most generous people who fed us meals that cost them their entire annual salary. When the earthquake hit last January, folks in our church had faces and names immediately come to mind.

One of the first scenes I saw on television was of a group of women, children, and youth singing and marching through the streets of Port-au-Prince. It was not your typical hymn-sing.

The hymn singing march was an affirmation of faith and lament. The crowd sang, crying out to the God who they knew to be ever present and faithful…they sang noting the struggle and their hope as they marched through rubble…. It was not your typical hymn sing…It was a paradox to see a corporate affirmation of faith in the face of such a grim tragedy.

Meanwhile, back in the states, folks were trying to figure out how to respond and singing hymns of their own. Some responded by immediately linking the earthquake as a deliberate act of a judgmental God. Others responded differently. I sat in a staff meeting with my colleagues, and we sought to find a way to respond.

That first Sunday, my colleague Rob planned an alternative evening service led by youth to explore this paradox: what can we affirm about God in the face of suffering?

We gathered in our fellowship hall and sat in small group circles. We found comfort in the Psalms and in Psalm 40. We found comfort knowing that our struggle, while tragic, was not new. Our questions were held by the community of faith and a God who loves and calls us to love… We shared stories during that worship service. Those of us who had travelled to Haiti spoke of the amazing people we met, the hospitality, and the need for us to partner with Haitians. We joined our Haitian brothers and sister with a hymn-sing of hope, proclaiming God not as punisher, but comforter, affirming our faith, however tentative that God was walking with the people of Haiti through this tragedy, faithfully working in the muck and mire to reorient all of us toward a new way of living.

A new way of living is what we encounter in today’s Gospel lesson. Paired with the Psalm we know that God doesn’t just pull us out of the muddy places in life for us to stand still and revel. No, just as God walks with us, so we walk with God, following Christ from his baptism toward a life of discipleship in community, singing a new song of hope, of love, of peace, of grace.

We sing this song by telling our stories. Diana Butler Bass writes about this practice of testimony in her book Christianity for the Rest of Us. She tells a story of a tiny United Church of Christ congregation in New Haven, Connecticut that was struggling. The new pastor began her ministry by meeting folks in their homes. During these visits she heard amazing stories of faith. There was energy in this storytelling that wasn’t present in the collective congregation. She worked with the worship committee and they invited five people to share their faith journey during the five Sundays in Lent. It was a risk for this mainline congregation in New England to try testimony, but as the pastor and congregation learned, testimony did not mean the individual had things all figured out.

The pastor, Lillian Daniels recounts, “we took a risk on testimony….It gave voice to our diversity, yet at the same time, in listening to and respecting theological differences the Holy Spirit knit us together. Through the stories of our lives we are and are being transformed. ” As the weeks progressed the stories were those of lament as well as joy. All the stories contained a thread “of being surprised by God’s love and transformed in unanticipated ways.” The congregation learned in telling their story that they were not alone on their journey, and that God was still speaking and moving.

In the Presbyterian tradition we call this testimony our statement of faith. Each week we collectively read and recite an affirmation of faith from our Book of Confessions. We join in voices, whether strong or wavering to affirm a story of God penned by the cloud of witnesses who have gone before us.

But, we don’t just recite creeds; we also create a new story that takes into account our current experience like that of the Psalmist. Confirmands, Elders and Deacons here at Northridge have had the opportunity to write and share their faith statements with one another. I have had the privilege of hearing you share of times of doubt and questioning, struggle…of seasons in the pits of life…and I have heard you tell stories of how you have experienced the love of God through prayer, a casserole, and embrace of a member of this congregation.

Each week you and I strive to sing this song, to tell this story…some may be singing in the pit, noting the struggles of life, while others are singing from a place of stability and blessing, and many of us from places in between…all songs are present in this sanctuary today. All are necessary, because together the lament and the joy work to create a harmony of hope. It’s not your typical hymn -sing this endeavor we call the life of faith.

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

Christianity for the Rest of Us page 132

2010 Reading List

2011-01-15T16:29:00.000-08:00

Inspired by my partner, Peter I thought I'd look at what I read over 2010. GoodReads made it easy to see that I read 36 books this past year. Most books were related to my work/transition, a few for self-improvement, and a smattering of fiction.

1. The Help, Kathryn Stockett
2.Mennonite in a Little Black Dress, Rhoda Janzen
3.Beyond Guilt, A Christian Response to Suffering, George B. Johnson
4.In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership, Henri Nouwen
5.A More Profound Alleluia (re-read), Leanne VanDyk
6.A Church of Her Own: What Happens When a Woman Takes the Pulpit, Sarah Sentilles
7.Beyond "I Do" What Christians Believe about Marriage, Douglas J. Brouwer
8.Eat to Live, Joel Fuhrman
9.From Stone to Living Word: Letting the Bible Live Again, Debbie Blue
10.The Healing of America: A Global Quest for Better, Cheaper, and Fairer Healthcare, T.R. Reid
11.Works of Love (read half), Soren Kierkegaard
12.Sustainable Youth Ministry, Mark DeVries
13.This Odd and Wondrous Calling: The Public and Private Lives of Two Pastors, Lillian Daniel & Martin Copenhaver
14.Jesus the Savior: The Meaning of Jesus Christ for the Christian Faith, William C. Placher
15. Following Jesus Through the Eye of a Needle: Living Fully, Loving Dangerously, Kent Annan
16.Transitions: Making Sense of Life's Changes, William Bridges
17.Seeking God: The Way of St. Benedict, Esther DeWaal
18.Ten Commandments for Pastors New to a Congregation, Lawrence W. Farris
19.Four Seasons of Ministry: Gathering a Season of Harvest, Bruce Epperly
20.Mandate to Difference: An Invitation to the Contemporary Church, Walter Brueggeman
21.My Life in France, Julia Child
22.Congregational Leadership in Anxious Times: Being Calm & Courageous No Matter What,Peter Steinke
23.A Failure of Nerve: Leadership in an Age of the Quick Fix, Edwin Friedman
24.The Active Life: A Spirituality of Work, Creativity, and Caring, Parker Palmer
25.God Against Religion: Rethinking Christian Theology Through Worship, Matthew Meyer Boulton
26.The Innocent Man: Murder and Injustice in a Small Town, John Grisham
27. Imperfect Birds, Anne Lamott
28.New Beginnings: A Pastorate Start-Up Workbook, Roy M. Oswald
29.Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House, Cheryl Mendelson
30.How to Thrive in Associate Ministry, Kevin E. Lawson
31.Better Together: The Future of Presbyterian Mission, Sherron Kay George
32.Tinkers, Paul Harding
33.Community: The Structure of Belonging, Peter Block
34.Freedom, Jonathan Franzen
35. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen
36.The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri

Looking ahead, I'm on tap to read a few books on Empire, non-profit development, and hopefully a few of those "classics" that seem to be absent from this year's list.

What have you been reading?

Climbing Trees

2011-01-14T15:45:00.000-08:00

Psalm 65:1-8
Luke 19:1-10
Northridge PCUSA
November 7, 2010

Have you ever climbed a tree? I grew up living in a wooded neighborhood. We had a tree house in our backyard as did our neighbors across the street. The Johnson treehouse was much cooler than ours. Our friends Heather and Elizabeth had a slide that was the exit from their tree house. Ours was much higher, smaller, and had no slide.

The tree house was the source of endless hours of play. The neighborhood gang would imagine we were pioneers in a log cabin, we were sailing on a ship, Noah’s Ark was a favorite, or the Mayflower as we learned history in school. We could spend hours making up stories, running around the woods, climbing into the house, sliding down.

In addition to being a source of imagination, climbing up into the tree was a source of escape. When I had a fight with my parents or my sister, the tree house was my quiet place. The tree house was an adult free zone where different rules applied. The treehouse was the source of distraction from my homework or chores.

Zacchaeus, that wee little man, climbs a tree in today’s passage. Not for an afternoon of make believe, but as an escape. The Sunday school version of this story tells us that Zaccaheus was a wee little man and it was the Lord he wanted to see, so he climbed up a sycamore tree.

Zacchaeus was not only short in stature, but also in compassion and stewardship. As a tax collector, he worked for the Romans and was despised. In those days tax collectors often took a significant cut of the tax for themselves. Zacchaeus was not a Robin Hood figure, taking from the rich to redistribute to the poor. No, he took large cuts from the poor, causing significant hardship for his community, and kept the extra cash for himself.

I can imagine Zacchaeus rounding a corner, seeing a crowd gather on the streets. He didn’t have his bodyguard with him that day, so instead of standing around in the crowd, where he couldn’t see and didn’t want to be seen, he spots a nice tree with some low limbs and climbs up.

Zaccheus climbs a tree to get a better view, but also to be out of sight. He was the outcast. The equivalent of a used car salesman, or mob boss. He’s the man in the great Armani suit that you just don’t trust and maybe even despise…

Zaccheus does not come running toward Jesus along with the rest of the crowd. Instead, he climbs up a tree, safe in the boughs, out of sight, but able to see. Notice, Zacchaeus does not run toward Jesus asking for healing or to be saved like some other figures in the Gospels. No, in this passage it is Jesus who calls out to Zaccaheus.

As one commentator notes, “There is nothing in this passage to indicate that Zacchaeus was hoping to meet Jesus—indeed, perched up there in that sycamore tree in about as undignified a posture as possible, it seems likely that Zacchaeus was, as a matter of fact, hoping NOT to be noticed! He was hiding and he was not about to call out to Jesus from his bird-like position. What would people think to see a rich guy literally up a tree??!”

So, imagine what it was like for Zaccheaus, hiding in the tree, to have Jesus call out his name as the parade passed by. The crowd was anticipating a shake down. Jesus was known to condemn the rich. But instead of a shake down, Jesus invites himself to dinner.

Jesus comes to Zacchaeus. Jesus is interested in the rich and the poor, in the grounded and the helpless. Jesus is interested in the things of this world…in who we welcome into our home, in our stewardship of resources…

Zaccheaus, the man who was short on compassion and stewardship is forced to come down from the tree and be grounded again by Jesus in the ways of mercy and compassion.

Perhaps you don’t go around climbing trees. I know I haven’t climbed a tree with success in quite some time. But, we do distance ourselves from the consequences of our decisions like Zaccheaus did.

Maybe we separate ourselves from the community, just as Zaccheus did while the parade passed him by. We choose to stand on the fringes and let others do the challenging work. Other times though, the floodwaters of life rise, and we find ourselves climbing a tree for safety, for protection.

When we’re stuck up in a tree of illness or hardship we might not dare ask for help…prefer to hide out rather than risk being honest about our circumstances. Used to having power and control over our circumstances, requesting help and receiving it are a challenge. Acknowledging our helplessness is a challenge.

And so, Jesus stands at the foot of the sycamore tree and commanded Zaccheaus to come down. Then Jesus does something strange, he initiates a dinner party at Zacchaeus’ house. There was gossip about the invitation, Jesus chose to go to a sinner’s house? What was Jesus thinking? But, what was so miraculous was that Jesus’ mercy was so great that it overcame the greed and sin of Zaccheaus.

Zachaeus didn’t have to earn acceptance, it was already offered, and in response he is compelled to clean up his act and give to the poor. He responds to the generous gift of grace by promising to give half his possessions ot the poor and repaying fourfold what he has cheated. You would expect it to be the other way around. Zacchaeus was a dishonest man, surely a sinner like him would need to earn grace and forgiveness? With Jesus it is always the reverse…mercy and grace is always offered first and gratitude is the response.

Zacchaeus, the man who was short in stature and in stewardship transforms in the presence of Christ. “The conversion of Zacchaeus does demonstrate that when grace comes to us, it does always result in a gracious lifestyle!”

We can’t live life in the tree…Jesus invites us to put our feet on the ground, to commune, to break bread over a meal, and to give generously from our wealth so others may eat, so others may know the love of God. Each of you has made that choice by joining this church. Together, as the body of Christ we look at the many resources and we seek to use our money, our time and talent, to extend the compassion and love of God to our neighbor.

During this season of stewardship we are faced with choices about how to commit our time, talent, and our money to the work of this congregation.

As you look around you here and in the world, you’ll note the need. Hurricane Tomas will bring another wave of need to our brothers and sisters in Haiti. Death brings grieving to this community. Illness brings hardship.

We could all run for the trees like Zaccheaus, or we can remain here, on the ground together. Bound by the God who loves each of us that he sent God’s son to call us out of trees toward a table of plenty. And, as we sit at table, each of us brings our unique gifts. Maybe you have the gift of prayer and can pray for this community and the world, maybe you have the gift of hospitality and can prepare food here and around the city, maybe you have a heart for education and can take time to teach. Maybe you could stand to give a bit more wealth back to God in service for our neighbor, not out of guilt, but in gratitude for the blessings you have received. All of us can give something in the form of time, talent, and treasure.

God calls us out of trees and into community with God and with one another. Zaccheas learned that he need not hide, he need not hoard his wealth…he gave it away…he welcomed. He gave generously. How can we welcome? What can we give generously?

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

commentary quotes from Scott Hoeze, calvin center for excellent preaching, text this week.

Planting Time

2011-01-14T15:42:00.000-08:00

November 14 2010 Sermon
Northridge PCUSA

I have a colleague who has the habit of using the following line to describe the prophets. “prophets comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” The line was first uttered by Mary Jones, a teacher, dressmaker, and community activist. I learned that Mary Jones wasn’t always an activist. She was a dressmaker. However, after losing her husband and four children to yellow fever in 1867 and her home and dress shop to the Chicago Fire of 1871 those two instances of trial prompted Mary to work for justice and she came to be known as “Mother Jones.” Her statement is a prophetic and bold request. Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable…It’s in that tension that the words of Isaiah 65 come to us.

The context in which these words were written makes all the difference. These words from Isaiah 65 were uttered or written to the Israelites, God’s chosen people who were in exile in Babylon. Yes, that’s right…the people who had wandered for 40 years in the wilderness, and finally lived and settled in a chosen place, who had built homes and a temple in which to worship God have been uprooted and sent from their homes into exile.

Exile. It’s difficult to imagine that experience, but try if you will to imagine being forced to leave your home. In the days following Hurrican Katrina, then Rita, and Ike many residents found themselves in semi-permanent exile. Driven away from their homes, from their community as the waters rose and sharp winds destroyed. There is a loss of control, a sense of helplessness, and impermanence as the citizens of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast resettled in the Astrodome and other make shift camps, and motels. For our neighbors in Haiti, exile from home brings a life in an impermanent tent city.

In the midst of chaos, and suffering we as finite human beings want to control. It was no different for the Israelites to whom the prophet was speaking. We learn earlier in chapter 65, that in the chaos of exile, they turned their backs on God.
The Israelites, the chosen people who had a covenant, who had prophets who spoke to them, found themselves longing for the past and anxious and fearful about the future. So, they began to explore other avenues of comfort and help. They forgot their identity as God’s chosen people, they lost the thread of their story, and in their fear forgot the ways of love, of justice, of peace.

In the midst of turning away from God, the prophet Isaiah utters a command to return to a right relationship with God, but then these words of promise: “I am about to create new heavens and a new earth…You shall build houses and inhabit them; you shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.”

Nearly a month ago, a group of 11 went on a mission trip to Texas City. We travelled to do hurricane Ike relief. Yes, three years later there is still need. This question of need and the possibility for rebuilding was pressed before our group. But, instead of being paralyzed by the chaos, we focused on fixing up one house for one family for one week.

I’ll never forget walking in to the house to see supplies strewn about and Mrs. Humphree the homeowner, a regal looking elderly woman, sitting humbly on a toilet in the middle of what was to be the living room. She was surrounded by piles of trim, paint cans, and what I learned later were cans of mud for the walls. As we walked in she was handing out blessing sheets, intent that each of us read it and receive the blessing. She kept saying, “I’ve been blessed to be a blessing.”

The scene was not nearly as chaotic as after the hurricane when everything was flooded and the roof was missing. But, three years later the house still had signs of chaos when we walked in. Tools and supplies were everywhere. Rooms were in various states of completion. I was overwhelmed surveying the scene, wondering what we could possibly accomplish in just four days. But, as the days wore on, by working slowly and steadily we built a wall for a new kitchen, mudded, taped, and bedded walls, painted the exterior, hung doors, and nearly completed a utility room.

Thinking to those scenes of chaos and potential hopelessness, the words of Isaiah offer comfort and hope, but also issue a challenge. God is creating out of chaos. God has the capacity to create new heavens and a new creation out of the chaos and messiness of humanity, out of a hurricane ravaged landscape, in the midst of death and crumbling institutions, God is present. God is creating out of the chaos in the midst of suffering and turmoil, even as God’s people sit in exile.

Today’s passage reminds us again, that there is a vision for a new heaven and a new earth, not just in the future, but now. God is in the midst, not just observing, but moving with and through us. What I find interesting about the passage to a people in exile was the talk about the new earth and the implicit challenge to engage then in the midst of exile…planting seeds, building houses…taking steps toward being present to the painful reality of exile. Those are challenging words.

The displaced exiled Israelites were encouraged to be present. They were encouraged to use their gifts, to see their new unfamiliar surroundings, and plant seeds, to build houses, to make a life together in the midst of challenging circumstances.

The Israelites were encouraged to be present, not to escape to the past, or simply bide their time until deliverance in the realm of heaven, but they were encouraged to be present to their exile, knowing that God was present with them through the words of the prophet and through God’s sustaining movement from exile toward freedom and new life, from helpless chaos to hope. Now that is a challenge.

Hope is borne not in our activity, but in our being present and noticing God at work…God has not abandoned us…God is ever creating, making all things new. We seek to participate in God’s new creation by planting and tending to gardens. You and I are called to build homes. You and I are called to put down roots in a community…even in the midst of exile. Even in the midst of hardship…in short, we are called to be present each day.

In the midst of chaos it’s tempting to try to divine into the future, to be anxious about it…to think of all the other things that could go wrong but, by dwelling on tomorrow, you are not present to today…you miss the opportunity to use your gifts….to create…to love and support another person.

Walter Breuggemann writes, that “when you engage the present you are filled with energy and courage and generosity to wait with eager longing.”

To plant is to take many steps. I am not a gardener, but I am the granddaughter of farmers. One summer my grandfather invited my sister Jana and me to learn more about gardening. He was concerned that we knew nothing of his craft, and we were curious. I remember the summer of the garden started off as one of boredom. I would much rather spend time with friends or ride my bike than head to the farm to clear ground and plant seeds. It was painstaking and mundane work. Each week we would spend several days on the farm with grandpa. Clearing the space, planting the seeds, watering, weeding…it took a while before tomatoes, beans, and potatoes started to grow.

Gardening requirs being present. There was something to do each day, and you couldn’t get away with sitting inside. Planting seeds that comprise a garden requires work each day…and slowly, but surely there is new growth and time to harvest. As we were present each day, our longing grew to see and experience the harvest. And when it came, we were excited to taste the fruits of our labors.

Presbyterian Disaster Assistance has a slogan “out of chaos, hope.” It seems they borrowed it from Isaiah. It is a prophetic slogan and fitting of the work they do. PDA not only sponsors work village like the one in Texas City, but also provides relief to folks around the world. In the face of the chaos of the floods in Pakistan or the recent cholera outbreak in Haiti the organization provides resources and glimmers of hope and new creation in the form of clean water, medicine to those in the midst of chaos.

As we worked in the chaotic work site of the Humphree home in Texas City, together glimmers of hope emerged. As I impatiently stood on a ladder taping and bedding the corners and seams of a wall, I turned around and saw that my co-workers had finished painting the exterior of the house. Slowly but surely the chaos of the house with half finished rooms was transformed. It didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t happen easily or alone. One teammate learned that the house wasn’t level as he tried to build a straight wall. I learned I couldn’t tape and bed quickly as I sanded down previous mistakes. We needed the gifts and skills of one another in order to work through the chaos.

Today we are being present in a different way. As you place your pledge cards and time and talent surveys in the offering plate, you are planting seeds. By offering what you have today you are planting seeds of hope for a future of God’s new creation that is unfolding each day.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

B. quote from Mandate to Difference page 70

September 26 Sermon

2010-09-27T10:45:00.000-07:00

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
I Timothy 6:6-19

In Plenty and in Want
If you have ever been to a wedding you may have heard this phrase, in plenty and in want. There is usually a vow that includes a promise for the individual to be faithful to the other “in sickness and in health, in plenty and in want.” Or, a more contemporary translation, “for richer or poorer.”

In plenty and in want. Now, I wonder why the wedding industry never built an advertising campaign around that? As people run around Bed Bath and Beyond with their scanners, picking out the stuff of their new life, I can see a banner proclaiming “in plenty and in want” as a successful selling strategy, can’t you?

“ Ask for everything you might want,” was the counsel of the wedding assistant helping Peter and I at Bed Bath and Beyond. A list of needs for your home was furnished. Several sets of linens for each bedroom, multiple bedrooms were assumed, enough kitchen gadgets to stock a gourmet kitchen, candles, art work, china, everyday dishes, appetizer dishes, an upright vacuum, a hand vacuum, a pet vacuum. The amount of stuff on the list and in the store was overwhelming. As we perused the list, pragmatism kicked in, and we knew our one bedroom seminary apartment couldn’t possibly hold the contents of the list. When we moved in to that one bedroom apartment, we took several trips back to Bed Bath and Beyond to return those items we thought we wanted, but realized we didn’t need, including the dinner plates that were too large to fit in our kitchen cabinets. We traded down for salad plates.

In plenty and in want. The pastor who married us gave us a piece of good advice, she said: “Now, remember that at the end of the day you will be married…regardless of how great the flowers look, or how beautiful the invitations are, or if your wedding registry is completed, it was the vows and that covenant made before the congregation and God that mattered.” Everything else was fleeting.

She was right. The flowers didn’t keep, the cake wasn’t so great at our first anniversary, and the china we agonized over selecting remains in boxes six years later. What sustains a couple or any person who is in a relationship with another human being was not the stuff, but love, commitment, trust, and mutual support.
In a Christian wedding service, two people make these impossible promises, they risk and trust, knowing that God is the faithful constant in their new partnership, that it is God’s faithfulness in plenty and in want that will sustain them and knit them together.

Today we heard two texts that speak to plenty and want. In our Old Testament lesson, Jeremiah is biding his time in jail and Jerusalem is under attack, Babylonian captivity and exile are immanent. Yet, God speaks to Jeremiah and commands him to invest in a field, the action is symbolic of placing hope in future restoration. During a time of want, with little resources, God commands Jeremiah to purchase land as a tangible sign of hope. Can you imagine investing in land in a place where you will never live? Risking a purchase in the midst of want and captivity?

Uncertainty is the context for I Timothy as well. This pastoral letter was written to provide theological wisdom and support to the young Timothy. The passage begins with a reminder of our mortality, and with a description of what is enough, food and clothing, noting we bring nothing into the world and can take nothing out of it. The china and handheld vacuum cleaner, while wonderful and functional, are not necessary.

Instead of stopping there, an ethical warning is set forth. The famous verse, “the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.” Ahh yes, this challenging verse that has inspired the monastic movement, philanthropists, and the health and wealth gospel movement alike.

Human nature’s desire to place its trust in the tangible and finite, in money is bluntly named. And, the sin of loving this before God is named. It’s not new, this same sin and tendency is replayed throughout Scripture.

Think back to Moses. He just receives the Ten Commandments, including the first commandment, you shall have no other gods before me, and the second, you shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything nor shall you worship it… coming down from Mt. Sinai to see Aaron and the Israelites worshiping a golden calf.
We like our stuff. And, the temptation to put our trust in our armor of stuff continues throughout Scripture to this lesson.

The love of money can start out with good intentions, wanting to provide the basics. But, as one commentator notes, the pursuit of wealth and the things money buys can easily slide toward idolatry. “Love of money can begin with a desire to see your family well fed and clothed, but slide toward idolatry when you are constantly anxious about being a good provider, and live your life in fear. Love of money may slide from the desire to see one's family well-fed and clothed to seeing them more well-fed and clothed than others (the sort of temptation Jesus warned against). And of course, as this letter points out, the eagerness to be rich opens the door to putting that goal ahead of faithful commitment to God.”

As our Christmas lists suggest, even in the face of celebrating the Word become flesh, our attentions are divided between the tangible accumulation of stuff, and love for God. We are drawn to building and storing, and our economy and free market are set up for you as the consumer to be perpetually hungry for more…more stuff, more house, more security…and slowly, but surely the love for God, the provider for our many gifts is misplaced…Love of money leads to greed.

Filmmaker Oliver Stone explores the faces of greed in his 1987 film Wall Street. In the film, Bud, a young stockbroker from a humble blue collar background is trying to make it in a Manhattan firm. Strapped with student loans and credit card debt to pay for his studio apartment in the Big Apple, Bud longs to be rich and successful so he can live his dream life in a large penthouse in New York City. The film follows his transformation from entry level stockbroker with integrity, to a wealthy playboy.

The turning point for Bud lies in insider trading to his idol Gordon Gekko. Gekko , a corporate raider, takes in Bud as a mentee, sharing the secret to his billionaire net worth, letting Bud invest some of his money. Gekko’s mantra is simple: "greed is good". As the film progresses, it seems Gordon’s philosophy of greed, taking over companies in their weak moments, using insider trading tips does make for a large net worth and fast and easy lifestyle.

The façade cracks as Bud faces the reality of his choices…his father’s employer is taken over by Gekko and jobs are lost, and his hometown employed by that one company is devastated. As Bud’s community suffers he looks down from his penthouse, racked with guilt realizing the painful consequences of his love of money.

Sadly, the movie was not so far from reality. When the economy collapsed in the fall of 2008 the idol of greed was exposed anew. We in North America had a “come to Jesus” moment if you will about how much was enough. Love for higher investment rates led to risky business moves. Love for money led lenders toward risky mortgages, and easy mortgages tempted homebuyers to purchase more home than they could afford. Of course, it’s more complex, and I’m certainly not an economist. But, it was apparent as 401K’s plummeted, jobs were lost, and homes went into foreclosure you and I had to come to grips with the source of our trust. Was it in the money that provided security as long as it was around? Or, was our trust in something else?

Two years later, those are still the questions on the table. What do we love? How do we trust God in plenty and in want?

Thankfully, there is another way to live. Our passage moves from a warning about misplaced love in money toward reframing the proper place of money. The writer here knows that the problem lies not in the riches in and of itself, but in one’s determination to accumulate wealth and store it up rather than use one’s plenty to alleviate inequity and want. We are called to be stewards of money and the things money can buy.

The passage turns its attention toward those who have money. That means you and I. You might be thinking, “I don’t have much money.” But, as a colleague reminded me this week, every single one of us here today lives in plenty. Most of us have shelter, kitchens stocked with food, closets full of clothing, and transportation. Compared to most of the world, even those of us who might consider ourselves less than well off, are considered wealthy. Addressing us, this second portion of the Scripture issues a call to generosity. We are called not to hoard and stockpile, but to “to good, to be rich in good works, generous and ready to share, thus storing up for yourselves treasures of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of the life that is really life.”

This text has often been misconstrued to condemn the wealthy, that’s not the case. The issue is the source of our love. Do we love God first, or the pursuit of money and things? And, if we are blessed to have plenty, we are called to continue loving God by giving generously for the specific purpose of alleviating your neighbor’s poverty or want.

Last week a headline caught my attention in the Dallas Morning News. “Texas seeks answers to rising poverty rates.” Texas has the nation’s seventh highest poverty rate at 17.3%. I was struck by that number. The Texas I know and am coming to love is one of beauty and seeming plenty. The article went on to share stories of a neighbor in Plano who was downsized from a good paying job. That neighbor who once donated money and food to a local pantry is now a client. For us, then as Texans the reality of need and want is most pressing and apparent, and the call for us to respond with generosity more demanding, and perhaps even overwhelming.

But, where the rest of the world might throw up its hands in desperation, or work that much harder to secure riches and individual wealth, you have a different response to the news story.

Northridge, you model the generosity described in I Timothy as a congregation, giving nearly 25% of your operating budget to mission. The mission organizations you sponsor like ELM, EQUIP, Stewpot, Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, and many others don’t put a band-aide on the need, but strive to get at the root causes of poverty by providing shelter to those who are homeless, access to education, meals, social work assistance and mentoring. Your generous tithes and offerings are given to others to alleviate need. That is radical. Most would say, “you need to save, you need to build an endowment…” You as a body, living in faith, trusting that by giving generously now for the needs of today, you might participate in God’s justice and mercy tomorrow. You are making a prophetic claim of faith. You model a different economy, not one of hoarding and acquiring, but of giving generously in response to a love for God first and foremost.

Over the last few weeks I have had a chance to visit with some of you, and I have heard stories of God’s providence, holding you in the valleys and on the mountains. Springing from you love for God you are willing to risk and give outside of yourselves to help your neighbor out of their need and want in some surprising ways.
This collective stewardship and radical mission also requires individual stewardship. I know you value mission as a cornerstone of Northridge. Perhaps some of you were even drawn here as members because of our commitment to caring for our neighbor and welcome of all. Soon we will enter stewardship season, and you will decide individually or as a family what you can pledge to Northridge in terms of your time, talent, and treasure.

I encourage you to reflect on your plenty. What can you give? What blessings do you have to share? Maybe given your employment situation you can give more time and talent than treasure. Maybe upon reflection you see that you are experiencing a season of plenty and can increase your pledge.

You might also reflect on your need. Where do you need to be challenged? Maybe you’ve been tithing for decades, but have not given of your time? Maybe you have given too much time and talent that you are burned out and need to receive from the rest of this body. Maybe you are in want or need, but have yet to admit that and open yourself to receiving. Generosity will look different for each of you.

How will you trust God’s economy of grace in plenty and in want?

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

Sermon: Just Hospitality (first Northridge Sermon)

2010-08-28T17:31:00.000-07:00

Ordinary 22, August 29, 2010
Psalm 81:1, 10-16 & Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Northridge Presbyterian Church

Just Hospitality

There are certain rules we all learn as children. One rule that I learned in school was to never talk to strangers, and to certainly never go anywhere with them. However, that rule was a bit confusing for me at home. You see, my mom had gotten quite involved with mission and outreach activities through our church. One outreach opportunity that my mom was passionate about was helping Cambodian refugees who had fled the Killing Fields of the Khmer Rouge regime of the 70’s and 80’s. Some of my earliest memories include getting packed up in the car to pick up people who looked very different from me, spoke a different language, and didn’t have the same life as the other adults I knew. My mom and I would take them shopping for food and clothing, and most frequently sitting with them in a waiting room to see a doctor or interview for a job. Sometimes I would come home from school only to find a stranger sitting in our living room reviewing paperwork with my mom, and the table would be set for one more at dinner. Or, other times I would come home and dinner had been provided by our new friends…my bland palette preference for macaroni and cheese expanded into the world of rice and stir fry, of Peking duck and spring rolls.

Over the years, this one time mission project shifted to a way of life for our family and my home church. Soon these strangers became friends and we would have the Cheung’s, the Na’s, and the Eap family over for dinner. We would spend time in their homes, attend weddings, participate in Chinese and Cambodian New Year, sharing a lifetime of friendship. The growing population of refugees formed their own congregation and nested in my home church. To my parents, this was just hospitality…just what you do…Little did I know that welcoming the stranger, sitting at table with a refugee, sharing and accepting help from strangers across races, religions, and traditions was in fact breaking all sorts of rules.

For some of you, this was your week to identify with being a stranger in a different way. On Monday morning you woke up and sent your child off to school, or maybe you are the student. Transitions of any kind, whether it is a transition to high school, college, or to a new and warm place called Texas puts you in the position of being a stranger. Think back to the first days being the new kid on the block…Your senses are heightened as you walk through the front doors to the first time and find your way to the locker. As you fumble with the combination you wonder how you’ll find that first class, and you can’t even begin to think about lunch. And then you see your friend and you immediately compare schedules as you walk down the hall to homeroom see your neighbor, who is a sophomore. She stops to say hello and tell you to find her and her friends in the cafeteria at the table under the clock. Quickly you have gone from feeling powerless and all alone to oriented…you have a friend, you have a place to go in the midst of the wilderness. You, the stranger, the newbie have just been welcomed. You now have a sense of where to go, you have found a sense of belonging even as the wave of unfamiliarity washes over you.

Turning back to our passage from Hebrews, the congregation to whom this exhortation was written is not in a stable place. As Ben noted in his sermon last week, this church is weary and tired. They are feeling powerless as being Christian in the days of the Roman Empire was not exactly mainstream. This community was most likely not worshipping in a permanent building like Northridge, but rotating among homes. The congregation was not necessarily comprised of people with means or stature…they were feeling a bit like strangers, disconnected and wondering to what end was their striving? They were questioning their mission.

This sermon is written and delivered to ground them, to give them a sense of purpose and point them beyond themselves and their struggles toward Christ, toward the good news that originally brought them together. As with any sermon, this last chapter serves as the announcement or application section of the sermon. Chapter 13 begins with 3 more things to make note of…you know that if the preacher makes an announcement, it’s important. The first announcement is to show mutual love: Philadelphia…just hospitality…hospitality to strangers…Welcoming the stranger was a cultural norm in those days. Inns in the days of the early church were often unsafe, unsavory, and a place where you would certainly not want to talk to strangers.

It was common for traveler’s to stay in the home of a local stranger they encountered. Often traveler’s would carry a letter of recommendation or reference. Welcoming the stranger passing through town was a given. However, the type of stranger that is described in following this command was not in keeping with the cultural norm.

This is not just any hospitality. The hospitality described here in chapter 13 encompasses showing love to those on the fringe of society, ”remember all those who are in prison as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.” This command of mutual love is not one of being nice and friendly. This hospitality rests on mutual love, solidarity, of putting yourself in the shoes of the person in prison…understanding their conditions in order to offer just hospitality. The command goes on to extend mutual love not only to others, but also to one’s home…one must keep their vows to their partner…finally, this mutual love and just hospitality encompasses good stewardship of finances and contentment…This hospitality is all encompassing, and one of justice.

Just hospitality was counter cultural, subversive, and wholistic. This kind of hospitality required the community to come together and work with one another. Just hospitality required everyone to do their part, not just those on the committees, but everyone…it started at home with one’s family relationships and personal resources and spread out to the church and community to the margins.

Just hospitality like this was a challenge. Again, remember this community had no Presbytery to support them, they had no staff, no building…they themselves were on the margins, they were those crazy Christians who were not in the majority or mainstream…outsiders, and yet they were invited to offer and live just hospitality, risking…breaking and reframing the rules.

Today, hospitality has different cultural norms. Unlike the early church, we have plenty of safe hotels and motels where strangers coming to town can stay. And, if you drive up and down Mockingbird lane, there are a number of restaurants where a stranger can go and purchase a meal. Today, we pay for our hospitality. In fact, the service and hospitality industry is growing quickly.

Yet, with the innovation of hotels and restaurants we have quickly become strangers to one another. Starbucks has observed this and built a business plan on our lack of community. Barista’s are recruited for their extroverted personalities and trained to be hospitable and welcoming. Each starbucks becomes its own micro community where regular customers drink orders are known, You walk in to any Starbucks and you also know what to expect…consistant product, that cozy warm living room feel with the overstuffed chairs, and music that isn’t too distracting, but somehow just right. But, this is not just hospitality. This hospitality is a commodity. You have to pay for that cup of starbucks coffee that allows you to sit in that comfy chair while reading the Dallas Morning News. We have become strangers to one another, and mired down with fear of the “other”.

Theologian Henri Nouwen notes this fact describing contemporary Americans as nomads: “We are a world of strangers, estranged from their own past, culture, and country, from their neighbors, friends, and family, from their deepest self, and from God.” He goes on to note that “ In such a world of strangers, fear, anger, and hostility build walls between people and chip away at communal soulfulness. Nouwen proposes if there is any concept worth restoring to its original depth and evocative potential, it is the concept of hospitality. Hospitality is the creation of free space where strangers become friends. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer space where change can take place.”

It is risky to welcome the stranger…there’s a reason why we tell our children not to talk to strangers or go with them…yes, we must act with wisdom, but the passage challenges us to set aside our fear and trust…

Today’s passage reminds us that the church, you, me, the body of Christ has a unique claim on the practice of hospitality as well. In a culture where friendship, warmth, and and experience of acceptance has become a commodity, the church opens its doors for free to anyone who risks walking in.

Just hospitality described here in Hebrews has no strings attached. The preacher to the Hebrews sets forth a different model that defies, breaks, and redefines the rules for hospitality from mere friendliness to welcome and full inclusion.

The lesson from Hebrews reminds us of the fact that congregations are meant to live by different rules. Thankfully the congregation doesn’t extend this radical hospitality alone. This invitation toward mutual love is not dependent on human action, but rests on the activity of God. The church can welcome the stranger, which is a challenge because “God has said, I will never leave you or forsake you. The Lord is my helper I will not be afraid.” The preacher and writer knows showing just hospitality requires strength beyond humanity…welcoming a stranger to your table, breaking the rules of society requires courage and often divine inspiration.
In Christ wholeness is a given, strength is present, and new rules toward just hospitality are offered.

I have experienced your desire and ability to practice just hospitality. From the warm welcome we received during our anonymous worship experience, to the warm hand shakes and meals. As I talk with you, many of you have noted the warm welcome that drew you to call this your church home. One of your unique marks as a church that drew me to Northridge was your commitment to mission and your willingness to ask questions about what it means to welcome the stranger.

Two weeks ago we heard powerful stories from the youth and adults that traveled to Beliz. You all experienced the life of being a stranger for one week. You were welcomed with joy, fed, and learned much from your hosts about the inequities in our world. You entered into risky spaces learning that you and those around you are all God’s children. You return home no longer a stranger, but transformed, and perhaps even more attuned to the needs of those different and other who live in our midst. And Northridge sends you, welcomes you, and is willing to give you space to share your story so that this body might be transformed. In mission, you break the rules and redefine community.

You are also embarking on an exploration of what it means to welcome strangers into your space. I’ve heard some of you talk about the challenge to have mission here in this space as well as being sent on mission. It’s both exciting to contemplate and also a bit scary. Who will come to our space? What will it require of us? As you discern what that means, I encourage you to keep just hospitality in mind. What space can we offer to strangers? How can we offer that space? How does the good news change the rules for us as we practice just hospitality? These are big questions that are not answered easily, but together we will live into them as the body of Christ, with God ahead, beside, and behind us.

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

Nouwen quote comes from Dianna Butler Bass's Christianity for the rest of us page 79.

Title and general concepts of hospitality connected to mission comes from Letty Russel's book: Just Hospitality, God's welcome in a world of difference.

Sermon: Providence

2010-06-05T14:37:00.000-07:00

my final sermon at BMPC
June 6, 2010

First Lesson: Psalm 146
Second Lesson: I Kings 17:1-16

You are making some impossible promises this morning. Today in the 9:30 service Lowell Emerson Hoffman, and at 11 Opare Sefah Ahima will be baptized. You, as this congregation promise to welcome these two children in your life of worship, support them with love and prayers, and provide for their nurture in this community of faith. These are impossible promises if they depend on you, but you made these promises in faith, not fear. You live in faith that members would emerge from your pews to teach Lowell and Opare in Sunday school. You live in faith that this community of faith will exist for 10, 20, 30 more years to provide a place of worship. In faith, that as these two little ones grow up and away from here, that these promises, and the claim of the waters of baptism, that the claim of the living and moving Triune God goes with them. You made daring and risky promises, not alone, but knowing that you make those promises in a covenant with God. For you have faith that God’s hand holds these children, that God is living and moving and will provide a way for these children to learn about faith and one day claim it as their own.

Living by faith, not fear you take a risk to welcome the most vulnerable in your midst. You don’t know the outcome; you don’t expect these little ones to contribute so that you can receive something. They will not pledge, in fact, as these children grow they are a drain on your resources requiring education, requiring mission experience. They will want to wash your cars; they will ask you questions that you will not know the answer to. You live by faith, trusting in God’s providence, that God is working to shape and form Lowell and Opare, and that they as you will experience the grace of God in an often invisible and as they grow more visible way. You risk of yourselves, pouring your love and care into these little ones and their families…into your children, into your youth, into your adults in response to God’s abundant grace at work.

You, as the people of God choose to live by faith, not fear.
Elijah too finds himself in a challenging circumstance with some impossible promises. I always picture Elijah as larger than life. He was the prophet who will later on in I Kings directly challenge Jezebel and confront all of the prophets of Baal. Talk about a person of tremendous faith, courage, and chutzpah.

As a prophet, one who is called to be the voice of God and deliver sometimes challenging messages about monotheism in an idolatrous world, he was incredibly effective, but not so popular. Approval ratings among the powerful like Jezebel were at an all time low at this point in the passage.

Because Elijah simply followed God and took risks, he finds himself in the wilderness, all alone with no entourage and nowhere to go. While in the wilderness, God commands him to live in a wadi…a dried up river bed. Elijah is asked to live on faith, to go and God ends up providing food and drink for him in surprising ways. Ravens, those dirty birds that pick at carcasses, bring him three square meals a day of not just bread and water, but of meat as well. Not ideal, but certainly sufficient. While many were starving during the draught, Elijah was well fed and cared for.

Before Elijah got too comfortable in the wadi, God sends him to a small village in search of a widow. The solitude is broken, and Elijah carries his experience into community. Seeing the widow at the gate, and knowing of the draught, Elijah asks for just a bit of water and some bread. The water was barely there, but the bread was not. In fact, the widow pushes back with honesty, stating she has no bread, and in fact she is gathering these sticks to build a fire as she has just a bit of flour and oil left to make one last cake. Scarcity. Elijah knew this himself from his time living in the wilderness. Living in faith, Elijah also knew something of God’s providence, and so did the woman. She had been rationing out her reserves until this moment.

In their scarcity and in their faith, the two encounter one another…not knowing the outcome, but knowing very well what it meant to live on faith and prayers. The widow doesn’t shy away from stating reality and telling the truth, that she doesn’t have anything extra to give. It was bold for her to address a stranger in that way. She could have made up her last cake for Elijah and given everything, she should have done this given the power difference and cultural expectations. But, instead she chooses to share her reality of meager ingredients in faith. And in turn Elijah does not shy away from sharing in faith. Given his recent experience, he has faith God will provide for the woman, and proclaims this. He is not fearful about the scarcity; he does not practice resource or fiduciary responsibility. But Elijah is confident about God’s presence, knowing God will sustain and provide a way through the dry time, through death toward new life.

And, the woman responds in faith, baking bread, choosing to give of herself and her resources. She chooses faith not fear. Again, she could have pushed back to Elijah’s grandiose claim with skepticism or denial of her resources, but she steps forward and gives in faith. And indeed, God does provide her daily bread throughout the remainder of the draught. In fact, God has provided invisibly all along, sustaining her, sustaining Elijah, bringing them together.

Living by faith not fear.

Mountain climber turned activist Greg Mortenson describes this posture of living by faith and not fear in his book Three Cups of Tea. A bit of a risk taker, Greg decides to climb K2, one of the toughest mountains in the world, to honor his sister. It is a treacherous climb in the high mountains of Pakistan. There are no park rangers to rescue if something goes awry, and the blizzards are thick and the path full of razorback turns and whiteouts.

Greg is separated from the rest of his group, from their porter who is carrying his bags and tent. Faith not fear is the mental state. For a climber if they succumb to fear all clarity will be lost and paralysis will set in. Greg burrows in the snow, knowing he might not wake to see another day; he forges ahead on faith and stumbles into an impoverished Pakistani village. Greg’s life is spared and his needs are provided by the community who nurses him back to health.

Greg continually lives by faith, looking outside of himself, risking with hope as he gets to know his Pakistani rescuers in the midst of Taliban occupied territory. Living by faith, Greg is present to their context, seeing their need for education for their children. Greg is so moved by their radical hospitality that he vows to return and build a school. In the midst of scarcity, Greg encounters providence, and responds with gratitude.

Greg is an unlikely candidate to build a school. He is a nurse and mountainc limber, a bit of a drifter, with no background in philanthropy and no independent wealth. As the story unfolds there are many more instances of Greg living by faith as he forms a plan and a way to fulfill his promise…saving up money, sending letters, and through many trials and errors persisting in faith, oftentimes working from meager resources.

The book Three Cups of Tea is a bestseller and Greg has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize because of his radical life of faith and risk. Overflowing with gratitude, he seeks to live by faith and not fear…slowly but surely fulfilling his promise to build a school, not knowing how he will fulfill it, but giving of himself and living in faith.

Individuals like Greg are compelling characters in our culture. He is an aberration, some would even say foolhardy. Yet, it is the Greg’s of the world that function as contemporary prophets, showing us a way through the impassable mountain. Living by faith, not fear.

Living by faith, not fear defines us as the church.

There is a line in ourBbook of Order that describes the mission or great ends of all Presbyterian churches it says: “the Church is entrusted with unique tasks. We are called to proclaim the gospel for the salvation of humanity; to shelter, nurture, and provide spiritual fellowship for the children of God; maintain divine worship, preserve the truth, promote social righteousness, and exhibit the Kingdom of Heaven to the world. The Church is called to undertake this mission, even at the risk of losing its life. “

Living by faith, undertaking this mission at the risk of losing your life…
Living by faith and not fear.

Living by faith, pointing to God at work in our midst requires risk. Like the widow, there are many congregations in our Presbytery that are struggling for life. Arch Street Presbyterian Church is one of those congregations. Arch Street was once a landmark congregation at the center of the Fundamentalist and Modernist controversy. Arch Street has dwindled in active membership. Worship attendance has stayed around a dozen for nearly a decade. The building was preserved because of a generous endowment, but everything else was dead as there were no children, no youth, and no mission. Some thought Arch Street had died. Yet, the Presbytery and those dozen members were willing to take a risk and let their old vision die. The congregation chose to risk and spend the interest from their endowment on salaries for three part time pastors. One of the pastors, your very own former resident Rev. Becky White Newgren. I remember talking to Becky who is their pastor for family ministries over lunch one day. We were sitting the old side room that Becky and the congregation had converted into a nursery. We sat surrounded by a few simple toys and a pack and play, Anneke toddling about. At that point the only children in the church were those of the pastors. Becky noted the nursery space and her position were created in faith that an intergenerational body might worship at Arch Street again.

Living by faith, this congregation and new pastoral team have committed to risk and re-envision what it means to be a church in s changing context. The congregation and ministry are not solely focused on Sunday morning. Sharing a wall with the Comcast center and near many of your offices, the church has realized she has a calling to minister to working people primarily during the week. They have sought to build up their community by offering worship and Bible study mid-week during lunch. They see themselves not only as a traditional Sunday worshipping body, but also mid-week space and community where people can drop in during the week. They don’t want to compete with Bryn Mawr, but partner, providing a mid-week sanctuary for you and others to be fed and challenged. Partnering with other Presbyterian congregations, they are forging ahead on faith, not fear, seeking to risk and explore what it means to be a congregation in a new way.

Living by faith not fear.

Bryn Mawr has done this in its past. I remember preparing to come here and being surprised to learn the story of this sanctuary. The congregation had outgrown its space and began making plans to build a larger sanctuary. This was during the Great Depression, and in spite of the market crashing and scarce resources, folks lived by faith and gave sacrificially what they could to build this beautiful space. In addition, the congregation built the space twice as large. Some would call that foolish, especially in light of the scant resources at the time. But the Session had faith that God was moving in a powerful way, and the congregation would grow to fill the space, and they did.

The Session took a risk, using their bit of oil, flour…knowing God would provide. God knit you together as a community. God was faithful, Providing food and nourishment in the form of strong lay leadership, mission and outreach, and community leadership.

Living by faith not fear.

Knowing your history, you built on this when you undertook your capital campaign nearly ten years ago. You raised twice as much money, you took a risk. In your desire to turn inward, you wanted to turn outward and give half of the money toward outreach. You launched a partnership in West Philadelphia, not knowing the outcome, but willing to learn. And, you have learned along the way, taking risks to start non-profits, stepping outside of your comfort zones as you explore racism and privilege, disparities in power and access to resources.

And now we find ourselves in times not unlike those of our forebears in the great depression…this has been described as a scarce time as markets are in flux. In my two years here, you have experienced much change. And again, you are invited to consider anew what it means for you to live by faith and not fear. Just as God was with us in the past, so the living God is with us today. With fewer resources, God is inviting you to come together in a new way. The challenge is in being open and willing to risk change in hope that something different and whole will emerge. God is providing a way, walking with us through this wilderness, forming us, shaping us in ways we have yet to know or understand.

Living by faith and not fear.

You also risked welcoming young pastors as Pastoral Residents for two years. You have shown me what it means to be the Body of Christ in transition. You have welcomed me as your pastor, allowing me to minister with you in death and life, welcoming me to baptize your children, and preside at the Lord’s Table. I have seen you wrestle with perceived scarcity and real abundance. I have heard you challenge one another to step up and step forward.

As I head toward a new call in the coming weeks, and speak my last words to you from this pulpit as your preacher, I go with gratitude. Together we have experienced a season of ministry where we have been challenged to live by faith and not fear. Whether you are lost while climbing a mountain, or tasting the daily bread that God provides, whether you celebrate a baptism and pointed to God’s claim on the lives of your people, I have seen tremendous faith.

I have also seen God’s hand, providing for you during this interim season of wilderness. God continues to call new pastors like Dr. Grant and Rev. Lovell in your midst, God continues to raise up new Elders and Deacons to lead you, and God has prepared and called two new Pastoral Residents who will share their firsts in your midst. God has continued to hold and sustain you and me during this time, providing us with just enough bread each time we gather here for worship to feed us for the week to come. Thank you for your welcome. Thank you for your hospitality. Thank you for sharing with me your faith. I go to my next congregation filled with gratitude, forever shaped by you, knowing God will continue to provide abundantly.

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

Lent 3 Sermon

2010-03-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

Lent 3 Year C
Isaiah 55:1-9
Luke 13:1-9
BMPC 8am March 7, 2010

Claiming our Fire and Brimstone

Repent or perish. A phrase repeated twice in this passage. Perhaps the pejoritve phrase, fire and brimstone comes to mind. There is a famous sermon from Puritan preacher, Jonathan Edwards “sinners in the hands of an angry God.” That sermon lives on today. Walking up the steps in suburban station on JFK Avenue you might hear these words hurled on a street corner. Flipping through the late night TV channels, these words repent or perish are echoed by a preacher striding across a stage.

Turning towards the Gospel lesson, Jesus doesn’t utter these words out of the blue like a street preacher. At this point in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is beginning his journey to Jerusalem. Immediately before this exchange, Jesus has just finished a long teaching and preaching session warning the disciples and the crowd of the urgency of the times, setting forth yet another opportunity to live into the challenges of the day in a new way…yes, families will be disrupted, economics will shift under Roman rule, religious traditions, and human destiny are all in flux, but Jesus tells the disciples not to worry or to try to seize control, but to trust the care and protection of God. Yet, the crowd doesn’t get it.

The sense of urgency is high at this point in Luke. In response, to Jesus’ warnings and comfort the crowd responds with a story about Pilate mixing Galilean blood with their sacrifices. They are angry. Yes, Jesus you promise God’s protection, but look at the recent drama. What do you have to say to that?

The crowd points toward the chaos and mess around them. In the words of a commentator,“it was bad enough to be occupied by Pilate and his Roman minions when they did not commit atrocities…what could be more violent, more reprehensible, more deserving of condemnation than Pilate mixing the blood of innocents in the holy of holies? What could be more wicked than Pilate desecrating their worship space?”
These are the questions brought to Jesus at the beginning of this passage. The question implies anxiety…how can a good God allow these bad things to happen to these Galileans, Jesus’ own home state friends? The questions of the disciples and now the crowd in this passage indicate an understanding of sin that demands retribution from God. What sin did the Galileans commit to deserve this death?
Inherent in this exchange about a new way of life is a desire for the social, political, and religious structures to be set right, now. The crowd is begging Jesus to affirm the cause and effect nature of suffering and sin. If there is this effect of senseless death and violence then there is one cause and one party to blame. In the midst of pain and suffering there is a desire to blame and find logical answers. There is a desire for things to be neat and clean before starting out on this new way of life.

The tinderbox of political and religious worlds are colliding here at Jesus’ feet and ready to burst into flame.

Like the crowd standing before Jesus, we too are faced with large scale suffering and the question of cause and effect, of blame, of God’s role and ours comes to fore. In the face of pain and suffering one may throw up their hands and ask why.

Those questions were echoed in the sanctuary Monday evening during Police Chief Charle’s Ramsey’s talk…why school and neighborhood violence in a city of brotherly love? The question is echoed on CNN: Why the destruction in Chile? The question is echoed in our homes…Why the loss of a job? Why the systems of injustice? Why the sin of the other, there has to be a cause…

This theological dilemma has come to the fore yet again in recent weeks. In the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti, Pat Robertson offered one theological interpretation of the earthquake. This act of God was in response to the sin of the Haitian people who in his words “made a pact with the devil.” What is implied in this statement and in those on late night television and street corners is that suffering is punishment for sin. In this theological framework, blame needs to be assigned.

Indeed, that is one theological response. In the face of tremendous suffering it is human nature to find a solution, a source, a logic to the seeming chaos that we experience. Tit for tat.

There is another side to this theological response. When something good happens, you get a raise, you land that new account, you do well on that test…essentially you think these blessings come from God in response to your good behavior. If you just pray harder, God will bless you, you will be healed, and all will be made right. If you just behave well you will earn God’s love and wealth and prosperity will be yours. A recent Atlantic Monthly issue notes the rise in the prosperity gospel in the wake of our economic recession.

Triumphalism and the prosperity gospel may be tempting, but, that is not where Jesus leads...Jesus could strike the match and fan the flames of their questions into fire and brimstone.

Instead, Jesus rejects the crowd’s triumphalism and reframes their question in verse 2 of our passage. Jesus doesn’t buy the crowd’s illusion of self-control in the midst of chaos, but he does hold their fear and their question “why”. Jesus reframes the conversation by describing the fallen nature of all people, holding the reality of sin in tension with a command to repentance.

Inherent in Jesus’ command to repent or perish is an invitation…Jesus is saying, Turn around, I know you feel the fragility of life and are holding your breath in the midst of the chaos, but there is light. Turn around from this idea that if you don’t get it right, God will smite you.

Repent, turn away from this line of thinking that you are without sin, and can do it yourself apart from God and God’s love, and accept your fallen human nature.
Turn around from thinking you have the control which is death, and turn toward following me in a new way of life.

Turn around from thinking Pilate is holding you and see that God is ultimately holding you. Turn away from the old logic of tit for tat and embrace a new fire where you will not be consumed, but where your rough edges will be burned off, where you will be recreated, loved and re-formed.

To make sure they get it, Jesus follows up his command with a parable proclaiming this hope. Although the fig tree has yet to bear fruit, there is a second chance. Another season can pass for it to bear fruit. And, the gardener promises to tend to it, to fertilize it, to sustain it so that it can bear fruit. The fig tree will require some care, maybe even some painful pruning, but the tree will not be abandoned to the elements. The gardener will tend it in the midst of the coming seasons. For with God, judgement is always holding hands with mercy.

During Lent you enter into an intentional season of gardening. You adopt a posture of repentance, looking anew the soil of life, noting the dryness. Perhaps you are stopping for this season, and turning toward God in new ways. You may embrace practices of prayer, fasting, and confession anew for this season. As a community we are constantly in this season of gardening, sensing God’s pruning, smoothing, or holding. Weekly gathering to note our brokenness and to be transformed by the garderner’s hands.

In turning toward God, you hear, touch, taste and see the second chances here in this sanctuary and this community of faith. Coming to the waters of the Baptismal Font you receive the assurance that you are claimed as God’s own. Sitting before this Table of Grace, you are fed and nourished like the fig tree to go out into the world to bear fruit. The world is desperate for this Good News. This is our fire and brimstone: that we are sinners in the hands of a relentless and loving God who gives us new life.

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

Living into my charge

2010-02-18T14:32:00.000-08:00

I was charged at my ordination by Rev. Dr. Daniel Meeter...a mentor, colleague, and friend. During this season of discernment, waiting, and Lenten discipline the words come to me again.

"...I charge you to represent your Lord as prophet, priest, and king. I charge you to be a prophet. In all the usual ways of course. But also like a mustard tree. Let your words from God be seeds, and be patient with them for the seasons. Sometimes you must speak truth to power like Elijah, edify the congregation like Mosel, but mostly your words are like branches on which people can build the nests of their lives, and hatch their eggs, and sing their songs. Be prophetic in your challenge and direction, but also be prophetic in your shelter and your shade.

I charge you to be a priest in all the tpyical ways, but also like a mustard tree. Prayer is more than messages. Building a house of prayer for your people, a tree of prayers, a habitat, a macro-environment, and eco-system, which has room and space inside of it for other living things, for birds and bugs and squirrels and other creatures. Let your ministry of prayer be wholisitic living structures to rise up from the ground of our experience into the atmosphere of heaven, and to harbor within it the breathing of the many lives that you hold up to God.

I charge you to be a king (or queen as you like). Build a life, gather a community, give gifts, offer opportunities and obligations, lead your people, defend your people, take power, claim power, give power. Don't fear being powerful, don't back off from judgement when it's needed, don't be afraid of wrath, but only be wrathful for whom you're ready to give up your life for. Royally accept your people's transferences, both positive and negative, accept it all with class and dignity and let your person be inviolable. Be a king like a mustard tree, in giving safety and stability, but especially in your sanctury and hospitality. Be royal in your hospitality and graciousness, to the least of your people, even the silly and the foolish. As the Lord Jesus is for us. For you.

In Jesus' parable, why didn't he compare the kingdom of God to an oak tree or a cedar of Lebanon? I think he was slipping in a modest little joke. We have a hard time with the Kingdom's modesty, and with God's humility, and our savior's disregard for his own power and his dignity. But it's a great gift for your ministry, that it's not a noble hardwood but the greatest of shrubs. That even though what we're doing is for life and death, we need not take ourselves too seriously. The laughter of Jesus is in the singing of the litle birdies in your branches, and the joyfulness of Jesus is your strength. I charge you, Rev. Susan Sytsma-Bratt, to receive and enjoy the blessing of the Lord."

Sermon: Moving Beyond Charity

2010-01-30T18:42:00.000-08:00

BMPC 1/31/2010
Jeremiah 1:4-10
I Corinthians 13:1-13

I have a confession to make this morning. I am not a romantic. When I read this passage from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians the first thing that comes to my mind is not a scene of a wedding where this text is read by your cousin Sally and the bridesmaids are dressed in organza and the bride is swooning with strains of pachelbel’s cannon playing in the background. My mind doesn’t jump to the love story where they all lived happily ever after.

What comes to my mind as I marinate in this passage from Paul is a scene from the film Three Colors: Blue. Directed by polish filmmaker Krzystof Kieslowski’s mostly silent film chronicles Julie, a woman in her early thirties who lost her only child and her husband, a celebrated composer, in an auto accident in which she herself has been badly injured. The film follows Julie’s after-accident life of contemplating suicide, and her choice of retreat and withdrawal, chronicling in minute detail with the driving question of what will happen to Julie and the unfinished symphony of her late husband. The film is crafted, not with dialogue and narrative language, but with images, the color blue, and music, blending with the silent acting of Juliette Binoche who plays Julie

As Julie’s story of disconnect and isolation unfolds At key points an orchestral leitmotif resounds, haunting Julie...it is the unfinished symphony of her dead husband set to the text of I Corinthians 13. My college film professor, Roy Anker explores the meaning of this in an essay on the film exploring “the sound of the color of love.” He writes, “These musical visitations hound her and it seems Julie has no choice but to confront these unwanted intrusions of sound. In the final six minutes of the film these soundings are woven together into the symphony set to the text of I Corinthians 13, and it becomes clear that what pursues Julie in these numinous blue “soundings” is a divine love that will not abandon her to the silent stone house of negation to which she has consigned herself.

Instead, the music beckons her to “follow” to again love and embrace the immense gift of life, although it is messy and not solid. We learn that what Julie has confronted is the Spirit of God wrestling her back from her despair and numbness into hope and love. God makes Godself known in a theophany, divine presence is felt in the musical and visual terms that are meaningful to Julie who herself is a composer.”

And, in the final montage the fullness of that love is experienced as the leitmotif develops into a completed symphony of I Corinthians 13 that Julie’s late husband composed with her. Like the color blue the envelopes Julie and beckons, so the music calls her to love again, envelops her in love.” The closing montage pulls together all the threads of love, of patience, of kindness, of the relationships and people that bear grief and pain with Julie. The piece crescendos pulling the viewer into the joy and sorrow, which are the high cost of love, yet the steadfast love of God that is omnipresent and is the color blue that tints Julie’s life and will not let go.

It is an arresting film and closing scene, one that has reoriented my reading and hearing of this passage, pulling me away from a surface saccharine candy heart understanding of love to something more raw, below the surface, incarnational and messy. The impossibility of perfect human love is explored in this film as well as the possibility that the divine, the God who is love can indeed bear all things.

Yet, this is not the predominant image of love that we encounter in our daily life. Shopping around this time of year we are assaulted with a different image of love. When I was at Target last week, I was struck by the sheer volume of stuff that represents love. One whole section of the store – 4 aisles are devoted to valentine’s day candy alone. Chocolates, peeps, candy hearts, stuffed animals, and paper cards have all been manufactured in china by children for the low cost of $1 to allow you to show your loved ones “love” on a particular day. And, wherever I turn, the candy heart symbolizing this day pervades…at the WaWa, the gas station, and on my desk. This love that is being sold is a commodity, focusing on the individual consumer.

This is not the love Paul is describing in I Corinthians 13.

Yet, this is the love we settle for in our daily lives. We settle for a cheap theological valentine, boiling it down to one liner’s found on candy hearts because at least you can hold a candy heart.

This settling for the candy heart version of love is particularly poignant in the face of tragedy. When the earthquake struck Haiti over two weeks ago we as invidiuals and as a collective human race were stopped in our tracks. As tectonic plates shifted away lives, and a future you are put in touch with the precariousness of life that our collection of stuff buffers us from. You and I faced with the images of tremendous need. Presented with helplessness, a tremendous outpouring of care and concern was released. Folks organized themselves and sought to help…Hope for Haiti emerged as a tag line. In the face of suffering and literal upheaval where this is no solid ground due to chasms you and I have sought solid footing and solace.

The world has done this by seeking to give. Giving is a way to feel less out of control. It’s a fixed point and good and worthy…But, ultimately you and I, those with plenty and those of us part of this faith find ourselves in a bind. Motives for giving are mixed…giving out of helplessness, guilt, as a way to comfort ourselves for having so much. If we give from those motivations and not out of a vision for seeing our brothers and sisters needs and abilities, but projecting our own needs, it is not an act of love, but charity. Charity is giving without perceiving the needs of another, giving something that is surface, and which often promotes dependency is not love.

Don’t get me wrong, charity is wonderful and necessary, sometimes we just need to feed and clothe, and put a band-aide on the gushing wound. But without love…without a desire to see the needs of our brothers and sisters and to see them as equal children of God with whom we can partner and support, our charity will not be a solution to the destruction, but an obstacle and dangerously more destructive than helpful. To quote the Apostle Paul in verse 3 “If I give away all my possessions so that I may boast but have not love, I gain nothing.”

Journalist Stephanie Strom points out charity as an obstacle in her January 19 New York Times article called Teaching Americans what Haiti needs: money. She writes eloquently that in the aftermath of complete destruction: "Don’t send shoes, send money. Don’t send baby formula, send money. Don’t send old coats, send money. Don’t send 200 teddy bears, send money.“There isn’t always a lot of thought that goes into these gifts...The impulse is just to do something, anything.Water is heavy and bulky, takes up precious cargo space and requires distribution. Better to back an organization working to get emergency water systems up and running, the experts say.”

When we were in Haiti we heard many stories about how charity without love could be an obstacle to justice. As we were driving over the mountains we noticed a road that was badly damaged. Our guide Djaloki told us a church group had come through several years ago and noted a need for a better road to get from the farmland in the hills to what looked like an abandoned shack. The church returned to Haiti on a second mission trip and built the road without consulting the community, taking away potential jobs for the Haitian community. The road was used and a farming co-op emerged. The church had used American concrete to build the road with heavy equipment, resources the Haitians didn’t have access to, and the missionary group had built the road themselves, so the Haitians had no skills to patch the road. But, the church had come back each year to repair it, but then American church fell on tough economic times and could not maintain its end of the bargain. Mission trips stopped, and the road of good intentions eventually became unusable and the fruit of a farming co-op died. A chance for a micro-economy dashed. Had the American church consulted the Haitian farmers they could have built the road together and the Haitians could have managed to maintain the road and the micro-economy that emerged could have had a chance.

A road built out of charity, without love cannot bear all things.

Charity builds and covers wounds with a band-aide, but love, the patient, kind, not insisting on its own way, bearing all things love that Paul describes…this love is in relationship to faith and hope that sees beyond the chaos and destruction, this love endures, this love builds up and serves as a strong foundation. This love is a road of justice and reconciliation we can all walk down as we see a path out of cycles of poverty and destruction.

Philosopher Soren Kierkegaard points out this exact distinction between charity and love in his essay titled “love builds up”. Kierkegaard writes “do everything for the sake of building up. If it does build up, then love is present. Building up is not at all an exclusive superiority built on individual talents. It is just the opposite, every person through life, through conduct, through relationship with fellows, through language and expression should and can build up. Love is the ground, love is the building. And, it is God the creator who must implant love in every person, for it is God who is love.”

This is precisely what The Apostle Paul proclaims over and over again in this passage. If you replace love with God you discover attributes that mirror the spiritual gifts in chapter 12. God is patient. God is kind. God bears all things…The Apostle Paul doesn’t settle for charity or cheap valentine’s in his letter to the Corinthians, instead he seeks to move beyond charity and cheap valentine’s to life altering, stable, yet mysterious love. I Corinthians 13 is part of this larger discourse, calling the church to be the body of Christ, and the foundation resting not in their acts of charity for one another, but in God’s love which provides for faith, hope, and love…for the kind of love that reconciles and sustains amidst earthquake and tumult.

Children of God don’t settle for cheap valentine’s and charity. For both don’t last and will leave you empty.

Let us get beyond both to encounter love…to encounter the divine love that is self-giving and colors everything blue, the love of God who is constantly wooing us, speaking quietly and in some cases with deafening symphonic strands to pull us toward full life. Let us embody this love that moves beyond the charity of building an impassable road to partnering and listening and empowering our brothers and sisters to build their own houses and harvest their own fields with communal gifts and talents. Let us embody the kind of love that raises over $31,000 as a church and gives it to organizations that seek to partner and love and move beyond charity to work for justice in Haiti. Let us show the world what love looks like beyond charity as we seek to feed the poor and break the cycles of poverty that enslave.

When we are tempted by the cheap valentines that the world has to offer, may the symphonic sound of God’s voice steer you away from the impulse purchase toward a love that will endure and that can bear all things a love that takes us from the brink of death toward new life. Tell your story of love. Be nourished by the divine love embodied in Jesus Christ that sets this table...this table that is a feast of love that nourishes and fills you, giving you enough to head out of these pews and into a world that is desperate for more than a hand-out.
Don’t settle for charity, dare to embody God’s full love.

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

references: Blue quotes from Roy Anker's Catching Light page 365, 401
Kierkegaard Works of Love essay on love builds up page 204-205
concept of moving beyond charity toward partnership from John Perkin's book Beyond Charity: the call to Christian Community development.

thanks to JB for sharing Kierkegaard with me.

Present Hope

2010-01-07T12:17:00.000-08:00

Dec. 27, 2009 sermon @ BMPC
Psalm 48
Colossians 3:12-17

Throughout Advent we have journeyed in a circle, lighting candles on the Advent wreath. Today we find ourselves come full circle with the Christ candle lit. This journey has occurred with accompaniment…hymns of Advent have carried us through each week…minor tunes set to the prophetic texts. Unlike shopping mall soundtracks that skip ahead to broadcasting Joy to the World while you buy aunt Gertrude a scarf, we have intentionally held off singing Christmas hymns. Instead, together you have sung Advent hymns of expectation, claiming Scriptural promises that God does comfort God’s people, making straight what is crooked. You have proclaimed the mystery of faith throughout Advent, that in spite of the darkness, Emmanuel shall come to thee. You have journeyed together as a community, finding a new rhythm for four weeks, expectation built in as you intentionally travel through the darkness toward the light. And, as you have journeyed anticipation has built.

I know some of you have been looking forward to this Christmas season for the last month. Like a child, some of you older than I have shared the excitement that wells up, not to open gifts, but because you can sing the glorious Christmas hymns like Joy to the World, Silent Night, and Angels we Have Heard on High. This anticipation comes from the journey, for one cannot truly delight in a sunrise without knowing the evening.

This anticipation and fulfillment is especially powerful during the Christmas Eve services. I still get chills when I reflect on my first Bryn Mawr Christmas, seeing the light spread throughout the congregation, all of us on our feet confessing with song, “Christ the Savior is Born, Christ the Savior is born.”!
Today’s lectionary Epistle lesson is yet another Christmas hymn, not as familiar as Silent Night or Joy to the World, but equally taking into account the full circle of the Advent wreath, birth, life, death, and resurrection of Christ.

Paul wrote this short letter to the Church at Colossae intending to remind this body of her calling and connection to God. Colossae was the least important of three urban centers along a commercial route. A textile center close to larger cities of trade, Laodicea and Hieropolis, Colossae was the Baltimore to New York and Philly. The early church in Colossae was a small close-knit group. The kind of community where everyone knew your name and your business, a community of families, of uncles and aunts and grandparents. Although Paul had not traveled here to preach, the gospel took root and was bearing fruit. This church at Colossae, although small, worked closely with the churches in Laodicea and Hieropolis. It was a leading connectional church, not unlike Bryn Mawr. Perhaps the beginning of the first Presbytery?

Like many people in the ancient world, the Colossians were polytheistic – believing in the existence and power of many cosmic beings. When life became difficult, and bad things happened to good people, the new Christians in Colossae struggled to adhere to their monotheistic faith. It was apparent that in the face of conflict, suffering, and strife faith in Jesus did not banish all evil from human life, and so these Christians remembered the other cosmic powers that had once ruled their lives. In order to deal adequately with the struggles in life the Colossians turned back to these gods, holding hands with many powers.

The new church at Colossae was at a theological crossroads. They still held to the belief that Christ the savior was born, but also held on to the belief that the god of rain would bring rain if they only prayed the right way, or held a special celebration. They struggled to understand, just who was Jesus the Christ and what is the connection to them? What does it mean to confess faith in a God who became flesh? The Colossians didn’t know. They struggled for answers; in the meantime, clinging to anything that they believed had power to save them.

Maybe you are asking the same questions as the Colossians…Who is Jesus? What does it mean to profess a faith in Christ, to self-identify as a Christian in a world that claims power in economic security, and tangible goods? How powerful and effective is Emmanuel, God with us in a world of tremendous turmoil and suffering?
Henri Nouwen wrestles with these questions noting, “It is so easy to forget that rich, and poor…we are all daughters and sons of the same God, that all divisions and separations between people are human made, and that we are all called to live the short journey from birth to death with justice and peace. We, who live in the powerful center, are so busy planning our lives and controlling others’ lives that we have become deaf to the voice that calls us beyond our own and other peoples’ lives, into the mystery of God’s eternal love. Those who stand on the margins of our society, who have little to control, and wonder how to make it through another day, another week, or another year are our true prophets. In their vulnerability and weakness they force us to question the foundation of our security.”

We have become deaf to the Christmas hymn as illness, an accident, dropping markets, lost jobs, insufficient healthcare and broken relationships come crashing into our lives. The cacophony of pain and suffering prompt a response. Like the Colossians you have a menu of options to give you solace. Perhaps you grasp for power, focusing on things within your control…behavior, getting good grades, setting goals, striving to attain measurable outcomes.

Maybe questions and mounting fear paralyze you to the point that you stop asking the questions, shut down, and merely exist. Yet, at the end of the day you are humbled…the market is still down, you may have failed that test, measurable outcomes are not measuring up. Bringing us back to these pews on a Sunday morning.
The theological questions, the heart of the matter is at the forefront here in this space. These questions about Christ and Christ’s power, our source of hope are what’s at stake for you, for me, for the Church.

And so, we come here on Sunday. And we sit before this Table, Font, and pulpit…our identity laid out before us. Present hope staring us in the face.
Grace in the Text: hope reorders our lives from self-absorbtion, fear, and scarcity toward community, generosity, and abundance.

Paul conjured up an image of that present hope for the Colossians, drawing from their experience of worship. Verse 12 reminds the Colossians of the baptismal practice of putting on a robe, a reminder that they are sealed in Christ, wearing the garments of compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. This passage challenges their assumptions of the power of choice, of human progress, and places the source of power and ultimate comfort in Christ and his community of love, the body of Christ.

It seems fitting that a sacrament would be invoked. For, it is at the baptismal font that we claim our new identity marking what God has already done and is doing in renewing all of creation. Using a tangible sign and seal of water to claim the mysterious and invisible grace of God at work, we mark one another and seal us into the covenant promises of God’s grace and our response in love. This passage serves as a hymn, setting forth a melody, a way forward through the chaos. The passage closes with an invitation in verse 16 to “let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs to God.”

It is in worship that we sing the hymns and embody the rhythms of birth, life, death and resurrection…the foundational rhythm of our Christian faith. And, it is from this space and time that we become unified as a body of Christ, mindful of our collective abundance, sent out as a community toward the margins.

I had the opportunity to learn that rhythm anew while in Haiti. As a congregation you sent a group of 10 to visit our mission partners in Haiti. While there we had the opportunity to spend a day in a community where Beyond Borders and our Haitian partner Limye Lavi have ministered. While in the community of Cai Jacmel we experienced what it means to be community clothed with love.

Although we were staying with one family, we learned, the entire community hosted us. As soon as we disembarked our bus we were greeted by children, mothers, and fathers, elders, and young adults.

Some community members came from as far away as port-au-prince a 3 hour bus ride. Together, this community prepared a feast. One family contributing the meat, another the rice and beans, and others the spread of fruit, sugar cain, and bread fruit.

Women from various households cooked for days. Sitting at table with one another I was struck again how in spite of a context of scarcity, there is rich abundance in community. Not only did the community feed us a feast, but they embodied compassion, kindness, and generosity. Although we did not know Creol, we communicated beyond language barriers as gestures of kindness and love, smiles and sign language became our preferred tongue. Roles were reversed as us visitors who have tremendous power because of the pigment of our skin sought to learn and receive from our hosts.

As our time together wore on, we learned the greatest gift we could give our Haitian friends was to receive their gift of hospitality, listen to the their story, and allow it to marinate in us, so that each of us could return to Bryn Mawr and share their story, thus uniting us more firmly as the body of Christ. I experienced the gift of hope anew as I heard stories of the power of literacy being shared in community, and childhood slavery being fought not with violence or wars, but with education, and advocacy, bathed in prayer.

Henri Nouwen writes about this present hope, “Hope cannot be based on money in the bank or good connections. Hope has to be based on love, a love that is real, personal and intimate, a love that is stronger than death, a love that is called God.”

Our Christmas hymns remind us of this present hope and this love that subverts worldly power. Journeying through the darkest night of Advent toward the light of Christ reminds us that God is indeed still moving, calling us from the comfortable center toward the margins, for it is on the margins, it is on the fringe that we are able to see the cornerstone of hope in a God who came to bring life for all. Yet, it is hardest to live on the margins. It’s lonely…life at the margins means we may sing the hymn acapella.

Singing the hymn of compassion for our neighbor on Monday may bring discomfort or conflict with our employer. Singing the hymn of kindness on Tuesday while teaching reading to a first grader may be a struggle, singing the hymn of humility on Wednesday while writing that paper for freshman philosophy may feel confusing. By Thursday and Friday, singing the hymn of meekness and patience may cause you to loose the harmony, and by Saturday singing the hymn of forgiveness when all you want is retribution may cause you to loose the melody.

On Sunday, when we step into this sanctuary for worship forming a community, the hymn comes together again with accompaniment, and we sing as the living moving body of Christ. For an hour or more we try to think, speak, and act putting on the clothing of Christ, modeling God’s way, resting, declaring your hope. Amidst a world clinging to powers that are collapsing around us, you have good news to share, a hymn of forgiveness and love. You have a story, a reality, of God’s presence and hope not just for the church in Colossae, but for the generations that have brought you to this Christmas season and to the generations that will come after you.

As you ring in the New Year this week, carry the present hope with you.
"Born in the night, mary’s child a long way from your home; Truth of our life, Mary’s child, you tell us God is good; Yes it is true, Mary’s child, shown on your cross of wood. Hope of the world, Mary’s Child, you’re coming soon to reign." Amen.

Advent is Here?

2009-12-06T16:18:00.000-08:00

below are some reflections I'm kicking around for an article:
Advent began for me in September with an excel spreadsheet dropped in my in-box from our worship committee moderator. Looking at the grid of tasks, staff person assigned, and timetable sucked whatever joy and wonder I was beginning to muster.

Last year I was blissfully ignorant of such logistics. I had the privilege of experiencing Advent as it unfolded. As with any large church, the organ and choir was grand, the liturgy thoughtful, and the build-up to Christmas Eve exhilarating. December 24 came and I was giddy, excited to pull a marathon day that began at 9am and wouldn’t end until 12:30am as all nine pastors were expected to lead all four services. Although I only had a line in each service, the experience of leading worship in a packed sanctuary was intoxicating. Once I hit the closing candle lit Silent Night at midnight I was one happy clergywoman.

This year Excel has demystified my Advent experience. I now know where the paraments are kept, which team of florists and laity makes the greens magically appear, and the layers of process that craft and produce our fifty page glossy Christmas Eve program.

Yet, in spite of knowing the logistics, Advent crept up on me. Walking over to the sanctuary at 9:10am on Advent 1, the head usher whizzed past me asking if I knew where the Advent candles were. That was one detail I did not know. Walking into the sanctuary I saw the Advent wreath and candles had not been set up. I quickly walked over to the chapel to find the Facilities Director on his cell phone trying to trouble shoot. I grabbed a table and simple table cloth from the chapel and the large pillar candle we used at the 8am worship service. We set it up, and the candle was lit and no one noticed the difference.

For a church that does well with process and advance planning, this major detail might have been cause for minor crisis. But, since last Advent we have been a church in conflict and now a church in transition. It seems fitting in a way that in spite of process and checks and balances we would forget about the Advent wreath. As my congregation leans into an interim phase she is learning that keeping busy with details will only temporarily cover up the pain. While Bryn Mawr’s past accomplishments have placed her in a beloved place, she no longer has the option to focus only on the logistics that kept her an oiled machine. My congregation is learning that being a big steeple congregation need not lead to the idolatry of leadership or the perfect program, but could lead to learning how to be the Body of Christ anew. In the midst of the pain, something new is birthing in this place, but at this point it’s murky and dark, the Christmas light yet to break forth.

As we fumbled for the Advent candles, I’m sensing anew God’s call to travel through the wilderness and lean into the darkness. I have a feeling this Christmas won’t be bright and shiny, but dull and a little bit blue. The words of Isaiah 42:16 keep me going: “I will lead the blind by a road they do not know, by paths they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I will do, and I will not forsake them.”

Advent 1 Sermon: Twilight Time

2009-11-30T20:32:00.000-08:00

Advent 1 Year C
BMPC 8am Service
Luke 21:25-36; Jeremiah 33:14-16

Twilight Time
Jeremiah 33:14-16
14 The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfil the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 15In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. 16In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: ‘The Lord is our righteousness.’
The Word of the Lord.

What time is it? We often look for cues to tell us what time it is. The height of the sun, the temperature, or perhaps your body lets you know by how full or empty your stomach feels. How do you answer that question in this time and place of worship? Looking at the blue candle, I’d say today marks the beginning of Twilight time. I’m not referring to the novels and the box office hit film “Twilight: New Moon” that many of our youth have seen. I’m referring to liturgical time.

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, what writer Leanard Beechy calls Twilight time in a recent Christian Century article. Beechy writes, “twilight time. Celtic folk called it the ‘time between the times,’ the enchanted moments at dusk and at dawn when the veil between this world and the world beyond us is thin, and we seem to breathe its air…”

Today we collectively begin our journey in twilight time, looking ahead to the birth of Christ, while looking back to Scripture, guided by the words of the prophets and Christ who has already come. Advent is a unique non-linear time of year, when we work in a circle, looking at the already of Christ who came and lived among us, and who reconciles the world, and the not yet of the second coming, the second Advent of Christ’s return when the realities of sin and death we experience will be overcome and turned around. We go back to the beginning of Scripture today, looking at the words of the prophet Jeremiah, in order to understand how we can live into this season.

In order to understand the full context of today’s passage from Jeremiah, we need to look back at Chapter 32. Our beloved prophet Jeremiah, who is often compared to Moses, is put in jail by King Zedekiah. It seems Jeremiah’s prophecies of God’s judgement have been heard, and they have threatened Zedekiah’s authority, so Zedekiah locks up Jeremiah in the hopes of shutting him up. Jeremiah is still in jail in today’s chapter, 33.

While Jeremiah is in jail, the kingdoms of Judah and Israel are faltering. Judah, where Jeremiah lives, is a vassal kingdom of the Assyrian Empire, but the Babylonians are quickly conquering the Assyrians and taking entire cities captive. King Zedekiah’s hold is slipping, the promise of a line of Kings who will rule Judah and Israel, fading away. From this context of imprisonment, political and national upheaval comes today’s Scripture lesson.

This context of imprisonment and upheaval are not unfamiliar to us on this day. I just returned from Haiti a few weeks ago, and there I saw the wreckage of centuries of social, political and economic upheaval. Haiti is a land that has seen slavery, genocide, torture, and bondage for generations and generations. While it was the only nation to successfully gain independence from Napoleon Bonaparte, it also remains bound by its colonial imperialist past. Mountains of trash near streams, half-built homes, and children in slavery, along with the paradox of mounatians beyond mountains of lush green foiliage and a people rich in her hospitality, overflowing with generosity. These are some of the scenes indelibly etched in my memory. Unlike the rest of the world, Haiti does not have the benefit or ability to paper and board up her wounds by placing the poverty in a ghetto.

Closer to home, you also see and experience the pain of upheaval of oppression and captivity. In West Philadelphia, our most vulnerable brothers and sisters already living on the edge have fallen into a further spiral of bondage as services private and non-profit have been cut in this recession. And in your own home, after a year plus of economic downturn you or a loved one may have lost security, in a job, or health insurance.

As a congregation we have had a year of transition and brokenness, finding that when our hope is misplaced in a pastor or program that hope isn’t so flexible when that foundation shifts.

One response to the troubles in the world is cyncism and defeat, a retreating inward. Focusing on your family and their need, or becoming paralyzed by the global need, unable to see a way forward. The temptation is to see the scarcity and to develop tunnel vision. Your sense of security, which was based on constants like people, or employment has to shift.

Today’s passages, and the very rhythm of Advent give us a way forward out of the swirling chaos of our world and life into the twilight, this time between times.

While we live with Jeremiah’s reality of destruction and chaos, Jeremiah has a word for you and me on this day. As Abraham Heschel said, “a prophet is one who knows what time it is.” Jeremiah calls out to Israel and to us, “the days are surely coming…” wake up, look up from your pain, there is a future, there is hope, not in the political power of Kings to preserve, or in wealth to buffer drought, but in God, the God who is righteous, the God who delivered you from the bondage of slavery, the God who gave you commands of love, the God who called all of creation into being out of chaos.

Jeremiah’s words of prophecy are a call to remain alert in the chaos and to wait for the twilight, the already and not yet of God’s fullness.

There are echoes of this in the Gospel of Luke as well. One commentator notes, “Jesus in Luke 21 tells us that the ultimate future really does contain a world of hope. And Jeremiah in this 33rd chapter reminds us that even in the midst of life’s worst woes, even in a time of collapsing securities and the disorientation that always results, God has a word. God has a plan. God has a gracious set of promises that he will fulfill. Destitution does not have the last word. The tragedies that come do not define us ultimately. God’s ways will not be thwarted by a bad economy, by unemployment, by disease, by outright poverty, or even by death itself.” Advent is a unique twilight time to live into this hope in a new way, to see God’s word anew.

I saw glimpses of twilight during my time in Haiti. Speaking with our Haitian partners who are speaking to power and injustice, I asked them what kept them going day after day in such dire circumstances. Hope they said…hope that justice will reign, that evil and injustice will be overthrown. That is a strong hope to sustain one amidst such suffering. But, it seems our partners in Haiti have an abundance of this strong hope…and they gave this gift to me in sharing their testimony and calling to their work. Our Haitian friends have a vision that I often lack, an ability to live into twilight time.

Twilight time, when we release our hold on false hopes, when the dust settles, and we begin to see a way forward through the chaos, toward the Triune God who calls us, travels with us, and leads us.

Twilight time, when we turn ourselves outward and turn our load away from self-control, toward the God who creates out of chaos, redeems us from the hold of sin, and sustains us into a new day.

Twilight time, when we see our wounds and the wounds of our brother and sister, and seek the healing power of reconciliation and forgiveness from our neighbor.
Twilight time, when we see past ourselves, toward the unveiling of the Kingdom of God at hand. “The days are surely coming says the Lord.”

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

Sermon: More than Wonder Bread & Welch's?

2009-11-16T12:41:00.000-08:00

Psalm 111
John 6:41-59
October 4, 2009 BMPC

How many of you have ever toured a Cathedral or church? While I love touring a building and learning about its history and artwork, what I find even more life giving is having the opportunity to worship with the congregation that gathers in these spaces. Three years ago my husband Peter and I had the opportunity to travel to England and Scotland for vacation. I remember walking up the steps of Saint Paul cathedral on a Sunday morning excited for the choral Eucharist service.

If you’ve been to Saint Paul’s you’ll recall the large dome designed by Christopher Wren. The space is majestic to say the least. Worship on that Sunday occurred under the dome, chairs arranged in a circle I couldn’t help but look up and around at the beautiful mosaics and reflect on all of those that worshiped in that space a century prior. I also noticed the present congregation as my ear picked up bits of French, German, and Korean uttered by fellow sisters and brothers.

What I remembered most about that service though was the communion. At the invitation from the priest we all stood as one body and walking out from our seats and took communion and then walked back. The dance was beautiful to witness and participate in as those of us from all corners of the earth walked toward the center of the circle took the bread and cup and circled around back out to our places and out into the streets of London and the world.

Worship and communion in particular always works on three levels: looking to the past, looking to the present, and looking to the future.

Today’s passage from John is the theological foundation for our experience of communion.

Jesus begins the conversation with the crowd by reframing their focus not on the loaves and fishes that they just ate, but on eternal life. Jesus pushes back and forth with the crowd. They want to know how to live rightly, so Jesus draws from the past and speaks about the literal manna that God provided, trying to draw their attention to God’s faithfulness. Yet, they miss the point, asking Jesus to provide literal manna, wanting to remain in the past.

Then Jesus tugs them into the present saying I am the bread of life in verse 35. Yet, metaphor doesn’t work to bring the crowd up to speed to the present.

So, Jesus pushes this concept of incarnation a bit further, and in verse 51 discards metaphor for provocative literalism.

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread they will live forever. This bread is my flesh, whichI will give for the life of the world.” And in verse 53 Jesus gets more graphic “I tell you the truth, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.”

This teaching is literally hard to stomach with Jesus using the Greek word to eat, which literally means chewing with your mouth open.

“But if the metaphor was strong, it was only because the reality behind the metaphor was stronger still.”

Bishop Will Willimon writes: “In this passage we are encouraged not simply to follow Jesus, which is difficult enough in itself, nor simply to be with Jesus, but we are to consume him. We will not be able to comprehend him by sitting back comfortable in the pew. Incarnation means we must get up, come forward, hold our empty hands, sip wine, chew bread.”

God disrupts the understood pattern of meal and sacrifice in Jesus Christ. Sacrifices are no longer required at the temple, for Christ is the lamb. Jesus enters, celebrates a new communion, reframes it and forever disrupts the status quo.

Writer Sarah Miles shares her experience of the disrupting and transforming power of communion in her memoir Take this Bread.

Raised as an atheist, Sara Miles lived an enthusiastically secular life as a restaurant cook and writer. Then early one morning, for no earthly reason, she wandered into a church.

She writes,
One early, cloudy morning when I was forty-six, I walked into a church, ate a piece of bread, took a sip of wine. A routine Sunday activity for tens of millions of Americans — except that up until that moment I'd led a thoroughly secular life, This was my first communion. It changed everything. Eating Jesus, as I did that day to my great astonishment, led me against all my expectations to a faith I'd scorned and work I'd never imagined. The mysterious sacrament turned out to be not a symbolic wafer at all, but actual food — indeed, the bread of life. In that shocking moment of communion, filled with a deep desire to reach for and become part of a body, I realized what I'd been doing with my life all along was what I was meant to do: feed people.

And so I did. I took communion, I passed the bread to others, and then I kept going, compelled to find new ways to share what I'd experienced. I started a food pantry and gave away literally tons of fruit and vegetables and cereal around the same altar where I'd first received the body of Christ. My new vocation didn't turn out to be as simple as going to church on Sundays, folding my hands in the pews and declaring myself 'saved.'”

Sarah Miles’ testimony reminds us that communion is more than wonder bread and welch’s, for you encounter the table host Christ who disrupts our understanding of being with one another and living in the world.

Jesus disrupts our comfort with the past the status quo, and transforms us to work for peace with our tithes, time, and talent.
Jesus disrupts our tendency toward the spiritual and transforms us to feed his children.

Jesus disrupts our habit of sitting passively and calls us forward to take and eat and drink and risk transformation as we embrace eternal life.

My internship church in Brooklyn experienced the disruptive transformation of Christ through communion. They decided to put the table at the center of weekly worship as they saw the congregation dwindling and dying. But, when they made a decision to move the table at the center of their worship they slowly found themselves transformed. Three years since I worked there I learned that the homeless man that graced the side stoop, I’ll call him Mel moved from the side door, to the back of the sanctuary, and eventually to the communion table. As he experienced communion he too wanted to learn more about this Jesus and this incarnational way of life called Christianity. He was baptized last spring. As the congregation experience his presence with them at the table, they saw him with different eyes welcoming him, and eventually the Deacons decided to host social workers, landlords, and neighbors once every few months to help Mel and other homeless neighbors find and be able to remain in a home. My friends at Old First Church sense the meal is more than Wonder Bread and Welch’s.

We have been gathering around this table once a week for one year now. I have a hunch many of you come because you sense the meal is so much more than Wonder Bread and Welch’s.

I have talked with some of you and know this meal sustains you. When you are feeling disconnected coming to the table reconnects you in a tangible way to the body of Christ. Others of you have spoken of your ability to be in this space when other spaces felt confining. You sense the meal is more than Wonder Bread and Welch’s
Sarah Miles ate a piece of bread, took a sip of wine, and found herself radically transformed....

You eat a piece of bread, take a sip of juice, how are you transformed? How are we transformed as the body of Christ?

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

photo credit

Five

2009-09-10T16:12:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of "catching up" over the last four months I can't let my fifth marriage anniversary slip by. Looking at the photo I marvel at how bright eyed and young we look! Little did we know the next five years would bring two graduate degrees and three homes.

This year we spent our anniversary apart while I was at church camp. But, colleagues and friends there passed along wedding wishes in the form of a wooden plaque, fitting for five years.

And now I find myself sitting on the other side of the marriage altar, meeting with couples as they prepare for marriage. Strange how the pastoral life intertwines.

Here's to five and God willing decades more with our vows.

The Way of Creation/Re-creation
The First Promise
Here at last is bone of my bones,
flesh of my flesh,
divine help, in a form I understand.
You are the image of God for me.
God speaks to me in your voice.
God looks at me through your eyes.
God touches me with your hands.
And, in my love for you,
I too may reflect God.

The Way of Surrender/Denial
The Second Promise:
I take you today to be my husband/wife,
to have and to hold from this day forward,
for better or for worse,
for richer or poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish
until death parts us.
Nothing else will have the power,
for today I turn away from all other options.
Forsaking all others,
I commit myself to you.
I will seek to serve you
with tenderness and respect,
energy and intelligence,
imagination and love.

The Way of Renewal/Resurrection

The Third Promise
I take you to be my brother/sister in Christ,
for this life and for the next.
Let our love be lived within the community of his church,
and our home be embraced by the household of faith.
However much our love for one another deepens,
I promise to love God even more than I love you.
I ask you to love God even more than you love me,
that our growing love for God
will draw us closer to one another.

The Way of Service/The Spirit
The Fourth Promise
I take you to be my partner in Christ’s service.
I will help you develop God’s gifts in you
and work with you for the coming of the kingdom of God.
I will listen with you for God’s call on our lives,
that our home may be a place where the good news is proclaimed,
where justice and mercy are lived,
where God’s children are welcomed,
and where God’s name is honored.
May our marriage give God joy!

1,2,3,4...

2009-09-07T17:36:00.001-07:00

It's been a while since I updated. So, here are the last four months in photos.

Ordination on June 14, 2009! A wonderful day full of completion and new beginnings. Friends and family came from around the country. It was also the anniversary of my Baptism, making the journey and moment even more beautiful.

July marked a vacation and youth mission trip to Baltimore.

August marked church camp for a week.

And now it's September...The program year is off to a start and I'm beginning to get my PIF (personal information form...the PCUSA resume) together to begin the process of looking for a call post Residency.

For now, I'm savoring the last few hours of summer before diving into week 1 full of evening meetings.

An update

2009-05-25T19:38:00.001-07:00

The last few weeks have been a blur of conferences, exams, and final steps in the ordination process. As of Tuesday, May 19 I officially passed through the last step in the process with an exam on the floor of the Philadelphia Presbytery. It was also my 28th birthday, and being welcomed to the ministry of the Word and Sacrament was one of the best birthday gifts.

The words from Psalm 139 have been my refrain over the last six years of seminary and post seminary verse five in particular

You hem me in—behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.

Three years ago I graduated from Princeton Theological Seminary with one plan in mind, and three years later I find myself in a different place and denomination than anticipated, but ultimately a place of deep joy and delight...I have a place at the table, ultimately created by the One who called me.

I can't wait for the ordination service on June 14...a gathering of many of the great cloud of witnesses in my life as well as the 28th birthday of my baptism as an infant.

Serving in the Shadows

2009-05-03T09:46:00.000-07:00

sermon preached @ BMPC May 3, 2009
Psalm 23
I John 3:16-24

Our first lesson from the lectionary this morning is a familiar one. Psalm 23. Show of hands, how many of you learned this at some point? I had to memorize it in Sunday school. If it is not familiar to you by memory, perhaps you have heard it before in any number of contexts.

Let us consider for a moment the rich metaphor of shepherd that Psalm 23 evokes. The Lord is my shepherd…What does that mean? Perhaps hearing this metaphor conjurs up a vague image of someone in a long robe carrying a staff – like that of a shepherd in our Christmas Eve service? Or, perhaps you think of the bronze sculpture of the shepherd and sheep on our front lawn. Now that you have your image what are some adjectives that come to mind? Maybe you think of strength, patience, or perseverance?

And what about sheep? Again, what image comes to your mind? A fluffy white sheep that you’ve fed at a petting zoo? Perhaps you have heard them described as docile or even dumb. I learned this week that sheep are indeed different from other herd animals. For example, cattle need to be driven from behind. Sheep are different from cows as they prefer to be led. This doesn’t make them any more or less docile, they just prefer to follow. In fact, sheep have the innate ability to form a trusting relationship with their shepherd. Sleeping sheep will not stir if their shepherd steps in their midst. But, if a stranger sets foot in the midst of the flock, the sheep will startle awake. Sheep have an innate sense of community and of trust with their shepherd. Imagine that strong bond of trust between sheep and shepherd. It’s truly a dynamic relationship as the shepherd provides and protects and the sheep follow.

Trouble in the text: need for a shepherd/abiding with God

The Psalmist is using this image, of sheep and shepherd intentionally in Psalm 23It’s that dynamic relationship of trust between sheep and shepherd that is brought forth in today’s Psalm.

We don’t know the details, but get a sense that there is trouble of some sort which illicits Psalm 23. The writer gives clues, naming a walk in a dark valley. And so, the Psalmist responds to the trouble with this prayer, this confession of faith…the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want… Using language that calls trust in the midst of the shadows of life.

Looking at the passage from I John we have another image. I John was written to the early Johanine churchThey lived in a shadowy world, tempted by many different religious options, struggling to understand how to follow Christ. And so the writer points this community of faith back to their foundation – love for Christ and one another. Although a metaphor isn’t invoked, we have a parallel understanding…God is present in the shadows, we need only trust and respond as Jesus Christ did, with a self-giving love for one another.

Trouble in the world: life in the shadows drives us to isolation/self-help.

Like the Psalmist and the Johanine community we live in the shadowlands…it could be the shadow of unemployment, of depleting resources, you could live in the shadowland of grief…But, unlike the biblical context, our world and society is comprised of many leaders but few shepherds. Our culture is one of self-made individuals…daily you read and see stories of those that have “pulled themselves up by their bootstraps.”

The sheer number of self-help books at our local Borders is but one example pointing to this symptom in our culture. Many people are not looking for someone else to lead them, but would rather lead themselves.*

When we find ourselves in the shadowlands, separated from others, we struggle to follow.

As Rev. Scott Hoeze notes “Instead, ours is a time where we expect others to meet us where we are. The customer mentality has now taken over everything from college campuses to church sanctuaries. "I want it my way right way (and by the way, I alone will determine what 'my way' is.")

Everyone wants to be a leader, but no one wants to be led.

So the language of shepherds and sheep, of being led so that we do not scatter into our own individual directions seems like Sunday school myth, a nice story, but not reality.” Perhaps you fool yourself into thinking you no longer need a shepherd.
But, when you find yourself in the valley of the shadows when the economic downturn hits, when your health declines to the point of hospitalization, when you sit in the midst of deep grief, the myth of self-help crumbles and you are left to consider what it means to live in the shadows in a different way. An opening is created. And perhaps you reach out for something more, for guidance beyond yourself.

In preparing this sermon for today instances of hearing or reading Psalm 23 came to my mind again. Getting beyond the Sunday school memories, my time as a hospital chaplain resurfaced. It was in the hospital that I came face to face with individuals living in the shadows…some brought to a place of complete brokenness, realizing their life was truly out of their control.

And, it was in many of those moments that a patient or family member would ask the chaplain to read Psalm 23. I read Psalm 23 by the bedside of a dying patient, and heard Psalm 23 whispered by a family member in a waiting room. The words never became rote to me…as time and my exposure to trauma wore on, Psalm 23 took on new meaning…

Commentator Scott Hoezee reminds us, “Although you no longer live in a culture of shepherds, much has remained the same. You still live in a world of hunger and want, of confusion and dead end roads, of wolves and fierce enemies that will leap at you in the dark of night. You still need a sure guide who goes ahead of you.”

Grace in the text: God abides with us and invites us to a life of freedom

The good news is that there is indeed a guide who goes ahead of you, who walks beside you. The Psalmist reminds us that God, the Lord is a presence that leads, God prepares places for you to stop and rest on your journey. Whether in worship, or for a longer season. God restores your soul, filling you with a sense of peace, of purpose. God provides for your being. leading you beside the still waters in life…in paths of righteousness…providing a way through the valleys and the shadows of suffering.

God prepares a table…provides sustenance, even in the presence of enemies…even in the wilderness God provides.God is a presence in the midst and through the valleys.
The Psalmist is describing a dynamic relationship with the shepherd. Again, it is based on trust…”This trust is not a rosy, romantic, optimistic view of things. No, the trust the Psalmist invokes comes from a foundation of prayer and thanksgiving.
Trust comes from knowing that even as God led the Israelites out of the land of slavery toward the promised land, God was in the midst. It is this same God that is with the Psalmist.” **

It is this same God that is with the new church in I John. The shepherding presence of God is embodied with a commandment to love just as Christ loved. Christ is present to the world, embodying a new image of shepherd. Jesus models a love that has remarkable freedom…a power that does not bind, but serves, freeing others to love in the same way.

This love is abiding. God abides with us even as we abide with God. Abide means to dwell or sojourn. To abide, to dwell with or sojourn with God requires trust, a dynamic relationship in which one allows God to be God, and responds with a sacrificial love for others.

Grace in the world: God walks with us in the midst. Call to serve in the shadows.

You know throughout Scripture that tremendous transformation occurs in the shadowlands. Jesus knew that God’s presence is most palpable in the out of the way places. So, then you can take comfort when you find yourselves in the shadowlands because God is in the midst.

When you find yourselves in the shadows you have an even clearer opportunity, dare I say calling to draw strength, to dwell with and follow God in the hidden place. For the shadow isn’t cast only out of the darkness of hardship, but also from the protective hand of the shepherd, of God who is dwelling with you, providing for you, in the midst.

All of life then is one of dwelling and sojourning in the shadows. People of God, you are called to serve in the shadows. You do not serve alone, or by your own strength, but as a flock…the body of Christ.

Together you sit and worship, point to God in the midst, testify to God’s presence, God’s steadfast love in the shadows, together you read Psalm 23, telling one another the story and reality of God’s presence in the midst.

Open yourself to the possibility of serving in the shadows. I urge you on this day to consider opportunities to seek out life and sustenance in the shadows. Take time out of your hectic life to sit in silence and contemplate the Lord as shepherd, to pray for another, to meditate on these and other words in Scripture. Take time for Holy conversation sharing with a friend or fellow church member where you see and experience God.

Abiding with God, sojourning, dwelling requires not only God’s presence, but you following…actively embarking on the journey, not alone but with one another.
Theologian and Biblical Scholar Ellen Davis reminds us that “Seeking refuge and rest in the hidden place is , or should be , an essential discipline of the Christian life… Even if, like Israel in exile, we enter the shadows against our will and with much suffering…Then we must find our faith and our ministry in the place of loneliness, of no vision; in the hidden place despised by the world yet made habitable for us through God’s stupendous humility in Jesus Christ our Lord, with whom we find our only rest, through whom we offer all our praise.”

Children of God, follow your shepherd. Serve in the shadows.

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

* This section was influenced heavily by the CTS Center for Preaching Excellence text notes by Rev. Scott Hoeze. I've adapted as well as directly quoted him.

** Quoted from the Interpretation commentary on Psalm 23.

***Quote taken from Ellen Davis's Getting Involved with God pages 178-180.

Statement of Faith

2009-03-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

I'm preparing to go before my Committee on Preparation for Ministry in Detroit on April 7 for my certification for ministry. In addition to submitting exegesis and a sermon I also submitted a statement of faith. I wrestled with it. The first few drafts were lengthy as I wanted to cover every possible doctrine. The statement I submitted is pared down, but still a bit long...it still doesn't quite sing, but it's getting there.

I believe in one Triune God in three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This Triune God is one in essence, and all three persons are equal in power, and eternally dwell in relationship to one another.

I believe God the Father freely created the heavens and the earth out of nothing, called forth creatures, and formed humanity. This creation was good. Created in the image of the Triune God, female and male are called to mutual relationship with one another and the Triune God, and are entrusted as stewards of creation. However, humanity disobeyed God’s command, chose sin, brought about inherit corruption, and suffered the consequences of death. Yet, the same Triune God that created humanity remained faithful to creation, forming a covenant with a particular people, the Israelites.

This covenant continues through Jesus Christ, who is the Son of God, the Word made flesh, fully human and fully divine. Jesus Christ acts as our prophet, priest, and king. As prophet, Jesus Christ proclaims the coming reign of God and instructs us in the life appropriate to that reign. As priest, Jesus Christ renders to God the perfect sacrifice of love and obedience on our behalf. As king, Jesus Christ rules the world and promises the ulatimate victory of the Triune God’s reign of righteousness and peace. The suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ atones for the sin of humanity, conquering the wages of sin and death.

Through the power of the Holy Spirit, all who believe in Christ are a new creation, the old life is gone, and a new life is begun. The Holy Spirit allows us to participate in God’s eternal life. The Holy Spirit empowers us, binds us to one another in a covenant as the body of Christ, and continues to work on humanity’s behalf, drawing us to repentance, obedience, and sanctification. Opening up our whole being to the Triune God, the Holy Spirit engages and sustains us through the Word proclaimed, claims us in the water of Baptism, feeds us at the Lord’s table with the body and blood of Christ, and calls women and men to all ministries of the Church, giving us courage to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.

Called by the Triune God, knit together as the body of Christ, and inspired by the Holy Spirit, the Church is entrusted with unique tasks. We are called to proclaim the gospel for the salvation of humanity; to shelter, nurture, and provide spiritual fellowship for the children of God; maintain divine worship, preserve the truth, promote social righteousness, and exhibit the Kingdom of Heaven to the world. The Church is called to undertake this mission, even at the risk of losing its life.

Scripture is a special revelation to God’s sovereign grace at work from creation to the history of Israel, and above all in the liberating life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This Scripture, the Old and New Testaments, is authoritative as it sets forth Christ and as it functions in the community of faith by the inward witness of the Holy Spirit. The Sacraments of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper are signs and seals of God’s covenantal grace. In the Sacrament of Baptism, the Holy Spirit cleanses us from sin as we die to ourselves and rise with Christ. Baptism adopts us into the covenant family of the Church as children of God, and summons us to respond to God’s grace in ministry to the world. In the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper the Holy Spirit makes breaking bread and sharing the cup a participation in the body and blood of Christ; binds us with Christ and one another as the body, and reorients us to our vocation. In this remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice, the Church celebrates the joyful foretaste of the Kingdom until Christ comes again. Nourished by the gathering around the Word and sealing of the Word we are sent out to participate in God’s work and mission in the world.

I believe the Triune God is at work in this world, and that nothing can separate us from the love of God. One day Christ will come again to consummate God’s work of redemption. All things will be made new, our bodies will be raised, God’s shalom will made all things new, and humanity will enjoy communion with the Triune God forever. Trusting in this gracious Triune God, I seek to offer my life as a living sacrifice. I join with the Body of Christ, to better respond to God’s call to serve the One who creates, redeems, and sustains me.

Six Years...Lookin' Forward and Lookin' Back

2009-03-20T08:19:00.000-07:00

Driving in to West Philly this morning I was reminded by NPR that today marks six years since we went to war in Iraq. Hearing that, my mind wandered back to six years ago. On March 20, 2003 I was on my senior spring break in Georgia. My college friends and I spent that day in Atlanta. We toured the coke museum and then wandered over to the Olympic Park, which was right next to CNN. Protestors from Morehouse College were gathering. At that point i had been working with Student Senate at my alma mater to pass a war protest...which the student body eventually voted against and rescinded. Emotions were high in the crowd. My heart was pumping...here were a group of young adults speaking out against injustice, trying to hold our nation accountable to what we all thought would mean a decade of war...Suddenly I found myself holding the bullhorn...the only white woman to speak up in the crowd in that moment. The intensity was electric. We were all bound by a common cause, by dissent. Eventually we went back to our cabin and remained glued to CNN and Fox News for the evening. Not all of us agreeing, but wrestling with the maginitude.

Six years later we are still at war. The propoganda shoved down our throats about rumors of WMD remain false. It turns out power and fear did motivate our pre-emptive strike.

Six years later I find myself in a West Philly classroom as a volunteer with my congregation. As war rages on across the seas I sit in another war zone. One littered with broken dreams, mismangaged resources that leave students in this classroom with a slim chance to break through the cycles of poverty.

It's a maranatha sort of day. Perhaps it's appropriate for Lent?

photo collage from MacDillanProtestJan.2003

Catching up to Lent

2009-02-26T10:46:00.000-08:00

Dust I am and to dust I shall return. We marked Ash Wednesday yesterday with three services at BMPC. I missed the first two due to pastoral care opportunities, but was able to attend and serve as liturgist for the third. The day was full, of celebrating with a parishioner in the morning, meetings all afternoon, and then a church family meal and evening worship. It felt a bit like Christmas Eve...prepared for and anticipated, yet a blur.

It didn't hit me until I prepared for worship that I had yet to pause and reflect on my own mortality, on my own penance. I'm not ready for Lent.

I've been living into Lent for six weeks now...planning the Refuge service in January, reading through and studying the lectionary lessons in early February, and now living into Lent. The rest of me still needs to catch up to being present to this season. Practicing silence in worship tonight will help. Keeping Sabbath and adding more time for prayer and less time for tv/media could also be good.

But, I'm struck by how quickly parish ministry can pull me out of balance. The fullness of life here and the pace of the congregation can easily stand in for true connection to God.

photo courtesy of crs.org

From Generation to Generation

2009-02-21T09:14:00.000-08:00

sermon preached at BMPC
February 15, 2009

From Generation to Generation
II Kings 2:1-12

Prayer for Illumination
Lord God, you have declared that your Kingdom is among us.
Open our eyes to see it.
Our ears to hear it.
Our hearts to hold it, our hands to serve it. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

A great leader is nearing the end of his life. Elijah, the prophetic giant who called down fire on the prophets of Baal at Mt. Carmel. Elijah, who appears to Jesus in the transfiguration. Elijah, the man who spoke God’s word calling forth condemnation of King Ahab and Queen Jezebel.

Our story today doesn’t contain any of Elijah’s past, it begins in the present. Before the passing of the mantle and the fiery inauguration, we go on a journey with Elijah and Elisha.

Reading today’s passage from II Kings Chapter Two we know from verse one that Elijah is leaving soon. His departure is not a surprise. The trouble and tension in this passage is the transfer of power. What will happen next? Who will take over a tremendous legacy of speaking truth in the face of injustice? Can the next generation fill Elijah’s shoes?

Tension builds in today’s passage as Elijah and Elisha travel together. Elijah does not want Elisha to join him. Already in verse two we learn that Elijah commands Elisha to stay behind. Elisha does not heed his master’s voice, traveling with him to Bethel. It seems fitting that a journey of transition would begin at Bethel, which literally means the house of God. Bethel, the city where Jacob first dreamed of a ladder with angels in Genesis. Bethel, where Jacob returns to wrestle with God by the Jabbok river before meeting his estranged brother Esau, making a new covenant with the Lord. Bethel, a place of transition and transformation. Bethel, the city where Elijah and Elisha are greeted by prophets who remind Elisha that today is the day of departure of his mentor.

Elijah and Elisha set out from this holy city to a second location Jericho. Jericho is another significant city for the Israelites. Jericho, where another prophet, Joshua, the successor to Moses stood. Joshua fought the battle at Jericho and the walls came tumbling down. Jericho was later rebuilt from the time of the Judges and is now inhabited once again. Jericho, a place of transition and transformation. This city is a tangible testimony to God’s presence and faithfulness. Elijah and Elisha stand in Jericho and yet again other prophets remind Elisha of the reality of Elijah’s departure, pressing down on him the significance of this day. A second time, Elijah commands Elisha to abandon him, and a second time Elisha pledges to remain on the journey.

The two men finally travel away from urban centers, leaving behind civilization, journeying into the wilderness, standing on the banks of the Jordan River. Great transformation occurs in the wilderness. Tremendous signs and seals are made in this river. Jacob and Joshua both crossed this river in their own journey. And now Elijah and Elisha arrive at the Jordan river, the source of life and re-birth, the same river where Jesus is baptized.

Yet their arrival does not resolve the tension. There are still tremendous questions about the future. Their journey from one holy place to another only seems to highlight the anxiety of transition. What will the prophetic office look like in a new generation? How will Elijah pass his mantle to Elisha?

Transition and transfers of power bring anxiety. Our presidential election back in November is one contemporary example. For well over a year candidates campaigned, delivered stump speeches, and eventually one person was granted the power and authority to be the President-elect of the United States of America. January 20th marked the inauguration of our new President.

In the days following his election the editorial page speculated how he would live up to his promises of hope and change. How would he address foreign policy? What would his economic policies look like in the midst of bail-outs and a dropping stock market? As a nation and world, we are anxious, knowing the transition is challenging and historic.

It is easy to discuss the anxiety associated with political transition, but that is not where our focus lies here in this place this morning. Here in these pews and in these walls we are living into another transition.

The North American mainline church is changing. Gone are the days of cultural prominence, and of blue laws. Your experience of church as you knew it 5, 10, 20, or 50 years ago is not our present reality. If you follow news from General Assembly or the Presbytery of Philadelphia, you will know that some congregations are struggling to support a pastor, and to keep their doors open. I have sat at a number of tables with colleagues who lament this transition, who long for the past. Some say the PCUSA is dying. Perhaps you too wonder about this transition? Who will come? What will happen to the church?

Anxiety about change abounds in the world around us.

We are reminded in II Kings that God is present in the midst. God is faithful. The narrator names God as an active figure in this story. It is God who is moving and present, who promises to take Elijah up to the heavens. God is not an absent clockmaker, but is a steadfast presence in our lives, moving and breathing new life.

The journey takes a turn at the Jordan River. God is also present with Elijah and Elisha on the banks of the Jordan River. As they walk through the parted river Elijah asks Elisha, “Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you.” Elisha responds not with a request for external authority or a tangible sign of power. Elisha knows power and authority cannot be passed on. Instead, Elisha asks to inherit a double share of Elijah’s spirit. He knows this request cannot be granted by Elijah, since this request is an invocation of the Spirit of God. Elisha desires God’s Spirit to fill him, to transform him, to pour out of him. This request is for God to grant, and we learn that Elisha is indeed gifted by God with the Spirit. This young prophet goes on to speak justice and serve God for sixty years.

God is present, active and moving in our world. Although we may be anxious about the generational transition, we need not lose hope. The same God that called Elisha calls us. The same God that worked through Elijah to hold kings accountable works through us. We need not lose hope because God is still with us continually calling forth new leaders. Just as God walked Elisha through the Jordan River, claiming him and filling them with the Spirit. So too God claims us in the waters of our Baptism, filling us with the same Spirit that empowers us to lead and continue walking on our journey.

Back in November we had a church-wide intergenerational day of mission. I traveled with a group of folks to West Kensington. We pulled up to the red brick building. It still looks prominent on the corner of Hancock and W. Susquehana Ave.

Walking in the front door you can tell this space was once grand. Two wide wooden staircases lead up to the second floor sanctuary. Hymnals and Bibles long gone from the pew racks. Thick dust covers every surface. The sanctuary looks abandoned.
Walking up the stairs, boxes of relics and discarded books, an organ, and piano fill the old balcony. We learned the church building had become a dumping ground for the Presbytery, holding old furniture and other discarded items from several closed churches around Philadelphia. We spent the day cleaning…cleaning out the old books and boxes from other churches, filling a dumpster. Placing old chairs and furniture on the corner for neighbors to use. Dusting the pews and mopping the sanctuary floor…to make room for the youth hip hop and salsa dance groups that fill the space with their movement.

We spent the day partnering in a church building that did not survive the white flight of the 1960’s. As the neighborhood filled with Latino and Mexican immigrants the congregation, the church fled, moved on, and died and the building stood empty and idle. That is, until two years ago, when Rev. Adon Meriena completed his pastoral residency here at Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church and was called to plant a new church.

Today, in the midst of these remains a new church is growing. The large sanctuary with stained glass windows and an organ was once the focal point of this building. Now the old fellowship hall on the main level is the focal point. Brightly colored murals of butterflies and animals line the walls. A new sound booth and video equipment breathe new life into this new sanctuary…Children from around the neighborhood hang out in the building all week, meeting God in music lessons, art, and karaoke sing offs. Friday night, the church is the place to hang out for middle school and high school students.

A new church, a young church, is springing up. God is doing something new. A generation had died, and left the neighborhood, but God remains faithful calling forth hip hop dancers to stand in the abandoned sanctuary, artists who repainted the walls, as well as partners from Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church, and other suburban congregations.

God is gathering in a new community that looks different than any of us expect. Those of us that abandoned the city for the suburbs are returning to work together and attest to the Spirit that is doing something new. West Kensington Ministry is filled with the Spirit, transforming the lives of the next generation.
So too this church, BMPC is filled with the Spirit, transforming lives of the next generation. Like Elijah and Elisha, you need to continue on the journey. You must pause as you stand in the wilderness. The same God that poured out the Spirit on Elisha, is moving in you. The church is not the same as it was, but you are always standing at the Jordan River, mindful of the baptismal vows that continually call you forward on a journey of transformation.

God is at work calling new generations forth to “leaven the church as agents of reconciliation amidst a broken body.” This congregation bears witness to the Spirit at work.

You dare to hope, joining one of 30 congregations around this country who want to mentor and support new pastors with a ministry of pastoral residency. The residency program is not external to you, but internal to your identity as a teaching and mentoring congregation. Six residents have been launched from BMPC and are serving from church planting in West Kensington, empowering college students to Princeton University, to teaching the next generation of pastors at Yale Divinity School.
You dare to lead, striving to be a teaching congregation that not only is a leader within this denomination, but allows new leaders to emerge from your midst. Your youth embodied that last weekend in the dance marathon. Youth led the mission endeavor from presenting a proposal to Session to decorating the space and raising money for mission.

Your youth join the generations who have gone before us, not filling their shoes, but standing on their shoulders, empowered by the same Spirit to lead God’s church with energy, intelligence, and love.

You dare to risk. Welcoming those that have had a different journey to stand with you for a time and ask hard questions.

You have dared to follow God and be filled by God’s spirit for over 135 years. This same God will continue to move anew in us from generation to generation. I invite you stay on the journey. Don’t abandon hope. Stand at the Jordan River with Elisha and tell the story -- bear witness to God’s work in your midst. Tell your story of hopes and fears. Dare to follow God from generation to generation.

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

Image from:fundraisingseeds.com

Reading Calvin

2009-01-02T12:02:00.000-08:00

Resolution #1 for the New Year...read more theology.

In honor of John Calvin's 500th birthday, I'm joining others to read through the Institutes in one year.

Check out the link. Daily entries are posted online. Handy if you're traveling and left your copy of the Institutes in your office.

Nunc Dimittis

2008-12-27T10:56:00.001-08:00

Luke 2:22-40
Sermon for BMPC 8am Communion Service 12.28.08

Trouble in the text:
Christmas Day has come and gone, but we are still in the twelve day season of Christmas before Epiphany. We pause today and enter into this story of Mary and Joseph, not in the familiar crèche scene, with the shepherds and angels and livestock. The new family is already far away from the Bethlehem birth scene, on their way to Jerusalem.

Imagine the scene with me. Mary and Joseph have traveled the distance of 6 miles from Bethlehem to the Temple in Jerusalem. Mary is holding Jesus, as they travel the two hours. The baby is just 40 days old. He still likes to be swaddled. His cries are getting stronger as he is more than a month old. As they enter center city, Joseph leads the donkey to a hitching post, helping Mary dismount while holding the newborn. They walk across the square toward the vendors. Each vendor is calling out their livestock…goats and sheep are waiting to be purchased for Temple sacrifices. A few vendors are calling out special prices. Joseph carefully counts out the coins in his pocket, they need to save some for the rest of their journey to Egypt. Goats and sheep would be fitting sacrifices for a brist and the purification ceremony at the Temple, but they have to budget carefully. There is just enough money to buy two turtledoves, which still fell under acceptable offerings. Walking toward the outer courts of the temple they encounter a man that has a fanatical zeal about him. He rushes forward from the shadows and asks if he may hold their baby. They furtively glance at one another. This could be risky…Herod has heard of Jesus and they don’t know whom to trust. Something moves in them, and they hand over their newborn son to the man, who begins singing a simple tune with profound words. A sung prayer.

This man, Simeon only held Jesus for fifteen minutes, yet he could see who Jesus would grow up to be and proclaimed it with a song. His song weaves in the prophetic lines from Isaiah, showing the connection between the Old Testament prophecies of a Messiah, and this baby, Jesus, the Christ. Simeon also offers words of blessing, speaking in the future tense The song is not just a sweet pronouncement of Jesus as light of the world, for where the light shines there is also a shadow. Simeon’s song contains the shadow side of Jesus, pointing ahead to Jesus’ suffering and cross. The canticle is sobering, reminding these new parents the suffering that awaits their son.

Mary and Joseph continue toward the inner courts, approaching the priest who circumcises their baby boy. A stark contrast to Simeon, the priest does not know them, nor does he recognize Jesus as the fulfillment of the prophecy.

As they walk out across the outer court, an elderly bystander approaches them, this one a woman named Anna. She is a pious woman, comes to the Temple each day to pray, and has for decades. At 84 she is a wise and angelic looking woman. Anna is the kindly grandmother figure, the church lady who you would want to hold your child. She too sings a song of praise, pointing to redemption in Israel.

Instead of more angel choirs and bright stars, we have what some commentators have called the “odd couple” witnesses. Simeon is often depicted as an old man in paintings. But writer Tom Steagle speculates that “Simeon may have been a young idealist who stayed mostly away from the temple, distrusting those who had long since lost their own idealism—who were not looking for the consolation of Israel at all but simply for a way to survive. Perhaps the temple priests distrusted him, too—dismissed him—because they considered him a fanatic. After all, "the Holy Spirit rested on him," and that's always trouble for religious professionals.”

Anna a wizened pious prophetess, a church lady in every sense of that word she spent every waking hour in the Temple courts praying and proclaiming the hope of the Messiah. Anna the pious prophetess and Simeon a young and hopeful idealist. An interesting pair to see Jesus out of the manger. They mirror both the past and the present in their ages and inclinations. Simeon, holding on to the hope of youth, yet also pointing out the shadows of the future. Anna, remaining faithful to God and a life of faith for decades. Anna and Simeon mirror the already but not yet that Mary and Joseph are living into. The already that their son Jesus the Christ was born to them. The not yet of his calling to be Savior to all. The already of the fulfillment of the angel’s song, the not yet wondering will Jesus be accepted? Will the world receive the light?

Trouble in the World:
We too find ourselves in this tension of the already but not yet. Like Simeon we also have an understanding of the rest of the story beyond the crèche scene…recognizing Jesus as the light of the world, knowing all to well the shadows of the cross.

The Christmas season may bring light, warm feelings, and quality time with family for some. But for others, this last week has been one of living in the shadows. Life is not wonderful. You may be feeling the absence of a relative or loved one who is not around the Christmas table, sitting alone in the Christmas Eve service, or spending time with a family that is fractured. All is not well. Our life is not yet full of light.

The same tension of the already but not yet was mirrored in the news this past week. In spite of stories of hope and inspiration, the front page also contained stories of shadows. Saturday’s Philadelphia Inquirer had a front page story recounting the life and death of Penn Trauma surgeon John P. Pryor. Dr. Pryor was deployed just a few short weeks ago to Iraq on December 6, and was killed by shrapnel in a mortar round on Christmas day. A surgeon who had worked to heal countless people in both West Philly and Iraq was killed in the midst of serving others.

Sudden deaths in the face of ongoing war like that of Dr. Pryor and other soldiers and civilians remind us that we still cry out for peace on earth.

We live in the shadows of the cross, understanding well the pain, waiting like Anna and Simeon to see the light.

Hope in the Text:
The scene from Luke is anti-climactic. There are no angel choirs, but two people that that ask to hold a baby on his way to his brist. Two people who pause to pray.
Yet, Simeon and Anna did see Jesus and they put together the good news that Jesus is the Messiah…without the angel choirs, or the star guiding them. There was no bright light, no magical moment, and yet they saw and believed.

They knew who Jesus was because of the Spirit working. Because of faith they had waited to see the fulfillment of the prophecy far longer than the shepherds, they had waited more than the 9 months that Mary and Joseph waited, that is why Luke includes them. They too are important characters in the crèche, for they take us from the stall and Bethlehem to Jerusalem, from the manger on the journey toward the cross. They walk across the bridge of faith with hope, toward something new, following the light in the midst of the shadows with a prayer.

Fred Craddock writes that Simeon and Anna are “Israel in miniature, and Israel at its best: devout, obedient, constant in prayer, led by the Holy Spirit, at home in the temple, longing and hoping for the fulfillment of God’s promises. God is doing something new, but it is not really new, because hope is always joined to memory, and the new is God’s keeping an old promise.”

Throughout Luke God’s children respond to God’s work by praying. Mary prayed after Gabriel gave her the message. Zechariah, prayed after Elizabeth conceived John the Baptist, and now Simeon and Anna pray. Simeon who prays in the moment of holding Jesus, and Anna who has prayed for a lifetime.

Hope in the World:
Today you join with Anna and Simeon. You have hardly more of the story than they had. You too are unlikely witnesses to the light, moving forward on faith. Yet, you too pray. Some of you here today may have the hope and idealism of Simeon. Compelled by the light, you seek to shine that light throughout the world. Some of you may be like Anna, with the benefit of a lifetime of faith, of waiting in expectancy holding a deep and profound trust.

You may even pray in the darkest shadows. Unable to see the light, but you are joined by Anna and Simeon and others who stand with you, holding up the light, carrying forth the hope in Christ.

Young and old, faithful or skeptical, you come to this space to pray… to turn toward God’s presence and light in the midst of the darkness. You pray to respond to the work that God is already doing in our midst.

Like Anna and Simeon, you hope because you have the story, the memory of God’s presence, covenants, and signs and seals that Immanuel, God is with us. Like Anna and Simeon you have the same Spirit, moving in your lives, nudging you to hold the baby.

You have the memory of God keeping an old promise of salvation for all. Of welcome for all, as exemplified in this table set before us today.

Lutheran Pastor John Stendahl reminds us, “What we have is in these ways is hardly more than what Simeon had. But what that is, is wonderful indeed. The canticle he prays has become for much of the church a song to follow the communion meal. We have now seen and tasted the promised future. We have held the Christ child. Taking bread and wine to our lips, we have kissed him and with words and songs we have caressed his presence. We may not get all the way to his future ourselves, not in this life -- but we’ve seen it, and that’s enough, we say. We can go in peace now.”

Nunc dimmitis. Like Anna and Simeon you encounter Christ and you are sent forth.

May you walk toward this table today and toward the New Year like Simeon and Anna. Having seen the light in the midst of shadows. You are sent forth joining old and young, idealists and cynics to bear witness together to the light of the world. For the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. Amen.

Boxing Day (Friday Five)

2008-12-26T11:30:00.001-08:00

I hopped onto RevGalBlogPals today and thought I would try their Friday Five challenge:
list five things that today (Dec. 26) will bring for you:

1. Sleeping in!
2.Quick trip to Macy's for price adjustments on Christmas gifts.
(A Dutch girl has to go back for a better deal.)
3. Lunch out with P
4. Sermon Writing
5. Cooking dinner for friends/games/good conversation!

No boxing for us.

Christmas is Here!

2008-12-24T06:28:00.000-08:00

I went to bed early last night. Today is a big day. I've been anticipating the day of four worship services for a few weeks now. It's 9:30am and our first service is at 10:30 (communion)...then a quick hospital visit, gear up for the 4:30 (children's pageant), 8:30 (communion & candles), and 11pm Lessons and Carols. The word from some colleagues is by 11pm leading worship is more about staying awake and remaining lucid than anything else. We shall see.

Right now I'm wondering how does one remain spiritually connected to leading worship for twelve plus hours? This reminds me of Lessons and Carols concerts in seminary and college. Each concert felt different, words struck me in different ways...This year I'm trying to stay in the moment and not jump ahead to Sunday, to the sermon on Anna and Simeon.

Merry Christmas!

Advent Endings

2008-12-22T17:10:00.000-08:00

Advent has come and is nearly gone. We set up our tree and other Christmas decorations, but never got around to buying new taper candles for the Advent wreath. The Christ candle sits in the center, ready to be lit on Christmas eve, but the rest of the arrangement is empty. Void of light.

I'm mindful that for some in the pews the Holiday Season is long and painful. News of lay offs, foreclosures, and buy-outs is hitting this community. Friends back in Michigan are waiting hoping that the bail-out of the big three will be enough to preserve and protect them. Funerals and hospital visits bookend this season.

Tonight I'm praying the words of the Advent Carol: O Come O Come Immanuel. Maranatha, come Lord Jesus.

Enjoy a link to Sufjan Steven's arrangement. It's fitting for one of the longest nights of the year.

Before All Things

2008-11-22T09:13:00.000-08:00

11.23.08
BMPC
First Lesson: Psalm 100
Second Lesson: Colossians 1:11-20

Today is Christ the King Sunday. Christ the King Sunday has not always been a day on the church calendar. In fact, it was instituted in 1925 by the Roman Catholics in response to cultural shifts towards secularism. The Feast day was established as a means to call the church to remember the Sovereignty of God… We Presbyterians are a bit more reserved in our celebration than our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters…no extra special meals today or rousing celebrations. We’ll save the celebrating for Thanksgiving. Perhaps a feast day for Presbyterians never really caught on because Christ the King and the sovereignty of God is a cornerstone of our Reformed Theology… Our understanding of God at work in the world starts with this concept that God is above all and before all things. That is exemplified in our table set before us today.

There are other tables where we learn this lesson as well. Growing up, I attended a small rural Reformed church. It was a family church, the kind where uncles and aunts and grandparents all sat in their designated pew. It was the kind of church where everyone went to a grandparent’s home for Sunday dinner most weeks. My family was no exception. I remember sitting around my grandparents Sunday dinner table…it was more formal than the week day table. The table was set with the good china, taken over from the old country. The table laden with my grandma’s homemade soup, freshly baked rolls, mashed potatoes, and some sort of meat, usually pot roast. We all had our designated seats, mine close to the heater.

Grandpa would always open with his prayer, thanking God for the food, for the hands that picked and prepared it, for God’s sustaining hand, and would close asking that God’s will be done. The prayer served as the foundation to our meal, and was as hearty as the food on the table. After the prayer we would discuss the Sunday sermon. Discussion was open to anyone, and usually everyone had a chance to chime in. Soon the talk would turn to the news of the day, of neighbors down the street, and friends and family scattered. As dinner wound down the conversation turned from news to storytelling.

Story telling. This was always my favorite part of the meal. Grandpa and grandma told stories of their childhood in Germany, of their immigration to the states… They were not romantic stories, but real and raw. I grew up hearing stories about crisis from my grandparents. Both had lived through horrific times of World War II. I grew up hearing these stories at the Thanksgiving and Sunday dinner tables. I remember being drawn into the stories…From the Sytsma side, I heard harrowing stories of grandpa Sytsma hiding radios in the haystacks in the barn, as the war progressed, the radios became people who were no longer welcome in their own homes just because of their religion. Grandpa ended up on a list to go to a place called Dachau…Yet was spared by the grace of God.

My maternal grandparents told a different set of stories. They grew up in Germany. Grandma Harger shared stories of hiding in wells during bombings, of feeding soldiers from various sides and countries as they marched through. Grandpa Harger told snippets of stories. Of being drafted into the Nazi army against his will. Of marching. Of being captured by the Americans in the Battle of the Bulge. Of peeling potatoes as a Prisoner of War, thankful to be alive. Of surviving…and eventually both sets of grandparents immigrating to Canada and Michigan respectfully, hoping to start a new life with new freedoms.

At the Sunday dinner table I learned about the substance of a life of faith. I learned about the God that holds things together, that is before all things.

Today’s Epistle Lesson tells us a story about the same God who is before all things. This short letter was written to the Church at Colossae intending to remind this body of her calling and connection to God. Let me give you a bit of background on Colossae. Colossae was the least important of three urban centers along a commercial route. A textile center close to larger cities of trade, Laodicea and Hieropolis, Colossae was the Baltimore to New York and Philly. The early church in Colossae was a small close-knit group. The kind of community where everyone knew your name and your business, a community of families, of uncles and aunts and grandparents. Although Paul had not traveled here to preach, the gospel took root and was bearing fruit. This church at Colossae, although small, worked closely with the churches in Laodicea and Hieropolis. It was a connectional church. Perhaps the beginning of the first Presbytery?

Like many people in the ancient world, the Colossians were polytheistic – believing in the existence and power of many cosmic beings. Thus, when life became difficult, when suffering still existed, conflicts arose, and bad things happened to good people, the new Christians in Collossae struggled to adhere to their monotheistic faith. It was apparent that in the face of conflict, suffering, and strife faith in Jesus did not banish all evil from human life, and so these Christians remembered the other cosmic powers that had once ruled their lives. In order to deal adequately with the struggles in life the Colossians turned back to these gods, holding hands with many powers.

The new church at Colossae was at a theological crossroads. They still held to the belief that Jesus was Lord of all, but also held on to the belief that the god of rain would bring rain if they only prayed the right way, or held a special celebration. They struggled to understand, just who was Jesus the Christ and how does Jesus relate to them? What does it mean to believe in Jesus Christ who is before all things, and in him all things hold together? The Colossians didn’t know. They struggled for answers; in the meantime, clinging to anything that they believed had power to save them.

Trouble in the World…
Maybe you are asking the same questions as the Colossians…Who is Jesus? What does it mean to profess a faith in Christ, to self-identify as a Christian in our context? How powerful and effective is Jesus Christ in a world of tremendous turmoil and suffering?

Crisis of any kind cuts to the heart of human meaning and purpose. I learned that at my grandparent’s dinner table. In their storytelling I was spared of some of the harsh details, but not the reality of pain and suffering.
These stories were dramatic to hear as a child. I learned from an early age that pain and suffering are part of life. That life is not easy, but is full. That the road is not straight, but that we move down it. As I grew the theological questions informed these stories. Who is this Jesus I keep hearing about in Sunday school? What power does God have in the midst of tremendous human evil and suffering? I heard my grandparents give voice to these questions as they told these stories…because these questions are not merely an intellectual exercise; they are a matter of life and death.

Perhaps you have asked these questions…maybe they were not prompted by war, but of some other struggle. Illness. An accident. The crashing markets. A broken relationship. Death of a loved one. Like the Colossians you have a menu of options to give you solace. Perhaps you grasp for power, focusing on things within your control…behavior, grades, goals, measurable outcomes. Maybe questions and mounting fear paralyze you to the point that you stop asking the questions, shut down, and merely exist. Yet, at the end of the day you are humbled…the market is still down, you may have failed that test, measurable outcomes are not measuring up. Bringing us back to these pews on a Sunday morning. The theological questions are at the forefront here in this space. They are one way that we seek to connect, to integrate our faith with our identity as children of God. Because these questions about Christ and Christ’s power are what’s at stake for you, for me, for the Church.
And so, we come here on Sunday. And we sit at this Table.

Grace in the Text

Today’s lesson to the Colossians addresses this question of power and places the foundation of power in Christ. Hope is at the heart of this lesson. Verse 11 offers a word of blessing “may you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience…” From there the writer describes Christ in verses 15-20. Referred to as the Christ hymn, this is the heart of today’s lesson.

The picture painted of Jesus as the Christ is active. The Christ in this passage is not a passive distant mirage in the sky like some of the other gods the Colossians invoked. We learn in this passage that Jesus Christ has authority, is in relationship not just to an individual, but to creation. Jesus Christ is before all things and in him all things hold together.

Before… meaning Christ is the foundation, is present in advance. Jesus Christ is the source of your identity, strength, belonging, and calling. Christ is present with God the Creator in Genesis just as Jesus Christ was born in a manger in Bethlehem, lived and taught throughout Galilee, and died and rose again. Christ the King is not simply placed in an order, but is before all things, whether they are human kings, dominions, or rulers…all things have been created through him and for him.

For the Colossians, this text functioned as a call to reorient their lives to the One who was before them…to Christ. This passage opened them up to the true power of Christ, who is before all other gods. This passage challenged their assumptions of the power of choice, of human progress, and placed the source of power and ultimate comfort in Christ.

Biblical scholar Ernst Kasemann suggests that this entire passage is actually an early Christian baptismal liturgy. That’s a helpful insight, because it means these words were familiar to the young church at Colossae, and would connect their experience to tradition and God…to their experience of the waters of baptism as a tangible marking of God’s grace. It seems fitting that a patterns for worship would be invoked. For, it is in worship that one may turn away from focusing on self and turn upward toward God, the one who is before all things, and in whom all things hold together. It is in worship that you connect the transcendent with the immanent.

Grace in the World:

Just as I grew up sitting at my grandparent’s table hearing their stories of struggle, it was always couched in the concept of God’s faithfulness. Throughout the stories were refrains of God’s steadfast love, just as the Psalmist couched struggle and praise within the framework of God, so too my grandparents would frame their stories under the Lordship of Christ. In seasons when I struggled to believe in God, and I would often ask my grandparents point blank what got them through such struggles. Their answer was grounded in the First Question and Answer of the Heidelberg Catechism “What is your only comfort and life and in death? That I am not my own, but belong body and soul in life and in death to my faithful savior Jesus Christ.” My grandpa said it was those words that came to him when he was in a ditch with grenades firing over him. My grandma said it was those words that came to her when she struggled to learn English and adjust to life away from her family.

It is those words that are echoed for us in the Epistle Lesson. We need not lose hope because Jesus Christ is before all things and in him all things hold together.
The question of Christ is pressed upon us today as we gather around our Table. The Good News is Jesus Christ is present, holding all things together. Christ is walking with us at the crossroads, in the hospital, in the darkest night. God has been our refuge and strength throughout history, from generation to generation. Through the long nights of World War II, to the present lay offs and financial turmoil. Even if you can’t believe that Christ is present, the Church does, and those gathered here today can have faith for you.

Amidst a world clinging to other powers that are collapsing around us, you have a different story to share. Children of God, you have good news to share. You have a story, a reality, of God’s presence not just to the church in Colossae, but to the generations that have brought us to this day and to the generations that will come after you. What stories will you tell at your table this Thanksgiving?

To Jesus Christ, who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood and made us to be a Kingdom. To him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.

art work by He Qi

Manifesto of Hope

2008-11-11T07:05:00.001-08:00

I've been to enough Presbytery meetings to notice some of my elder colleagues in ministry have lost hope. Just this last week I was at a party celebrating the election, and I heard this complaint that the church is dying yet again.

Many of my young clergy friends have been called by God to serve the church. I've been on a somewhat challenging journey, because God has called me and remains faithful, because the Spirit is moving pointing to something far greater than me, than a denomination, than petty issues. I choose to sit at the table the the catholic church because I believe God is still working, calling us forward, pushing us to be agents of reconciliation. More specifically, I'm choosing to be ordained in the PCUSA Church because I believe God is not done, because the mainline while declining is still present, and God is calling us to remain faithful as a connected Body of Christ.

Here's a draft of what I'm titling a Manifesto of Hope. Feel free to comment. to tweak it. wouldn't it be great if we could send it to General Assembly? I credit my friend Traci for the current language.

-----------------------------------------------------

We know that God is faithful to all generations…
We know our generation is a generation of faith…
We know that the catholic church has been around for thousands of years and isn't going to stop with our generation...
We haven’t checked out of institutions, in denominations, in our own denomination…
We believe that God is still at work…
We believe that our church can and will grow again, and we are ready to watch the Holy Spirit make it happen....

firsts

2008-10-25T15:26:00.001-07:00

The Phillies won the World Series on Wednesday evening! Phillies fever will spread to the paraments and clergy attire on Sunday. Yet another reminder that serving in this context has some unique moments. I'm not in Kansas anymore.

In addition to wearing baseball gear in worship (this is sputton where I grew up), I've had several "firsts" in parish ministry.

1. Baptism Workshop: although I can't baptize until I'm ordained, I had the privilege of walking two families (one with an infant and one with 2 elementary age children) through the baptism workshop. I enjoyed the experience thoroughly. Baptism Sunday included one of every possible baptism: infant, child, and adult. There was tremendous energy and thanksgiving.

2. Interment Service: not to be mistaken for an internment service. The liturgy was simple, some of the pastoral concerns tricky. I'm so thankful to work on a large staff. I now have several interment liturgies, and wonderful colleagues who could answer my questions and help me think through pastoral care.

3. Stewardship Season: this is the main focus of my rotation right now as commitment Sunday is next week. I'm co-teaching a lesson to all of the 6-12 graders tomorrow. 75 youth...we're looking at time, talent, and treasure in the course of 30 minutes. Again, so thankful to have co-teachers on this. I'm also excited about the potential inter generational conversation...parents will hear a stewardship sermon, youth will have a stewardship lesson...hopefully some conversation will occur in families on the car ride home?

Our New Bank

2008-10-01T15:15:00.000-07:00

I have several blog posts churning around in my head. One on the current financial situation and God's economy. One about ministering to those that hold positions of power. One about the importance of mission of outreach in the face of recession and depression. But, the thoughts haven't crystalized quite yet. Maybe they aren't appropriate for a blog post, but rather a conversation or two.

Before the financial shift took place, P and I switched banks for our savings account. Peter found a great bank in Chicago/Detroit/Cleveland called Shore Bank. Their misssion is to be a community development and environmental bank that enjoys a proud heritage of serving Chicago, Cleveland and Detroit. ShoreBank is committed to building stronger communities, creating a healthier environment, and helping its customers achieve financial success. When you bank at ShoreBank, you will experience friendly, expert customer service while also having the satisfaction of knowing that your deposits will have a positive impact in the community.

Check out the history and vision here.

I won't pontificate about the current situation of other banks. It's complex. The solution will be complex. But, I am encouraged that there are alternative options for stewarding money and resources.

Also, if anyone is looking for a helpful budgeting/finance tool: mint.com has become our new friend. I'm visual, and seeing a pie chart of our expenses each month by category is great. The software is free, safe, and great.

Transition into Ministry

2008-09-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

Last week, The Alban Institute posted an article about my job. I hopped onto the web site and found a unique interactive blog.

The report compares the process of becoming a minister with that of physician. One cannot possibly learn all of the skills necessary to enter into the vocation of ministry while in seminary, or alone. Yet, the hope is that experience sets a framework from which a pastor can begin to think. In my experience, Seminary not only provided a framework, but a deep well from which I hope to draw throughout my life.

My position at BMPC is funded by the Lilly Foundation. We are one of over 30 Transition into Ministry programs throughout the country. Unlike some of my colleagues, I've been out of seminary for two years. I worked a variety of jobs, including one in campus ministry. I had to learn how to balance a budget, do some basic accounting for the art gallery/studio I co-managed, and continue reading theology while working crazy hours not in the church. I learned what it meant to volunteer at a church...trying to make time for a committee meeting, or volunteer when I was exhausted after working a double shift.

What I didn't learn over the last two years, and what I hope to learn and live into is pastoral authority, systems thinking, and translating a great theology of xy or z into a Session meeting, committee structure, or program. In essence, putting some legs on my learning.

I hope this blog will delve into some of those questions over the next two years. Perhaps even start a conversation or two here.

photo credit: Lilly Endowment.org

rhythms.

2008-09-06T09:43:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in our new study thankful for the sound and sight of rain today. This last week was hopefully Philly's final heat wave. While friends and family are talking about fall in Michigan, I'm still sweating it out in 90 degree weather.

Today is a day off, and I've been thinking about rhythms. I wrote earlier that Thursday is my week day off...it's been a little strange to work Sunday-Wednesday, have a day off, and then pop back into the office on Friday only to have Saturday off. I'm finding that I just unwind, and then I need to head back in and focus.

Going a bit deeper, I've also been thinking about my rhythm of life here. We've been here seven weeks, and each week has been completely different. Perhaps that's the nature of parish ministry. Yet, I long to find a rhythm...everything is still new, and I'm longing for something familiar to anchor me. Walking and praying has served as such, as has starting Spiritual Direction with a new director.

I've also been thinking about hobbies. I'd like to create something with my hands...as my life often feels too cerebral. I may take basic sewing classes. Joining a choir or taking piano lessons again have also entered my mind. But, I don't want to overcommit and jump into something. So, I'm holding back. Waiting to see what emerges as a strong need and theme.

Looking back, I didn't find a rhythm in Ann Arbor until May...after living there nearly two years.

photo source: caroltaylorquilts.com

New Beginnings

2008-08-14T17:47:00.000-07:00

Pithy facebook updates have taken the place of blogging recently. We moved in the last month. A new state, new apartment, and new job. All good things. I'm enjoying the process of orienting to working one job with an office. More so, working in the midst of a congregation again is exciting. I have tremendous colleagues, and there is good work to do at BMPC and this community.

So, the job of listening to a congregation and exegeting a context has begun. I'm finding my way around town. Walks to work serve as a good transition. Finding a rhythm hasn't come yet. What to do when Thursday is your day off?

In spite of a good start, I do find myself missing the many good friends scattered about the country. We have reunited with several in Philly...but, it will take a time to make new friends, and more effort to remain connected to the old.

New beginnings makes me wistful this evening. It's off to family camp next week, and then the program year kicks off.

We'll see where the blog goes from here.

photo credit: http://www.marcus-lutz.de/bilder/foto/wistful-tree2.jpg

Leaving a Church

2008-05-27T05:40:00.000-07:00

The following is a speech I gave in church on May 25 as part of our church's farewell liturgy.

Melissa Anne asked me to reflect on and share with you what First Presbyterian has meant to members who are leaving in the days and weeks to come. Unlike some of those moving, Peter and I were not born in Ann Arbor, and have experienced First Presbyterian Church as many of the young adults and students who have passed through this congregation over the past 175 years.

We moved to Ann Arbor in August of 2006 from Princeton, New Jersey. Peter was here for a graduate program in Urban Planning at the University of Michigan, and I was in major transition. I had just graduated from Princeton Seminary with my M.Div. Most of my classmates were starting their first calls serving churches, or moving on to PhD programs. While at seminary I was like them, in an ordination process, but in a different denomination, the Christian Reformed Church. Prior to our move, I discerned it was best to leave the denomination of my childhood, the Christian Reformed Church, in order to follow God’s call on me to serve in a denomination that ordained women and was more diverse. So, on at late August Sunday we found our way to First Presbyterian.

Our first visit was on University Sunday. I’ll never forget that first worship service. Seeing so many students involved in worship. I was moved as I sensed an openness and acceptance in this sanctuary. Sanctuary is just the word I would use to describe what First Presbyterian has meant to us. This congregation has been a Holy place, something set apart, and refuge, a place, and community where we have grown in our faith, and then in turn had opportunities to shape others.

Slowly, I settled into the sanctuary, realizing what a gift a place of refuge can be. I came under care of Session to begin the ordination process a second time with their full support and encouragement. Folks invited us to their homes for meals, others invited us to share our gifts in service, and when life became messy, still others prayed for us. As we broke bread, we learned about one another, our greatest passions, questions, and fears. We prayed for each other. We came to experience anew what it means to be part of the Body of Christ.

As we settled into the sanctuary we also served. I found myself teaching Confirmation, and both Peter and I were able to lead Core groups and participate in small group studies and committees. Serving allowed me to express my vocation, and also shaped my identity. It was a privilege to journey with the Confirmation students as they asked great questions about who God is and what it means to be a member of the Church and claim their faith. Likewise, it was a blessing to sit with three amazing college woman…to pray with them each week, study the Bible, read books, and wrestle about who we are and who God is calling us to be.

Each of us leaving First Presbyterian has similar experiences and stories. Whether it was teaching Sunday school, serving on a mission trip, or worshiping regularly. Each of us has our story, our story of faith that was shaped by this community, this Body of Christ, ways in which we served and were served.

Each of us leaving today came to First Presbyterian for different reasons. For some, it was the music and thoughtful worship, the programs for children, or it has been a church home for generations. Each of those aspects point to the deeper connection that keeps us coming back to this sanctuary each week. Christian community. A place where we can stop and rest, and be sent out into the world to serve week after week.

This Sunday is unique. The benediction will resonate with a group of us differently. For many, we are being sent out not just to another week of work, but also to locations scattered about from Minneapolis to Seattle. Leaving this sanctuary feels like the beginning of a pilgrimage. We will each pack up our belongings and trek out to find not just a new grocery store or employment, but also a new community and home…a new sanctuary where we can join yet another extension of the Body of Christ. And, as we go we take our experiences with us, we take the stories and moments here at First Presbyterian that shaped us. We take the friendship and experience of community “as we begin a life on a new strange shore, nourished by the past’s embrace.”1

The rest of you will remain here in this sanctuary. You will continue serving, asking questions, breaking bread. Moving forward on your own pilgrimage, may you welcome strangers who will pass through this sanctuary. As we part ways, may God grant us all traveling mercies. In the words of Anne Lamott “Traveling mercies: love the journey, God is with you, come home safe and sound.”2

1 The Tempest Act V, SI
2 Traveling Mercies p. 106

going public

2008-04-02T05:54:00.000-07:00

I realized I've neglected to update this blog with some exciting news. After applying and interviewing, I'm excited to announce that I've accepted a position as a Pastoral Resident at Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church in Pennsylvania.

The last few weeks have been full of applications, interviews, and discernment.

Easter came early for me this year with an offer from BMPC the Wednesday before Holy Week.

I'm excited to move out of the holding pattern and into full time ministry. The last two years have brought about a lot of good changes...painful oftentimes, but ultimately good.

We'll be leaving A2 at some point in July...details are fuzzy at this point.

I just know that we'll be living above the poverty level for the first time in two years and have health insurance. And, that feels good!

Meanwhile, Peter is wrapping up his last semester and starting the job search in Philadelphia. His graduation is a few weeks away.

I can't believe we're back at this place again. Preparing to move, starting something new, moving forward.

Reading

2008-02-13T06:10:00.001-08:00

I've been reflecting some on challenges the Church faces. I think one of the greatest challenges for the Church, and the mainline in particular is intergenerational ministry. Working with students in campus ministry, I have observed the loneliness and isolation of students and drifting away from community. A young twenty something myself, I've had countless conversations with friends about our generation. Looking ahead to serving the Church as a young clergy woman, I see a difficult path...generational divides, and a great need to strive for intergenerational ministry, a better understanding of what it means to be the Body of Christ.

So, I've decided to read up on these questions.

Tribal Church: Ministering to the Missing Generation by Carol Howard Merritt

Written by a Presbyterian pastor, who also falls into the young clergy women category. I devoured this book last week. It's intelligent, accessible, and would be great for a small group or Session to use in a study.

There's also a great chapter on young clergy and our own struggles. This section in particular resonated with me.

Perhaps I'll review it later. Check out her blog at: TribalChurch.org

After the Baby Boomers by Robert Wuthnow

The sub-title offers a clearer picture of this sociological study: "How Twenty- and Thirty-Somethings are Shaping The Future of American Religion."

I'm only several chapters into this one. It's a primary source to Merrit's book.

Passing on the Faith: Transforming Traditions for the Next Generation of Jews, Christians, and Muslims. edited by James L. Heft, S.M.

Just scratching the surface of this one.

Candidacy

2008-01-23T15:23:00.000-08:00

Last evening I was moved to Candidacy by my Presbytery. I'm still processing the moment, but it was overwhelming to stand before Pastors and Elders after my examination and be welcomed. I feel such a sense of peace, of God's faithfulness, and of gratitude to so many "witnesses" that encouraged me along the way. All night long I kept thinking about the watershed moments in my journey...significant people, nudgings, and places.

I chose the title of this blog, traveling mercies, in my last year of seminary when everything felt up in the air. There's still that sense about life, but I've come to realize we're always traveling, always moving.

Looking ahead, I'll be a candidate for one year. Candidacy is a time for folks to solidify their sense of call and prepare for final assessment. Mine is scheduled for June. At that time I'll preach a sermon and then be orally examined on theology, Biblical literacy, polity, and general character. Looking for a call cannot begin until then, and that's a whole 'nother process.

And, so life goes on!

December 30 sermon

2008-01-07T18:34:00.000-08:00

I had the opportunity to preach at Littlefield Presbyterian Church in Dearborn.

The lectionary texts that week were brutal, but provoking.

Check out my sermon here

Special thanks to Emily for thinking to record and to folks for welcoming me.

CPM and Advent

2007-12-03T20:18:00.000-08:00

It seems fitting that I would approach candidacy during Advent. Tomorrow (Tuesday) I meet with the Committee on Preparation for Ministry (CPM) to move from the Inquiry phase of ministry/ordination toward Candidacy.

I'm excited to meet the committee and have a conversation about this journey. A year ago I was pretty anxious, ready to get on with the process, to "get back on track." At that time it seemed like I was "off track" becauase I wasn't in a call and starting a process all over again in a new denomination.

Now, I'm realizing I'm not off track at all. In fact, this extra time has given me an opportunity to look at my gifts and calling anew outside of seminary and in a new denomination. I've had a chance to live into acceptance...internally. To know and feel more fully the grace and love of God, and hopefully to be able to point to that in new way.

Tonight I'm content. And, I'm approaching this meeting and this season of advent with expectation and hope.

Advent One

2007-12-02T14:51:00.000-08:00

This is a sermon I wrote and preached for a chapel service at Princeton Theological Seminary December 2005. Enjoy.

Isaiah 40:1-11
Comfort Ye

What liturgical season are you? Advent is my favorite liturgical season. During college I came to love Advent as a result of choral music. I converted to Advent during my freshmen year of college. I’ll never forget the first time I sang Handel’s Messiah with the Calvin College Oratorio society. I went through an entire semester rehearsing the piece, often grudgingly, too focused on my range or confidence in my part to understand the piece. During that first performance it all clicked. The progression from the opening “Comfort Ye” to the crescendo of the Hallelujah Chorus through to the end where we proclaimed the worthiness of the lamb who was slain brought me to tears. When I sang the Messiah the first time I got the meaning of Advent in a way I never had before. Singing that piece I finally understood the spiritual anticipation of Advent. I understood in my head and in my heart the significance of Christ and the anticipation of his coming again – they were built into the entire piece.
Today we heard the tenor, soprano, and alto voices proclaiming the opening recitative from the Messiah, Isaiah 40 – “Comfort, O Comfort my people.” This text was originally proclaimed not in a concert hall, but to the Israelites during their long exile in Babylon in the middle of the 6th century BCE. Israel had lost her city Jerusalem, her temple, her entire way of life and threats were bearing down around her new home – Babylon. The sense of despair and lament were evident.
Chapter 40 sits in the middle of this despair and lament, and marks a turn of hope. In this section of the book the anonymous announces to Israel the imminence of her freedom. But before he announces the end of exile, the prophet introduces freedom with words of assurance and hope in Isaiah 40. In this poem God issues the imperative of comfort in the plural to Israel. Through this imperative we are reminded that God will keep God’s word, Israel has paid her penalty, and the period of punishment in exile will soon be over.
As the text progresses several other voices chime in, painting a rich picture of this hope in the form of deliverance. The comfort that God offers is not soft and fuzzy. God does not comfort us with swaddling cloths. No, this comfort is a strong imperative recalling God’s covenant with Israel. As the text goes on we gain a fuller picture of this comfort and of God’s saving act. This comfort is active, one of movement, of journey down the highway through the wilderness. This sense of movement crescendos in verse 9 when yet another command comes forth to “get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings. Lift up your voice with strength O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up do not fear.” Comfort and deliverance are active. The Israelites are gathered up from their despair down the highway of faith, and in turn are called to proclaim their faith. And, in turn, God comes with strength and might, tender and attentive as a shepherd, loving and nurturing as a mother who holds her child to her bosom. The images are powerful. Gathering, traveling, protection, deliverance, and strength. I like to think of this as a circle of love. God reaching out, Israel responding, and so on.
We too live in this circle of love. We all have testimonies of God picking us up, setting us aright, and planting our feet on solid ground. All of us at one point or another have extended an arm of love to our brother or sister. Can I get an Amen?
We live in hope because we know the fulfillment of Isaiah 40 – we know that John the Baptist prepared the way for Christ. We hope because Christ died, Christ rose, and Christ will come again. We know that we could not possibly extend love without first receiving the love of God.
Yet we also know the pain of exile, of life in the wilderness. We know the suffering and weight of grief, the anxiety of future plans, the trauma of crisis, or the uncertainty of transition.
We know and mourn with our brothers and sisters all around the world who are struggling under the weight of warfare, are suffering from AIDS, are sinking under the yoke of tyranny, our earth is groaning under the pressures of our consumption and the list goes on. We live the reality of the already but not yet. We are waiting. We know full well the context of Isaiah 40.
People of God, take comfort, for God is faithful. When our human systems fail us, when we fail ourselves, know that God is strong, God is tender, and God is with us. During this season of Advent remember that God has gathered all of us, God protects us on the highway through the wilderness, and God preserves us. Wait for the Lord, take comfort.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Gratitude

2007-11-21T10:16:00.000-08:00

Tis the season to pause and reflect on bounty and blessing. Since I'm supposed to be doing exegesis for a sermon this Sunday, I'll keep it short.

1. Family: each year I'm thankful for this, but especially this year. My spouse P has been a tremendous support...especially after a marathon of a summer and fall.

2.Jobs: I didn't have a job lined up after CPE and now I find myself with two major jobs and few side projects here and there. Together they pull on my gifts. I'm most thankful for the people I work with/for...my supportive board at True North, great staff at CRS, and the many students I get to hang out with and listen to.

3.Health: other members of my family struggle in this area. I'm so thankful for a healthy mind and body.

4. Shelter: The economy in southeast Michigan is rough right now. I don't take for granted the fact that I have a roof over my head and a great landlord.

Looking over the list, it's pretty standard. I'm realizing that it's the basic things that keep us all going. Happy Thanksgiving!

One Year Since...

2007-10-24T15:35:00.000-07:00

One year ago Monday P and I joined the Presbyterian Church USA. I've blogged about that decision and the vocational consequences.

It seems fitting that one year to the date I would find out the results of the ordination exams that I took in August.

After a nerve wracking day of waiting, I got a phone call at 3:45 with an Elder giving me the glorious news that I passed all four exams! Whoo hoo! I was at work and my dear friend/co-worker Kim and two unsuspecting customers in the store rejoiced with me.

Two days later and I'm still glowing. In my mind the ords are really the last major step I have in this process. Sure, I have to meet with CPM, Presbytery, take Bible content, and wait out the candidacy period, but the ords were the last tangible "task", and now I know I won't ever have to take them again!

This is particularly exciting, because I wasn't sure how I could manage working full time and studying...I did all summer long, but was not inclined to endure that stress again.

My spouse and I celebrated and plan on throwing a little bash in the next few weeks.

Thanks to all of my family and dear friends who encouraged me, who posted on the blog, and who prayed. This entire journey into ministry could not be possible without the Body of Christ.

I'm singing the doxology!

a poem

2007-10-08T05:38:00.000-07:00

My good friend Cari, soon to be Reverend Cari passed this poem along to me. Oh how I wish I could worship at her ordination service next weekend.

Enjoy.

Did the woman say…

Did the woman say,
When she held him for the first time in the dark of a stable,
After the pain and the bleeding and the crying,
“This is my body, this is my blood”?

Did the woman say,
When she held him for the last time in the dark rain on a hilltop,
After the pain and the bleeding and the dying,
“This is my body, this is my blood”?

Well that she said it to him then,
For dry old men,
Brocaded robes belying barrenness,
Ordain that she not say it for him now.

Written by Frances Croake Frank (Quoted by Susan A. Ross, “Theology in Feminist Perspective, edited by Catherine Mowry Lacugna, Harper San Francisco, 1993, 185-183.)