Spanish Lakes Mobile Home Park

Spanish Lakes Community Church

A GLIMPSE OF GOD IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR
Spanish Lakes February 14, 2021 Mark 9:2-9

Barbara De Angelo tells the story of a mother walking by the door of the nursery where her newborn son is sleeping. As she passes by, she notices that her 3-year-old standing at the side of the crib, looking at this new gift which has arrived in the family. She stops to see what might happen, when she hears him softly whisper to his brother, Psst! Hey, Jimmy it's me, your brother, Danny. Tell me what God looks like, I'm starting to forget.

Remind me what God looks like . . , From the lips of the small child in the story, we are reminded of what we know already: it is easy to forget the experience of the presence of God. In fact, it is easy to forget God altogether. And yet we forget at our own peril, for as Augustine writes: Our souls are restless until they find their rest in Thee.

A snapshot: She graduated magna cum laude from her Ivy League university, then at the top of her class at med school. Received the best internship, the most sought-after residency and then the offer to do research at the university. Fifteen years later she has everything she dreamed of, but nothing she hoped for. What she once had counted as success brings no abiding joy. She finds herself saying to the children who play outside the door of her apartment building, Tell me what God looks like I am starting to forget.

A snapshot: At age fifty he is the top vice-president of a Fortune 500 company; six figure salary, last year almost seven with the bonus. Kids are grown and doing well. Life is good; or at least it should be. Except, he knows his company sells products sewn by children in the back alleys of the Kolkata slums. And he is obsessing about his neighbor whose company just downsized him, thinking, If it can happen to him, He is beginning to come to grips with the realization that his wife is not nagging that he really is drinking too much. ;Baby Jimmy, it's your brother, Danny. Tell me what God looks like I'm beginning to forget.

A snapshot: When you asked him how he's doing, he used to say, I'm getting old. Now he just says, I'm old. It takes him until 10:00 each morning to get his body going, and even when he does nothing works as well as it used to or should. It seems only a couple of years ago that he was going to all his friends weddings; nowadays it's their funerals. Most of the time he does pretty well with the reality of his aging, but every now and again this bitter anger rises like bile in the back of his throat: I'm no longer young and strong and in charge and I don't like it one damn bit! Soon he will encounter God and doesn't want to miss any chance to mention how the last days of a long life might have been improved. Baby Jimmy, tell me what God looks like I'm beginning to forget.


A snapshot: They are each thirty-three fast-track careers. Their two-year-old is getting into everything. They've been together seven years, married for five of that. Their marriage used to be filled with laughter, and joy, and passion. They might still love each other, but it's hard to tell. Neither is able to feel much of anything right now. Some days she longs to be a stay-at-home mom, but she doesn't really think that's possible, and even if it were he wouldn't like it anyway. He had an affair with a colleague at work last year, but broke it off quickly when he realized what a jerk he was being. Overwhelming guilt? Yes but more than that; he realizes he really does love his wife and wishes they could recover the laughter, the joy, and the passion. Baby Jimmy, it's your sister and brother. Tell us what God looks like; we have forgotten.

This Wednesday begins the season of Lent. It is an ancient designation in the Church's calendar intended to allow Christians to prepare for the coming of Easter, the joyous celebration of the Resurrection of the Lord. Lent is a time which is neither easy nor joyous but rather is a time when the faithful pray, study, and engage in serious reflection, which leads to repentance and seeking forgiveness.

Poet Brian Andreas writes:
Most people don't know there are angels whose only job
is to make sure you don't get too comfortable and fall
asleep and miss your life. [Angels of Mercy]

Lent is a time when those angels are most active. It is a time to examine the shadowed corners of our lives and begin to do some spring housecleaning. It's also a time to renew our spiritual journey in search of God. What does God look like? We really need to know. The abundance of our lives depends on it. But where do we look for God? The Lord seems to be absent or at least hidden from our everyday lives.

The apostles were dumfounded. They'd been traveling with Jesus for some months now. He had healed the sick, fed the hungry, comforted the afflicted and afflicted the comfortable. Then, according to the gospel writers, he began saying these crazy things, things that confused them, things that just did not make sense to them. He told them that he must undergo great suffering and be rejected that he would be killed and after three days rise again. Peter was shocked (Mk 8:31-3). Lord, no! This can't be possible! And Jesus was so certain that he scolded Peter even compared him to Satan with his well-known, Get thee behind me!

The Bible doesn't say what the others thought about this announcement, but we can imagine that it shook them to the core. Awhile later, Jesus took three of them high up a mountain, and while they were there he was transfigured. In the accounts it is clear that words fail adequately to describe what happened. Apparently, his face changed and his clothes became a dazzling white, such that no one on earth ever could bleach them. Suddenly there were two others with Jesus' two of the most important figures from out of scripture, Moses and Elijah. The apostles were stunned and did not know what to think. Then, as they debated the merits of a building program to commemorate the occasion, a voice rang out from the heavens: This is my son, my chosen one. Listen to him!

Exactly what happened that day on the mountain is a mystery debated by theologians and plain old church folk in every generation, but we know it is a moment that Peter remembers and treasures. Years later he was to write to the churches in Asia Minor as they underwent tremendous persecution. And he recalls this event on the mountain and his experience of the very presence of God calling, This is my son, the beloved, with whom I am well-pleased. When they ask him, What does God look like? Peter cites this event. The memory of it has sustained him through hard times, and he offers it as a source of strength to the churches in Asia Minor.

During the season of Lent we seek out these moments of experiencing what God is like. We need these times to sustain us. They are great spiritual moments that we will remember. But, like the apostles, we can't predict them we never can tell when they will happen. As Blaise Pascal reminds us: Any religion that does not say that God is hidden is not true. Still, we long for these experiences, these encounters with the holy.

Lent is that season when we heighten our search. So, for that reason I charge you to be in reflection regularly over the next several weeks. Why? Because you just might catch a glimpse of God during your quiet time. I pray that happens for someone. In the simple beauty of your solitude, you just might catch a glimpse of God. You may catch sight in a remembered word from the Lord. And, in remembering, your heart may be strangely warmed. As you commune with That- Which-Is-Greater-than-Yourself, you might have a flash of insight. You might find unexpected strength to live with a problem that has been overwhelming you. And when that happens, you can say, Thank you, God, for reminding me what You look like.

My friend, Dan Gilbert, was president of Christian Church Homes for Children and Adults in Kentucky. He tells the story of a board member who had been working as a mentor with the same kid for five years. This man is president of Ashland Oil Company. And at a board meeting, he said, You couldn't pay me to do this for a million dollars; but at the same time, it is the most important and the most rewarding thing I have ever done!

You never know when it might happen in worship, in study, in service but you know that you need the experience of remembering what God is like. In the most unexpected time and place, an angel just may peel back a corner of reality to let you catch a glimpse of eternity. Indeed, in the same way as God spoke on the Mount of Transfiguration, Behold, this is my Son, the Beloved Listen to him! so may it happen for us.

Most people don't know there are angels whose only
job is to make sure you don't get too comfortable and
fall asleep and miss your life. Amen.

Pastoral Prayer:


Today we rejoice in the birthday of Abraham Lincoln, spiritual center of our history, and the sheer fun of St. Valentine's Day.

We pray that You would move us, the American people, closer to the center. Free us, O God, from the fear that corrupts our wisdom for the sake of power; from the fear that trivializes and divides us as a people, especially rich from poor; from the fear that prompts us to make authority our truth rather than truth our authority. And we pray for Your Church, that it may be courageous and compassionate in times that are certain to be uncertain.

Guide, O most merciful Creator, that thinking of rulers the world around. May they not confuse violence with strength or compassion with weakness. May they not use the imperfections of international relations as an excuse to perpetuate them; rather, may they see that the high purpose of governing wisely is to keep hope advancing, to straighten out this tangled world, to help people to be good by their own choosing.

With malice toward none and charity to all, may we all press forward until we can say of this world what we gratefully say of this day You have given us: That it is beautiful beyond any telling of it. Amen.

HOW BIG IS YOUR GOD?
Spanish Lakes Mark 1:29-39 02-07-21

In 1992 Rodney King asked plaintively, Why can't we all just get along? Well, Rodney, for the same reason that Israel and Palestine don't get along, for the same reason 50% of marriages end in divorce, for the same reason human systems fragment into bickering and manipulating factions, for the same reason road rage sparks gunfire even on uncrowded highways, and for the same reason the world has more swords than plowshares: our interests rarely coincide.

We frequently want different things. But even when we want the same thing, we each want to be first in line, sole owner, sole beneficiary, sole claimant to the parents, favor or the bosses attention or the group's applause. Why we are put together this way I do not pretend to know, but we seem to be.

For a brief time at the start of his ministry, Jesus had the capacity to tap into common interests. He drew all who were sick, says Mark, and the whole city,just as on other occasions entire villages came to see him, thousands gathered to hear him, and all spoke well of him.

How did it happen? Jesus spoke honestly to people's deepest needs. He touched their ailments and brokenness. He stepped outside the usual boundaries and tapped into a hunger for inclusion. He saw physical hunger and provided food; he saw spiritual hunger and conveyed a God of mercy. Clearly, He saw and served a God who was big enough for everyone.

Although institution-builders would ascribe to Jesus the narrowest and most particular of motives always identical with their own, conveniently enough the man himself had no discernible agenda, other than to go about doing good. He took no sides other than Gods side. Even though, early on, the Christian movement became obsessed with doctrine and hierarchy, the man himself dodged every plea to declare one idea right or one person more favored.

This was brought home to me when I talked to Rick Lowery this week. He is husband of Sharon Watkins, General Minister and President of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), who delivered the brilliant sermon for President Obama's inaugural prayer service at the National Cathedral back in 2009. Sharon reminded us that Christians do not have a corner on the market for humanity or morality and noted that, in a pastoral word to Christendom, Muslim clerics had characterized the heart of Islam as love of God and love neighbor, directly paralleling Jesus, commandment that “You shall love the Lord you God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength, and your neighbor as yourself.”

Rick said that after the service, eight imams in flowing robes surrounded him and were so excited that she had mentioned this. They said, This is what we have been praying for, and began to hug him with big bear hugs. They said, It is impermissible for a Muslim man to hug a woman not his wife. Will you please pass this hug on to Mrs. Dr. Sharon Watkins?! Yes, the hugging imams know that we have a big God.

In Simon Peters city, all the sick and possessed could discover their common cause and stream toward Jesus. The whole city could gather around the one door. This could happen because Jesus was healing the sick. He wasn't using their ailments to build his ministry or to pronounce judgment on them. He simply said to the sick and weary, Come to me. And, since at some level we all are sick and weary, they came. That is the true engine of faith not to be right, not to be first, but to be known and loved as we are. We will accept less, but our hearts will never be satisfied with less.

Today's story wherein Jesus first heals Peters mother-in-law is quite simple. They asked, and he did it. Calmly, with no fanfare, he took her by the hand and lifted her up, and the fever left her.

It always has intrigued me how matter-of-factly Mark tells this story. Jesus sees a need and acts. No trumpets; no rush of attendants; no flurry of e-mails, or telephone calls, or tweets with their look-at-me message; no drama-queens or drama-kings; no searching for applause. Just a need seen and an action taken.

I find myself wondering how many other times Jesus quietly changed the course of human lives just by doing what needed to be done. He wasn't seeking public renown or acclaim. In fact, he avoided it as a dangerous distraction. He just went about doing good.

I have to admit that I also wonder if modern history would have been significantly different if Christians had put on fewer parades and spectacles, built fewer edifices, held fewer political rallies, and simply gone about doing good. We wouldn't compete with rock stars; but their fame is fleeting, whereas a life saved changes many lives.

No matter, what's done is done. Going forward, we can learn from Jesus quiet can-do confidence. We don't need to compete for public acclaim. We just need to go about our business -- praying quietly, serving our families, treating other people decently, standing with the victim and outcast whether or not anyone notices. The world is made appreciably better when everyday people simply do good.

As a pastor over the course of some 40 years, I have been applauded and ignored. Sometimes I have felt like a rock star, and sometimes I have felt invisible. But, this much I know: when the applause came, it never was about me; it was about the one needing to give the applause. And the best ministry I have ever done, no one noticed at all. (My late theology professor wife, Jane, used to say she did her best teaching when she was out of the room.)

Scripture offers us invaluable insights for living faithfully. Mark records a wonderful balance between Jesus public and private life. Jesus goes on retreat, then he heals the sick. He withdraws to pray, then he visits the lonely and the lost. He goes up on the mountaintop to be with God, and then, even when Peter tries to get him to stay there, he goes back down into the valley to save and serve the people.

This is the perplexing center of what is called the Messianic secret in Marks Gospel. Even though his ministry is public and intended to be exemplary, Jesus routinely goes off to private places to escape the crowds and to pray, and he commands those who know him to tell no one about him.

One reason, it seems, is to avoid a premature exposure that will galvanize his opponents. But the other reason, I suspect, is to remain clear about why he is doing what he is doing. It isn't for applause or recruitment; he does good for its own sake. He does good because the Godly life requires one to do good, to give away without any expectation of notice or reward.

The purest form of such giving happens in private, where the only benefits gained are self-understanding and maybe an expression of gratitude; and we can learn to live without the gratitude. What we do in order to be seen undermines the value of what we do. The 2:00AM feeding is about love; high visibility helicopter-parenting is about applause.

So, I say this to you: Take heart. It doesn't matter whether you are a star. God sees the good you do.

When Jesus repaired to a lonely place in prayer, it was not to escape. There is no escape. Just as the disciples found Jesus and brought with them the needs of many others, so life's problems have a way of finding us out. The point of repairing to a deserted place is not to escape life's problems, but rather is to gather the resources to return to them.

This is what one of my friends learned when he visited a Quaker sabbath meeting with their wonderful service of silence. He was unacquainted with that particular practice, and as he sat in silence at the beginning of worship, he leaned over to a young woman and quietly asked, When does your service start? to which she replied, As soon as our worship ends. That's exactly the right spirit: Our service starts as soon as our worship ends.

People try lots of ways to escape the problems that life brings. They drink too much, lose themselves in mindless entertainment, turn against other people, especially those closest to them, declare themselves above it all, worry about blame, and walk out. Having tried several of these escape routes through the years, I can testify to their uselessness. The only way to resolve a problem is to deal with it.

We all need to unlearn a cruel, Oscar-winning song that a cartoon cricket sang in 1940, when the Great Depression was in its tenth year and the world was poised for global conflagra-tion. Walt Disney was selling escapism, not dealing with life, when he told us that When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.

Fraud! Fraud, I say! Dreams come true, instead, when we do the hard work of making them happen, including the hard work of addressing the flaws of other people, the flaws of our institutions, and, most particularly, the flaws inside ourselves. I doubt that Jesus spent his prayer time wishing on a star, but rather confessing his doubts and seeking strength from God.

Then he left his deserted place, returning to the ministry of proclamation and healing that would, within just a few months, claim his life. He could not remain in isolation, but simply returned to the people and went about doing good, serving a God bigger than you or I can imagine. Amen.

PASTORAL PRAYER: Eternal Spirit, from whom all things come and in whom all things consist, grant us, who are spirits, that we may worship You, who are Spirit, in spirit and in truth. You are very great. Our imaginations cannot find You out, for our thoughts are not Your thoughts, nor are our ways Your ways. Make us humble in our worship. Make us modest in our beliefs. Even when we face the outer world that our eyes behold and our hands handle, we are like children beside the sea, unable to infer its depths or to understand its compass. How much more, then, are You, O God, than our slender ways of thinking! How high are You lifted up beyond our imagining!
Yet save us from our inadequate thoughts concerning You. For You have revealed Your quality to us. You have spoken to us by seers who have loved beauty and seen visions of goodness and truth. If we pluck up a drop out of the ocean, while it does not contain the depth and range of the seas vastness, still it does reveal the sea's nature. So we would dignify our small thoughts of You and rejoice that they are a revelation of the Eternal. So, once more in the courts of Your sanctuary would we see the light of the knowledge of Your glory in the face of Jesus.
We do not stand before You in our petition, O God, as though reminding You of things You have forgotten, or as though, better than You are, we were pleading with You to work righteousness and mercy that You have not been good enough to work. Rather, we think of You like the sun, whose nature it is to give, but whose giving is stopped by our shuttered windows. We would open ourselves to You. If we are spiritually poor, it is our fault, not Yours. You are rich toward us! Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and the knowledge of God! How unsearchable are Your judgments, and Your ways past tracing out. We would be responsive to You. We would seek in Your presence the spirit of appreciation and appropriation and possession that we may be rich toward You.
We bring before You our varied estates and conditions, that we may see as in Your sight the problems of our lives:
We remember the needs of our bodies. O God in heaven, who knows that we have need of all these things necessary for the flesh, resolve our anxieties. If some here reading in Your word that they are not be anxious saying, What shall we eat? or What shall we drink? or Wherewithal shall we be clothed? yet find themselves overridden and oppressed by their anxiety, we pray that You will help them. You solve our outward problems by giving us inward thoughts and new courage. Reconstruct our spirits as we face the difficulties of this present world. Give us a better point of view about our lives. Grant within us a new heart and a transformed mind so that some dismayed and beaten souls may be inwardly rebuilt and sent out with a new vision, fortitude, and wisdom to handle their lives.
We bring to You the problems of our minds. O God who has told us that we are to love You not only with all our hearts but with all our minds as well, we ask that some light may break in upon our thinking today. Illumine some shadowed places. Let the radiance of Your wisdom shine upon some darkened, bewildered, and perplexed thoughts. Give us the clue to the labyrinth that we have missed thus far. O, Resolver of Riddles, clarify our thoughts.
We bring to You the problems of our characters. Almighty God, dwelling in light inaccessible, can You know how much easier it is to see the ideal than to follow it, how much easier to understand duty than to do it, how much easier to behold the obligation of service than to fulfill it? Have mercy upon us, Your wayward and transgressing servants. We would rise this hour into one of our better moods. We would be lifted above our commonplaceness, elevated above our mediocrity, that in the high altitudes of the Spirit we may live so well that we may go forth refreshed in soul to lay hold of life once more with cleaner hands, purer hearts, and clearer minds.
We bring to You the problems of our friendships. For all those dear and deep relationships of life where we are bound to one another in sincere affection, we offer our thanks. For fatherhood and motherhood, for the dear relationships of marital life, for sons and daughters, we pray to You. If today homes are represented where a rift has begun, give guidance and comfort and a better temper. Save us all from that arch treachery, the betrayal of love. Give us elevation of Spirit and wisdom of mind in dealing with our friendships. Lift up our appreciation of them, even as we come before You. May all that is dear and excellent and beautiful in human life find new value because we have worshipped You, from whom all beauty comes; and send us out to be better friends for the simple reason that we have walked for awhile in the friendship of Christ.
We bring to You the problems of the great world of humankind. It is sometimes easier to believe in You than to believe in one another. As we look at the corruption of our lives, the squalor of our thought, the viciousness of our deeds, we are tempted to skepticism and cynicism, not so much about You, as about humankind. Reconstruct in us, because we have worshipped You this day, a new faith in humanity. Help us to look upon women and men with something of the eyes of Christ. O Son of God and Son of Man, what did we not do to You, even nailing You to a cross!, and yet You still believe in us, in our possibility and our destiny. Lift us up to see others, and so to have a new faith in humankind, so that we may go out restored in confidence that justice can conquer greed, that peace can overcome war, that love is stronger than hate, and that life is mightier than death.
We ask it all in the name of Christ. Amen.

. GOOD NEWS TO THE OPPRESSED . . .
Spanish Lakes 12-20-20 Isaiah 61:1-11

What would good news sound like to you? I recently read a story about a couple who won two major lottery games on the same day. The odds of their good fortune compute out to something like 24 trillion to one. Their winnings were in the neighborhood of 16 million dollars. Please understand, I am not fan of state-sponsored gaming. It is a regressive tax which penalizes the poor. But if you live paycheck to paycheck, 16 million dollars might sound like pretty good news.

Or, the test comes back: There is no cancer. Good news! The high school senior opens the envelope: I am happy to inform you that you have been accepted . . . Good news! The interview ends: We would like you to come to work for us. Good news!

A few weeks back, I saw a woman I hadn't seen for a couple of years. She has a son I know from a church awhile back, and that son lives pretty close to the edge. Where's David now,I asked? I don't know; but, if you see him, would you give me a call? I know what good news would be to her.

Needing to hear good news means that something is not the way it is supposed to be. We would have no need for good news if we felt no pain, no fear. Who would long to hear good news if we experienced no struggle, no doubt, no anxiety, no hunger of body or soul?

Scholars tell us that this portion of the book of Isaiah is the work of a prophet who speaks to the people of Israel as they return from exile in Babylon. They are going home. But, as may be true for some of us as well, while going home is a blessing, it is decidedly a mixed blessing.

The good news is they no longer are captives in a strange land. No longer do they have to wonder if God has abandoned them. Home they are going home. Spend some time with someone who has been a prisoner of war; spend some time with someone who has been imprisoned unjustly. Ask them what the word home means to them. To the captive people of Israel, the news of their freedom is the best of all possible news. It was good news, when the prophet said [Isaiah 61:1]:

The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord
has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news
to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to
proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners
Good news! To people held captive, words like liberty and release sound like good news. They are going home.

But it was true then, just as now, that going home is a mixed blessing. Going home did not make everything right. Fields they left behind decades ago now belonged to someone else. Cities were in ruin. The temple, the very heart of their life as a people, was reduced to a pile of rubble. Home, yet not home; free, yet not free. What would good news sound like to people who found they could not simply recapture the past, they could not just go back to life as it had been? They were home, but it surely didn't seem like home. The prophet said that what God had in mind was a new future:
Strangers shall stand and feed your flocks.
Foreigners shall till your land and dress your vines.
But you shall be called priests of the Lord.
You shall be named ministers of our God;
You shall enjoy the wealth of the nations,
and in their riches you shall glory. [61:5-6]

Hope is an act of the imagination. It is the ability to see the world, not just as it is, but the way God intends for it to be. We all know how things are too much hunger, too many people living in fear, too much destruction and hurt, too much indifference, too much disease. Remember the story of the teacher at Columbine High School who stayed in the building to help others escape when he, himself, could have escaped? He remained with a colleague who was fatally wounded so that he would not be alone when he died. That brave teacher died of cancer just a couple of years after that. Forty-four years old. I need to hear a little good news.

Can you imagine a world being any other way? Can you imagine a world in which no one is lonely, no one is hungry, no one is afraid? Can you imagine a world in which everyone is valued, everyone is respected, everyone is loved? Can you imagine a world in which the strong care for the weak, the rich share with the poor? Can you imagine a world in which nations create, instead of weapons of mass destruction, (and this is not my phrase, but how I wish it was) weapons of mass salvation, in which the resources of this good earth are directed towards curing and healing? I'm not talking about blind, naïve optimism here. I'm talking about hope that is born of faith. And faith is not a nice, fuzzy feeling for when everything is going swimmingly; no, faith is a conviction that staggers to its feet to stand upright when things are at their worst.

I think this is true: people who cannot imagine such a world can never really understand the Bible. People who cannot muster up any holy imagination will never really understand the Church or the Christian faith. And a church that cannot imagine such a world will never have any good news to share.

The enemy of hope is resignation, that deep-down conviction that things will always be the way they are – nothing will ever change; nothing will ever be any different. If God has an enemy, this is what the enemy whispers in our ear: I have no good news.

Why would we ever believe that things will ever be other than as they are? Some will laugh at us; the sophisticated will call us romantic and idealistic. They are wrong. No one knows more about the hard, painful realities of life than the Church. What makes us different is that we have caught just a glimpse of something different. The curtain has been drawn back just an inch or two, and we have seen what can be . . . what will be. We see it most clearly in the life of One Person. That's why we follow him; that's why we celebrate his birth.

Forgiveness, justice, mercy, compassion it's little wonder that Luke remembers that the first sermon Jesus ever preaches begins this way [Luke 4:18ff.]:
The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has
anointed me; He has sent me to bring good news to the
oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim
liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners . . .
It's little wonder that John says that Jesus coming into the world is like the appearance of light: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. [John 1:5] It's like creation is happening all over again.

We can imagine a world that is different because we have seen it we have tasted it. We know what kind of world God wants. We know what kind of world God wills. And because God wants it and wills it, we know what kind of world will be . . . eventually. Good news!

The truth is, we see signs of that world all around us: acts of mercy, people forgiving those who have harmed them, people working for justice and not for themselves, but for others people living in peace, praying for peace, working for peace.

We imagine a world that we cannot create on our own. That's what the Church means when we say that Christ must come again. We need God-with-us to heal the world. But, what we can do, here and now, is to be a sign of God's new day a light in the darkness, the presence of Christ in a world that longs for good news.

No one in our time has done this more powerfully and with more conviction than Oscar Romero, martyred bishop of El Salvador, who writes:
It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long
view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts; it is
even beyond our vision. We accomplish in our lifetime
only a fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is
God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of
saying that the Kingdom lies beyond us. No statement
says all that could be said. No prayer fully expresses
our faith. No confession brings perfection. No
pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accom-
plishes the Church's mission. No set of goals and
objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about: one person plants a seed in
the soil; another waters it. We plant seeds that one day
will grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing
that they hold future promise. We lay foundations that
will need further development. We provide yeast that
produces effects beyond our capabilities. We cannot do
everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing
it. This enables us to do something and do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along
the way, an opportunity for God's grace to enter and do
the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the
difference between the Master Builder and the worker:
we are the workers, not the master builder ministers,
not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.


So, here's good news for the Church. We do not have to heal the world. We just have to begin. Plant a seed. Water a seed someone else has planted. And here's good news for the world. God will . . . in God's good time . . . heal us all. Let the Church say: Amen.

THE PASTORAL PRAYER:
O God, whom we trust, but do not fully understand; whom we love, but surely not with all our hearts; give us, we pray, not the kind of Christmas we want, but he kind we need.
We live with a sense of crowdedness;
remind us of the providence that marks even a sparrow's
fall.
We live with a shrinking sense of personal worth;
remind us of abiding purposes in which all that comes to
pass partakes of the eternal.
We live with a sense of wrongs committed and good undone
or unattempted;
remind us that for such the shepherd seeks, our God waits.
Our souls take their rest, O God, in the joy of what You are. Let it be enough that You are for us, with us, and within us.

O God who sent Your Son to be among us so that the Word might be made flesh, bless with Your favor and encouragement those in our time who would flesh out the scriptures and make credible the gospel to an unbelieving age:
all who earnestly work for peace;
all who deliberately live on less than they might in order to
share with those who have less than they need;
all who make it their business to plead the cause of the
orphan, the prisoner, and the oppressed;
all who stand up in any company to challenge racial slurs
and to expose prejudice;
all who have trained themselves to listen with genuine
concern to those who need an outlet for their grievances and
cares;
all who have gone to the trouble of learning the gospel well
enough to be able to share it with others.
O God, who has shown us clearly in the drama of Bethlehem that words alone aren't enough, help us productively to couple what we say with what we are and do, lest our rhetoric outrun our deeds.

O God, who has chosen the weak things of the earth to confound the mighty:
give us, Your people -- so susceptible to size, so easily
impressed by worldly rank and scope give us, O God, an
eye for mangers tucked away in stables, and an ear for truth
whose only fanfare is the rippled intuition of the heart.
Visit the sick with the quiet assurance of Your care.
Encircle the bereaved with Your warming, healing presence.
Point out markers on the trail for those who have lost their
way.
And douse with the cold water of common sense any who
might this very day be on the verge of some destructive or
self-destructive action or decision.
These things we ask through Christ Jesus, our Lord. Amen.

I AM A VOICE!
Spanish Lakes 12-13-20 John 1:6-8;19-28

We all know how it feels to lose your voice. One morning you awaken with that little tickle in your throat. Somehow that cup of hot tea or the sip of water or the Hall's cough drop during the day just doesn't take care of it. You find yourself clearing your throat and giving that little cough now and then, but somewhere in the back of your mind you know that you're in for it. Perhaps it will just be the sniffles; but that persistent tickle tells you that your throat is in for it, and at the worst you will lose your voice.

Now, losing your voice is at least an inconvenience, and it forces us to fully appreciate the most basic form of communication, maybe the most ancient of gifts that makes cultured humanity possible. But for a preacher, losing your voice is the ultimate nightmare. The preacher's role is one of giving voice, of making the connection between scripture text, prayer, and the present moment in life.

For anyone, being unable to speak -- unable to give voice to our understandings, intuitions, and deepest longings -- is devastating at the deepest level. Trust me; I know. It was the most frustrating and cruelest part of Margaret's illness. When we lose our voice, we feel we have lost something fundamental to living and maintaining relationships. We feel the tension of struggling to communicate our experiences, and if the silence lasts long enough, we experience an urgency for the inner word to break forth and be heard.

Hold onto this thought as we reflect on the gospel reading for this morning and as we think about this enigmatic figure, John the Baptist. To us he seems a very strange character. He must be important, though, because John the gospel writer has chosen to begin his gospel with his story. Not with angels or shepherds or wise men, but with the straightforward declarative sentence: There was a man sent from God whose name was John.

The religious authorities were curious about him as well. We find a group of priests and Levites questioning him, trying to get a handle on his identity. “Who are you, John? You have come out into the desert preaching the coming judgment of God and baptizing those who receive your message as a sign of repentance. You look, act, and sound like one of the prophets of old. We are looking for Messiah; perhaps you are he. Or perhaps Elijah, or the prophet who will come before the messianic age begins. Who are you?” they ask. And we, curious as well, stand on tiptoe and lean in so that we might overhear their conversation.

But John disclaims these specific traditional roles. He does not reject the prophetic process and, in fact, identifies himself with the prophetic voice of Isaiah, one crying in the wilderness. John simply declares, I am a voice!
John is the voice who heralds or announces the coming of God's chosen one who the gospel will go on to reveal is Jesus of Nazareth. Out of his love for God, his deeper prayer and reflection in the desert, John has found a word rising up from within himself. In the manner of the prophets of old, John has recognized in it all the movements of God. He intuits God's purpose in the present moment that will affect the future of the lives of the people, and that intuition just has to be spoken. He becomes the voice that gives urgency that attracts and, for some who hear, transforms.

Does God's purpose change? Do you think that the function of being the voice ended with this man John? No; Jesus not only took up the message of the arrival of the kingdom of God, but he is that One to whom John gave witness. Do you think that God means that the proclamation of the nearness of the kingdom should be silenced? Should that voice be silent in the wildernesses of our world? Of course not! God intends for the proclamation to continue in all times and in all places. And, my dear friends, that is precisely why we are here.

The Christian community is intended to be the continuing voice, the herald of Christ. By our baptism we are each called to be a witness to the light of the Christ who has come into our lives. We gather each Sunday as witnesses to it; but do we realize that God has called each of us to answer along with John, “I am a voice!

Even if we have apprehended that as Christians we are called to be a voice, all too often we develop spiritual laryngitis. What is it that blocks us? What keeps us from claiming our role?

Well, one thing is passivity. We gather for worship; we come to church to get something, forgetting that whatever worship gives to us is meant to enable us to act once we go outside these walls. All too often, we find that we have exchanged the stirring hymn, “Lead on, O King Eternal, for the old show biz song, Let Me Entertain You.

Second, we can't imagine that it is us ordinary people whom God has chosen to announce the kingdom to a waiting world. Surely God has the wrong person! Surely it must be for the professionals with a formal role, not little old me! There is a sense in which this is not a new problem. Everyone in the scripture whom God chose is recorded as regarding himself or herself as unworthy for and unequal to the task. From Moses saying, Who am I that I should go before Pharaoh? [Exodus 3:11], to Isaiah crying out, Woe is me for I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people with unclean lips [Isaiah 6:5], to Mary exclaiming, Why hast thou regarded the lowly estate of thy handmaiden [Luke 1:48], to Peter moaning, Lord, depart from me, for I am a sinful man [Luke 5:8], to St. Paul complaining, I am the most unworthy of all to be considered an apostle, [1 Corinthians 15:8], an overwhelming sense of unsuitability for the task almost seems to be a prerequisite for being used by God. If you feel inadequate, you are in good company -- and don't you ever forget it!

Fear is a third component in our spiritual laryngitis. We are afraid to trust our intuitions of the presence, goodness, and providence of God that come to us throughout our daily lives as we say our prayers and live out the best we know. We dismiss as insignificant the witness to the light of Christ that we ourselves have experienced. Either we feel that it is too little or that everyone else has had that same kind of experience. Jesus isn't asking you to be a million-watt lighthouse, just a lamp on a lamp stand [Matthew 5:14-16]. But if you put a hundred lamps together, they can make a pretty bright light!

The last component of our laryngitis is our forgetfulness. We forget that the work of salvation continues to be God's work, that we are called to point to it, and to walk in it, but that God alone is the one who accomplishes it. It is easy to be consumed by the dailiness of what is right in front of us and thus to forget God's track record, with us. And when we do that, all too often we confuse being the messenger with being the message.

What word is welling up within you today you know, the one you can't ignore of argue yourself out of the one that keeps coming back and nagging at you? The one that keeps returning to me, despite a horrendous year in which I lost my mother-in-law, my step-mother, and my wife all in a span of three months, is this: Despite it all, by God's grace alone, I am still standing. And all evidence to the contrary aside, GOD IS STILL GOD, AND I THANK AND PRAISE GOD FOR THE CONTINUAL GOODNESS AND LOVE WHICH YOU HAVE MADE MANIFEST IN MY LIFE! Without God made manifest through others, through you -- I simply could not stand.

Maybe our encounter with John the Baptist will help us to hear God's call today. And not just to hear it, but go on an be it . . . maybe we can go on to answer, along with John, that we too are voices crying out the good news in a world that still is counting on someone to shout it from the rooftops!

Rise. Answer that call. Be that someone. Be that voice! Amen.



THE PASTORAL PRAYER:
O God, who is our light and our salvation, enable us to enter into and abide in the secret place of the Most High, and may the shadow of the Almighty be our covering defense. Bring us close to things that are infinite and eternal. Grant us grace to behold the heavenly vision, that in the strength of it we may do the work of life without haste and without weariness.
With gratitude we make mention of the blessings which You so bountifully bestow upon us. We thank You for this day of rest and gladness and ask that we may learn to use it for Your glory, for the enrichment of our lives, and in the service of others. We thank You for Your church; its beauty feeds our souls, its quiet searches and solemnizes our hearts, its associations revive memories of some whom we have loved long since and lost awhile. We thank You for liberty of worship, an open Bible, and, remembering how dearly they were bought, we ask You to forgive us that we have prized them so little.
Most of all we thank You for Christ Companion of the brave, Comforter of the sad, Refuge of the tempted, Friend of the fallen. Teach us to understand what was meant of old when he was called the power of God unto salvation, for our world stands sorely in need of salvation – from fear, from despair, from malice. And we too need salvation. We have learned that we cannot save ourselves. So, gracious God, do for us that which we cannot do. Help us to conquer hopeless brooding and faithless reflection. Fill us with a more complete trust in You, and stir up within us a desire for a more wholehearted surrender to Your will.
Make us to be at peace with all humankind: gracious in temper, generous in judgment, kind in word and in deed, quick to sense and to understand the needs and feelings of others. In our home life make us loving to one another, tenderhearted and considerate. Lift before us now a picture of what we should be and what we should do, and keep it before us when we take up again our daily tasks.
We pray for our nation and all who are entrusted with the administration of its affairs. Take away from us the spirit of class war and prejudice. Let the disputes and differences that have arisen among us have a speedy and fair settlement, and may justice be established among us.
We pray for our church and for all churches, that we may have strength for our tasks, wisdom for our responsibilities, and a message adequate to the demands of these days. We pray for any of our number who have met with affliction or who have come face to face with great sorrow; for those who are passing through the fires, that they may not be burned; for those who are in deep waters, that they may not be swept away; for those who are inwardly tormented, that Your life may flow into theirs with healing and tranquilizing power, to the end that they may go out to praise Your name and declare Your wonderful works.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

CONFESSIONS OF A GO-EEP Christ the King Sunday
Spanish Lakes 11-22-20 Matthew 25:31-46

This morning we find ourselves in a scene from the final judgment where Jesus will be sitting on the heavenly throne as king and judging the people of every tribe and nation. But if judgment day is going to be anything like Jesus describes here, then I'm afraid I'm going to cause him a bushel of problems.

It's not that I want to be a troublemaker; it's just that I don't fit neatly into either one of those categories Jesus describes. When Jesus sits as king on his throne and says to me, Make your case, I'll surely answer, Well, Lord, there were times when I fed the hungry; some times I did clothe the naked; and at various times I did visit those in jail and in the hospital.

And the king will respond, Sounds to me like you were a good and decent sheep; come, stand here at my right side.

But before I can get over there, my big mouth will keep right on running, and I'll say, But, Lord, there were other days way too many of them, Lord when I stuffed myself while others went hungry; there were nights I sat in my nice, warm house while others slept in their cold car; and there were people asking for just a little money to make ends meet whom I turned away or ignored.

Then the king will say, Hmmmm . . . yes, I see; that does rather have the character of a goat, doesn't it? Now, what am I going to do with you, put you at my right hand or my left . . .?

You see the problem I'm going to cause?! I'm not 100% sheep; but I'm not a pure-bred goat, either. What I really am is a go-eep a half breed. I'm fit for neither the right hand nor the left hand of the king.

Any other go-eeps out there? I thought so. So, what is the King going to do with us go-eeps on judgment day? It unnerves me a little to say this, but when you're having doubts about buying something, conventional wisdom says you don't pick it up. I am praying that on that day God's grace will abound, and God will go ahead and pick me up!

But just in case God is inclined to let the go-eeps go, maybe we can hedge our bets just a little. Jesus tells this parable about the goats and the sheep, and the criteria that will be used to judge who is which. And we can't help but be shocked by what he says. Jesus himself says we'll be shocked. He says that the goats and the sheep are dumbfounded by the criteria that he uses for separating them one from the other. And it's simply this: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and sick, and you took me in and cared for me. And the goats and the sheep will say together with one voice: Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or needy and take you in?!

Now, you kind of expect the goats to be dumbfounded by these criteria. After all, they probably didn't get to church very much to find out about Jesus, so how would they recognize his face in the hungry and the naked and the sick?

But the real surprise is that the sheep are dumbfounded as well. They were in church every Sunday and know about Jesus and recognize his face. But when they brought groceries for the food pantry, or pounded a nail for Habitat for Humanity, or rang a bell for the Salvation Army kettle at Christmas, they didn't realize they were serving the king. Lord, when did we see you! I was there! I'm just sure I didn't see you there!

The sheep can't remember doing any of those things. They just acted in kindness and compassion that came naturally to them. They weren't looking for credit or recognition; they weren't concerned about adding up brownie points for the day of judgment. When need arose, they just lent a helping hand.

One of the reasons they can't remember seeing Jesus is that the things they did didn't seem worthy of much attention. They weren't big things, just simple things like providing a meal, or giving a toy or a sweater, or hammering a few nails for Habitat or Housing Partnerships, or dropping a few coins in a Salvation Army kettle, or going to visit someone in the hospital, or giving a call to cheer up a nursing home resident. Nothing really big, no visions, no angelic visitation, and certainly none of the people they saw or helped looked like Jesus.

In this little parable, Jesus isn't demanding extraordinary action. He's not asking us to give exorbitant gifts to the poor; he's not asking us to give our homes to the homeless; he's not asking us to become chaplains at the hospital. We simply are asked to show compassion to those who are in need. As Ma Bell used to say, Reach out and touch someone . . . Like an apple tree whose nature it is to bear apples, the sheep reach out to help those in need in so natural a manner that it is hardly noticeable even by them.

Anyone who has been touched by the grace of God surely knows the kind of rebound effect it creates acts of kindness that we call, amazing grace that saved a wretch like me. It is God's grace that opens our eyes to the plight into which people fall; and it is that same grace that impels us to do acts of kindness, that give hands and feet to our faith. This is what the letter of James is getting at when he writes: Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes or daily food. If you say, Go; I wish you well; keep warm and be well fed, but do not do anything about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, unless it is accompanied by works, is dead. In other words, faith naturally responds with acts of kindness.

Ray Nichols, bishop in the Methodist Church, was raised in a black church where there was a lot of enthusiasm during the service lots of praising and shouting and jumping. But his mother once told him, It isn't so much how high you jump, it's what you do when you land. There is a lesson there for all of us. As Jesus said, By their fruits shall you recognize them.

John Jackson, a hunger activist over in Orlando, described an event that he witnessed one day outside a local distribution center:
The line was very long, but moving briskly. And in that
line at the very end stood a young girl, about twelve years
old. She waited patiently as those at the front of the line
received a little rice, some canned goods, or a little fruit.
Slowly, but surely, she was getting closer to the front of
the line, closer to the food.
From time to time, she would glance across the street.
She did not notice the growing concern on the faces of
those distributing the food. The food was running out.
Their anxiety began to show. But she did not notice.
Her attention was focused on three figures under the
tree across the street.
At long last she stepped forward to get her food. But
the only thing left was one lonely banana. The
workers were almost ashamed to tell her that was all
that was left. But she did not seem to mind. She was
genuinely happy to get the solitary banana.
Quickly she took the precious gift and ran across the
street to where three small children waited, probably
her sisters and brothers. Very deliberately she peeled
the banana, and very carefully divided it into three equal
parts. Placing the precious food in the eager hands of
the three younger ones: One for you, and one for you,
and one for you.
And then she sat down and licked the inside of that banana
peel. And, says John, I swear I saw the face of God!

What does he mean when he says, I swear I saw the face of God -- that she had an angelic face? Of course not. What he means is that this young girl's actions mirrored what we know of God in Jesus Christ. She gave everything so that others might be filled. Had you asked her why she shared all of the banana with her brother and sisters and took one for herself, no doubt she would have said, They needed it more than I did. Just that simple; just that generous; just that kind. But it was the face of God.

One day while I was serving my first church out of seminary, I got a call from one of my members asking if we had any extra money to get bus tickets to Lexington so three migrant workers could meet relatives there. Well, we were a small congregation without a lot of discretionary income, so I had to say, We really don't have that, but if you give me a few minutes I'm pretty sure I can come up with something. And he paused and said, Naw, I have a car, and I'm not really tied up this afternoon. I'll just take them on up. Thanks anyway.

Later when I caught up with him, I mentioned that he had gone to a lot of trouble for folks he didn't know. It was about a hundred mile round trip to Lexington. And he said, Oh, it wasn't really any trouble. I realized when I was standing there asking you for bus tickets from church money, Hey, I have a car, and I'm a Christian; so why don't I just drive them on up there myself? It wasn't any big deal. They just needed some help. And I thought, too, that if I were in the same situation, I would hope that somebody would help me out.

Now someone will be asking if the down and out deserve to be helped. Do they deserve the free food or the free ride? I am sure that often they do, but you know, that's one question that Jesus never asks. When at the end of the world the King sits upon his glorious throne as the nations are gathered for judgment, his criterion for judgment will be whether or not we have done something for the least of these, and hence have done it for him.

That is what the King will say, but it appears he will have nothing to say about whether they were deserving or worthy or were even themselves righteous nothing at all. That seems not to even enter the calculation. The truth is, we are doing it, not for the other person, but for the King and he is worthy; and that is enough.

What we see finally is that we live by that promise Jesus gave us, Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I describe the Golden Rule as a promise, because it really does express, I think, the judgment Jesus uses in this parable of the sheep and the goats: I will judge you as you have done unto others.

Will we be found to have treated others as Christ has treated us? Jesus doesn't ask too much of us here just a natural kindness and compassion shown to others in need. We think of it as no big deal; but one day it will be a big deal when we stand in astonishment asking, Lord, when did we serve you?

Until then, I'm hoping that all us go-eeps, all us half-breeds, will bear fruit that just comes naturally in behalf of the least of these. Amen and Amen.


The Pastoral Prayer:

Eternal God, high and lifted up and yet within us all, with dutiful and adoring hearts we come to worship You. We, who through another week have too much looked down on things beneath would turn our eyes to things above. We, who too often have contented ourselves with things that serve us, would now look to things that have the right to command us. We would be carried out of ourselves by something greater than ourselves to which we give ourselves.
Lift us up, we would ask, in a spirit of adoration. Help us to see in life whatever is excellent and beautiful, august and of good report, so that we may no longer be disillusioned and dismayed before the ugliness of life, but may renew our confidence in You.
Lift us up into the spirit of thanksgiving. Quicken our sense of gratitude. If in the unending conversation within our minds we have spoken to ourselves only about our difficulties and our ills, help us to remember this day the benedictions that have made life beautiful and the blessings through which You have shined upon us. Recall to our thoughts our friends, the homes that have nourished us, the people who have loved us, great books, great music, great art, those who in sacrifice laid the foundations of the social securities which we enjoy. Make real to us Him who loved us and gave himself for us, and thus elevate our worship until it becomes a festival. Help us to celebrate, O God, this day in the spirit of thanksgiving.
Lift us up into the spirit of confession. Forgive us for the carelessness with which we regard those sins that hurt, not ourselves alone, but others as well. Teach us afresh that we cannot sin unto ourselves, but that every evil grudge we harbor, every vindictive wish we cherish, every unkind, unclean thing we do is like poison given to a friend. Deepen within us, therefore, our conscientiousness. Help us this day, with a fine sense of honor, honestly to face our own souls and to say before You and one another: We have sinned.
Lift us up into a spirit of intercession. Save us from narrowness of sympathy. Keep us from provinciality. Widen the borders of our understanding and our care. If we are prosperous, bring to our hearts thoughts of the poor; if we are well, the sick; if we are happy, the sorrowful; if our family circle is unbroken, the bereaved; and help us in such sincerity to pray that we may go out to work and to make our hearts and hands a channel through which Your care can flow into some unhappy life.
Lift us up to a higher thought about our country. In these feverish days, save us from being feverish. Give our country a finer spirit, a saner wisdom, an increased goodwill. Forbid us from our bigotry and intolerance. Give us the grace of firm convictions joined with a sympathetic understanding of those who differ from us. Let wisdom be deepened in our common-wealth, so that the great business which as a nation we have on hand may be wrought out in soberness and truth as becomes the children of our forebears.
Lift up our spirit into intercession for Your Church. Forgive us for its infidelity to its Lord. Forgive us that contrast between Christianity and the Christ. He is so great, and we are so unworthy. Upon all Your people everywhere, who in sincerity and truth, working in the spirit of Jesus, are lifting up the levels of human life closer to oneness, righteousness, and peace, let Your benediction fall! Across the barriers we have constructed, the sectarian lines we have named, we pray unto the God who has said, All souls are mine. Save us from our narrowness unto Your breadth. Save us from our littleness unto Your universality. O God, who is great, make us great also in our love.
And now, beyond the power of our small words to carry our needs to You, now cross the inner thresholds of our hearts, and minister to us not according to our deserving, but according the riches of Your great mercy and grace made known in Christ Jesus our Lord. And all God's people said: Amen.

RISKING IT ALL
Spanish Lakes November 15, 2020 Matthew 25:14-30

Jesus has more to say about what we do with what we have than any other topic in the gospels. I wish it weren't so; frankly, it's a subject which I would rather not tackle. But in avoiding it for the sake of my own comfort level, I would be less than faithful to the gospel which I have been entrusted to share with you, and we would both be the poorer for my omission.

In today's scripture we find the intriguing story of three servants and what they did with money which their master entrusted into their care; call it five hundred thousand dollars, two hundred thousand dollars, and one hundred thousand dollars. And I want to focus on the third fellow a man of modest ability, who would not trade with his master's money, but instead buried it in the ground. And what I want to talk about today is precisely what that servant did not do; I want to talk about risk.

This servant apparently was a decent enough chap; otherwise the master wouldn't have entrusted him with a hundred thousand dollars. But, as Mama used to say, he was not exactly what you would call the sharpest knife in the drawer. Each servant was given money according to his abilities, says the text, and this fellow got the least. Servants one and two were shrewd investors. They bulled the market and doubled their investment. Not our boy; he was afraid afraid because his master was a grasping man who liked his money a hard man who did not look kindly on failure. Lose that hundred thousand, and man, you're in for it.

So, what to do? Only one option: keep it safe; don't take any chances with it! You see, according to rabbinical law, burying was the best security against theft. If you buried a pledge or deposit immediately on its receipt, you no longer were liable for it; you did not even have to make restitution if it were stolen.

So, servant number three buried his master's money. He played it safe at least he thought he did. No risk whatsoever or so he thought. The trouble was, he underestimated his master.

Now, the master was a painfully honest man:

You know what I'm like! You know how I react when my
money is involved! Why didn't you at least put it in the
bank so that I would have gotten a little bit of interest on it
when I returned?!

As one perceptive commentator put it:
In the fear of the one-talent fellow we see the anxiety of
someone who refuses to step out into the unknown. He was
not willing to risk trying to fulfill his own possibilities. He
cut off his existence by defining it in the narrowest possible
way. His action was paralyzed by anxiety, and thus the self
of our protagonist is only a mere shadow of its potential.
Next, the servant blames someone else in this case the hard master for his own failure, his own abrogation of responsibility. Then the final tragedy: what was given to him is taken away. Take his talent from him . . . No longer does he have the chance to act responsibly or to risk.

This little tragedy is a drama in three movements:
1. The servant refuses to risk;
2. He projects his own inadequacy onto the master;
3. He loses any possibility of living meaningfully in the world.

So, how do we get from first Century Palestine to 21st Century Nokomis? Very simply: the name of the game is risk. The whole ball of wax is risk. But then I don't have to tell you that. Anyone who hasn't figured that out is from another planet. In the measure that we are really alive, we all are taking risks.

We take all sorts of risks without any guarantee as to how they will turn out. To marry is to risk; you surrender your individual self to a community of selves, risk your individual life in the hope of finding it more fully with another person; and today the odds are only 50/50.

To love is to risk; you open yourself up to all the burden that loving and being loved lays upon you, and uncounted women and men crumble under its weight. Remember what Magic Johnson said about telling his bride about his newly discovered HIV status? When he offered to leave, She bout smacked me up side the head for even suggesting it. She's a strong woman, and I was smart to marry her. You want to talk about risk?

To be a top-flight doctor or lawyer, to be in politics or in business is to risk; you may end up terribly narrow, one dimensional, closed to everything except the latest medical journal or court case or public acclaim or just one more season.

Simply to be free is to risk: you can say No to God, betray your dearest friend with a kiss. In a word, to live as a human being is to risk, to launch out into the unknown.

But my focus here today is that particular human risk I would like to call Christian risk. To begin with, you commit yourself to a Christ you cannot see. Your act of faith is breath-taking. You not only affirm truths with your intellect: that God is one in three; that the son of God took flesh and blood and died for me; that we, like him, shall rise from the dead and live without end. You surrender your whole person to God in Christ. To you I offer myself and all I hope to be.

Here you leave the secure world of proof and scientific demonstration; here you do violence to what you taste and smell and hear and touch and see. You see a cross and recall not a gruesome death but a glorious resurrection. You hear words from an ancient text, and they turn for you into the Word of God. You enter this sanctuary and the Lord pervades this very space. You taste bread and wine, and they become for you the body and blood of Christ.

Risk, of course! Because you do not first have certainty and then commit yourself to God in Christ; instead, you find that you first must commit yourself in order to have any certainty at all. Risk, because faith is not nice thoughts and warm fuzzies; no, faith is the soul's deepest necessity. It determines your life, what you are and what you do.

Thus is Abraham ready to give up Isaac on the altar; thus is queen Esther ready to give her life for her people, saying, I will go to the king, even though it is against the law, and if I perish, I perish. [Esther 4:16]

Thus committed to crucifixion, Jesus did not suspect that he would beg God to remove that bitter cup if possible. And those who gave up literally everything to follow Christ from Anthony to St. Francis, to Mother Teresa, to Martin Luther King, Jr., to Arch-bishop Romero in El Salvador they never knew what tomorrow would bring.

And we lesser folk also risk a cross, if we are to live out our Christian commitment. We know a cross is waiting for us; the risk is that we don't know what form it will take: crushing disappoint-ment, humiliation, unspeakable sorrow, perhaps even death itself.

Well, if we risk committing ourselves to a Christ we cannot see, we risk decidedly a great deal more in committing ourselves to a Church we can see. For this is a pilgrim Church, a community on the way, not there yet a body of sinful men and women, at times acting in startling contradiction to the Lord who heads it and to the Spirit who gives it life.

Its outward face is not just spotted and wrinkled; it is constantly changing from a stone altar to a wooden table; from Aramaic to Greek; from Latin to English; from an all-male ministry to women in the pulpit; from unquestioning obedience to strident resistance. And yet, through it all, it is Christ's community. Here is where he expects us to meet him and to experience him. And not just to endure it, but to love it to take it for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until our death.

Otherwise we are no different from the cautious servant: first we play it safe, hedge our bets, stay out of trouble and don't get involved. Let the kooks take care of starving people and worry about clean air and water.

Second, when the going gets tough, we look for someone else to blame a harsh pastor, program competition from the schools, a church hierarchy that gets bogged down in trivial issues a thousand and one reasons to keep our eyes directed outward so we don't have to examine ourselves. We are the victims; someone else is responsible for our failure.

Third, after we've talked it to death, we can feel free of our responsibility. We no longer have to do anything with our talent. We can just bury it. But such freedom is an illusion, because without responsibility there can be no true freedom.

My dear Christian sisters and brothers: to be one of Christ's disciples you have to lose your life in order to find it. I don't know what part of your life Christ is asking you to surrender today. But I do know that there are special moments critical moments in every life when God calls, and when, in order to be Christian, we have to choose, we have to commit ourselves in short, we have to risk.
The encouraging news is that the master we serve is not a hard man. But we won't know that his yoke is easy and his burden light just by reading the gospels and singing the old, favorite hymns. He sounds terribly demanding, expects an accounting, threatens exterior darkness . . .

We will experience how gentle he is only when we let go, only when we commit ourselves, only when we say, Into your hands I commit my spirit. In short, only when we risk. Amen.

THE PASTORAL PRAYER:
O God, gracious Parent of us all, who in love has made us and by love has kept us, and who through love would make us perfect: we humbly confess that we have not loved You with all our heart and soul and mind and strength, and that we have not loved one another as Christ has loved us.
We have not lived by faith.
We have resisted Your Spirit.
We have neglected Your inspirations.
Forgive what we have been; help us to amend what we are; and by Your Spirit direct what we yet shall be; that You may come into the full glory of Your creation, in us, and in all; even as You have come in Jesus Christ our Lord. Let the Church say, Amen.

ROLL CALL OF THE FAITHFUL Isaiah 6:1-8
Spanish Lakes 11-01-20 Hebrews 11:23-12:2

George Goebel, the late comedian, who appeared regularly on The Tonight Show when Johnny Carson hosted it, had the single funniest line I ever heard. He was on the show one night and had the ill fortune to follow: Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis, Jr.

If you remember old Lonesome George, he had a kind of down-home, folksy style of self-deprecating humor that was quite engaging. The Rat Pack was in high dudgeon that night, having a great time. George came out, did his comedy bit, sat down, surveyed the situation, leaned over to Johnny Carson and said, Did you ever feel like the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown penny loafers?

I have to admit that I feel a bit like a pair of brown penny loafers when I read this chunk of text, variously called Heroes of the Faith or Roll Call of the Faithful. How do I fit in here? This magnificent list is a frank acknowledgement that we have not arrived where we are simply under our own steam, but are connected in an intimate way to those who have come before us. Indeed, it has been said that each generation stands on the shoulders of the ones that have come before, an imaginative description that paints a clear picture of our indebtedness to our forbears. It reminds us of a connectedness that reaches into the past, a good thing for any congregation to remember even one comprised mostly of retired folk.

But as your eye wanders down the list of names and story after story from the Bible leaps to your mind, if you are like me, you think to yourself, Where are such compelling figures today? Where are the Abrahams and the Gideons and the Samsons? I certainly don't see any when I look in the mirror to shave in the morning. Such comparisons can make you feel defeated before you start.

But look again and a little deeper at those who are mentioned. We remember Abraham as a supreme example of faith, patiently following God into a land he knew not, and waiting until God said at last, “Here it is; we have arrived. And while that is true, this is the same Abraham who banishes Ishmael, his eldest son, and his mother Hagar; the same Abraham who comes within an eyelash of offering his other son, Isaac, as a human sacrifice, and who tries to pass off Sarah as his sister rather than his wife in order to save his own hide.

Moses stands before Pharaoh and demands that his people be let go, shepherds the people through their wilderness wanderings, and heads them into the Promised Land, it is true. But we conveniently forget that his encounter with God at the burning bush is a direct result of the fact that he is on the lam in the wilderness of Sinai after killing an Egyptian taskmaster he caught beating a slave from among his own people. He has an opportunity to encounter God precisely because he has run away to the desert to hide.

And in the Sinai wilderness when God issues the call from that bush that is aflame but will not be consumed, Moses makes every excuse in the book in order not to have to go before Pharaoh again. The dialogue in Exodus 3 really is quite comical: I don't have any signs or wonders (That's all right; I'll give you some); I won't know what to say (That's all right; I'll put my word in your mouth); I don't even know your name (Tell them that I AM has sent you); I don't speak very clearly, I've always sort of mumbled (Then take Aaron with you; he speaks clearly; BUT GO!!) Moses may be a hero, yes, but he's a reluctant hero at best.

And, considering others in the list: Rahab is both a harlot and traitor to her people as she shields the Israelite spies. And Barak nails his adversary's head to the ground with a tent peg. And Jephthah makes such an ill-considered vow in order to win a battle that it costs his daughter her life. And while David is remembered as being a man after Gods own heart, he certainly is not above engineering the death of his chief officer in battle so that he can have his wife.

And so it goes, on down into the Church's early history as well. Peter denies the Lord three times; and Thomas doubts; and James and John hassle over which is the greater and hence supposed to sit at the right hand of Jesus; Matthew is disqualified because he is a tax-collector and assumed to be in league with Rome; Simon is a Zealot. They all flee Jesus murder and refuse to believe the resurrection accounts of the women; Saul, later known to us as Paul, breathes threats and murder against the followers of Jesus and travels to Damascus to bring any he finds back in chains to stand trial. Every one of the prophets is an unlikely choice too old, like Isaiah, or too young, like Jeremiah; or too frightened, or not from the right clan, or unpromising for some other reason.

Come to think of it, God certainly seems to be stuck with a bunch of rag-tag nobodies trying to advance the Church of Jesus Christ and God's point of view in this crazy, old world!
Nobodies like you nobodies like me. For, when you look closely at the record, you realize that God does not choose people because of some inherent greatness resident within. No, God chooses people because, in the end, they are willing to be of service. Just like Isaiah, who cries, Woe is me, for I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips and dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips! And yet mine eye hath seen the Lord God of hosts, [Is. 6:1-8] each similarly is undone when they encounter the Holy One! Each thinks, Oh, Lord, surely not I; you must have the wrong person; excuse me, this is not my script! May I please have a different part in the play? But in the end, each goes on to serve and to play a part in the drama which is life, the drama in which each of us has been cast as well. As has been cogently observed by one smarter than I: God doesn't call the equipped; instead, God equips the called

What part are you being asked to play? In this drama called life, what task is God nudging you to undertake you know, the one you can't possibly do because you are ill-equipped or too busy or just plain pooped? What vision of the Church do you have that just won't quite let go of you? Is God calling you to work with young people at the Laurel Civic Center, or ring a bell for the Salvation Army, or feed the hungry by bringing in things for the food basket, or support missionaries who will go places we only read about to carry the word of God?

You need to know what happens to Isaiah the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey used to say. At the end of Isaiah's scene in the temple, he hears God saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? And he looks around, and no one else is making a move to volunteer to go. And finally, there is a murmur of satisfaction from the crowd because someone's hand has gone up. And Isaiah breathes a sigh of relief knowing that someone has volunteered, so he is off the hook, only to find that it is his hand that is raised not because of any special training; not because of any special gift, other than the gift of a willing heart. So, he says, Here am I, Lord; send me.
Since, then, we are surrounded by so great a cloud of
witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and sin which
clings so closely, and run with perseverance the race
that is set before us, looking to Jesus as the pioneer
and perfecter of our faith. (Hebrews 12:1)

We are connected to those who have come before and marked the way for us. And we are connected to one another because we have chosen to follow the pattern of Jesus.

And we are connected to this Jesus as well, connected to the Christ who bids us come to his table to dine, to be made whole, to be reunited with our better selves, to share in the remembrance of God's saving work through the ages and around the world, as we join the roll call of the faithful in the drama we call life.

Let the Church say: Amen. And amen.

THE PASTORAL PRAYER for ALL SAINTS DAY:
O God, we gather once more to acknowledge that the good things of this world still outweigh the bad, that we can, therefore, live gratefully, rather than dutifully; joyfully, rather than with a grim determination.
We thank You for this, our church, and we especially today remember those rare and radiant people of its past who gave voice and life to its best aspirations. May we, who follow, not forget the lessons they taught us: that where there is doubt there is a more considered faith; that self-pity and bitterness are diminishing emotions; and that the price for hating others is to love oneself less.
Grant, O God, that we may be loyal to their memory by furthering their highest hopes, in the spirit of Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.

BACK TO BASICS 10-25-2020

Spanish Lakes Matthew 22:34-46



WHEN JANE AND I WERE VISITING BACK IN KENTUCKY A COUPLE OF YEARS AFTER WE WERE MARRIED, MY STEP-MOTHER SAID, "WHY DON'T YOU TAKE THE TABLE BACK TO SOUTH BEND WITH YOU?" BY THE TABLE SHE MEANT THE DINING ROOM TABLE WITH WHICH I HAD GROWN UP. IT IS A DROP-LEAF, GATE-LEG, CHERRY TABLE WHICH, WHEN OPENED UP, CAN SEAT EIGHT COMFORTABLY OR TEN IF YOU'RE ALL REAL GOOD FRIENDS.



SO, JANE AND I LOADED IT INTO MY CAR (YES, I COULD PROBABLY DO ONE OF THOSE OBNOXIOUS LOOK HOW MUCH YOU CAN FIT IN THIS CAR COMMERCIALS) AND BACK WE CAME. THE TABLE WAS THEN 35 YEARS OLD AND NEEDED REFINISHING, SO WE DECIDED THAT, WITH THE HELP OF HOMER FORMBY, WE COULD TACKLE THE JOB.



I MUST TELL YOU THAT I AM NOT PREPARED TO DO A LOOK HOW EASY IT IS TO REFINISH FURNITURE COMMERCIAL. HAD I MET MR. FORMBY DURING THE PROCESS, I COULD HAVE CHEERFULLY STRANGLED HIM. I POOPED OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PROJECT, LEAVING JANE, WITH HER INDOMITABLE SPIRIT, TO FINISH IT UP. THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE UNDERTAKEN SIMILAR PROJECTS KNOW WHAT HARD WORK IT IS TO GET THROUGH NUMEROUS LAYERS OF OLD FINISH, THOSE LAYERS OF PROTECTION THAT HAVE BEEN APPLIED THROUGH THE YEARS, TO GET DOWN TO THE ORIGINAL WOOD. ONCE YOU HAVE DONE IT, YOU HAVE SOME REALLY FINE MATERIAL TO WORK WITH, BUT IT IS PRETTY TOUGH SLEDDING TO GET THERE.



IN A SENSE, OUR SCRIPTURE TODAY SIMILARLY SEEKS TO CUT THROUGH THE MANY LAYERS OF VARNISH AND PROTECTION TO GET BACK TO WHAT CONSTITUTED THE HEART OF RELIGION IN JESUS' DAY. IT WAS AS NEEDED THEN AS IT IS NOW. THE LAW HAD BECOME A BAFFLING MESS OF COMPET-ING RULES, WITH 613 DIFFERENT COMMANDMENTS, 365 OF THEM NEGATIVE AND 248 POSITIVE. SO, SOME SIMPLICITY WAS DUE. WE ARE CONSTITUTED IN SUCH A WAY THAT, AMID THE COMPLEXITIES OF OUR LIVES, WE NEED A VIVID AND MEMORABLE SUMMARY TO HELP GUIDE US.



SO, TO THE QUESTION,WHAT IS THE GREATEST COMMANDMENT?JESUS UNHEISTATINGLY REPLIES WITH THE SHEMA (THE WORD MEANS HEAR (AND IS TAKEN FROM THE INTODUCTION, HEAR, O ISRAEL, THE LORD OUR GOD, THE LORD IS ONE.YOU SHALL LOVE THE LORD YOUR GOD WITH ALL YOUR HEART, AND WITH ALL YOUR SOUL, AND WITH ALL YOUR MIND, AND WITH ALL YOUR STRENGTH. THIS WAS THE CAPSULE OF THE FAITH; IT WAS RECITED UPON RISING AND BEFORE RETIRING AND THROUGHOUT THE DAY IN THE PRAYERS OF EVERY PIOUS JEW. SO SERIOUS WERE THE PEOPLE ABOUT STAYING IN TOUCH WITH THIS IDEA THAT THEY MADE LITTLE CONTAINERS FOR THIS PIECE OF SCRIPTURE FROM DEUTERONOMY [6:5] AND INSTALLED THEM ON THEIR DOORPOSTS, SO THEY COULD TOUCH THEM AS THEY WENT IN AND AS THEY LEFT. THEY WANTED TO STAY IN TOUCH LITERALLY. SO, IT WAS NATURAL THAT JESUS SHOULD PUT THIS FIRST.



AND THEN JESUS LIFTS UP A SECOND LAW, WHICH HE SAYS IS LIKE THE FIRST; THE WORD LIKE HERE MEANS,ALMOST THE SAME AS.YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF.THIS LITTLE TENT' --- LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR -- SMALL ENOUGH TO APPLY TO THE FAMILY NEXT DOOR, -- WHEN UNROLLED BY A CONSECRATED IMAGINATION, IS BIG ENOUGH TO AFFORD SHELTER FOR AN ARMY OF THOUSANDS AND, INDEED, TO COVER THE EARTH.



WHEN WE LOVE A TRIBAL GOD, ONE WHO IS INTERESTED ONLY IN THE FORTUNES OF OUR HAPPY LITTLE BAND, OR A GOD INTERESTED CHIEFLY IN ORTHODOXY OF OPINION, OUR EXCLUDED NEIGHBORS SUFFER; WE HAVE EVEN BEEN KNOWN TO TORTURE AND KILL THEM.



BUT WHEN THERE IS THE LOVE OF GOD AS PORTRAYED BY JESUS, WE DEEPEN AND INTENSIFY OUR LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBORS. AND, CORRESPOND-INGLY, WHEN LOVE OF NEIGHBOR BECOMES A REAL EXPERIENCE FOR US, OUR LOVE OF GOD IS LIFTED FROM BEHIND THE CONFINING WALLS OF OUR HOMES AND SANCTUARIES AND GETS CRAMMED FULL OF ETHICAL AND SPIRITUAL CONTENT.



IT WAS THIS VERY RULE (LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF) THAT I USED TO MAKE AN IMPOSSIBLE DECISION THE MORNING MARGARET DIED. HER DOCTOR CALLED ME AT 7:00 THAT MORNING AND ASKED ME, WHEN HER HEART STOPS (NOTE, HE DID NOT AY IF,BUT WHEN) WHAT SHOULD I DO? I WAS SHUFFLING MENTAL CARDS AS FAST AS I COULD, AND SAID,PLEASE, DOCTOR, GIVE ME YOUR MOST CONSIDERED AND COMPASSIONATE ADVICE. AND HE REPLIED, WE COULD GIVE HER A SLUG OF EPINEPHERIN AND SHOCK HER BACK, BUT I HONESTLY THINK IT WOULD ULTIMATELY PROVE FUTILE.



I HAD NO DOUBT WHAT I WOULD WANT DONE FOR MYSELF, SO RELUCTANTLY, BUT FIRMLY, I SAID,THEN, SHES BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH; LET HER GO ON HOME TO GOD. IT'S THE HARDEST THING I EVER HAD TO DO, BUT I LOVED MARGARET AS I LOVE MYSELF. AND THAT KNOWLEDGE GAVE ME A FIRM FOOTING ON WHICH TO STAND, CERTAINLY ONE MORE SOLID THAN I COULD HAVE FRANTICALLY EXTEMPORIZED.



I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING: THIS LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR STUFF WON'T WORK; IT'S NOT PRACTICAL. WON'T IT? ISN'T IT? THINK ABOUT WHETHER IT WORKS OR NOT AS I TELL YOU ABOUT THE BABEMBA TRIBE OF SOUTH AFRICA, A SO-CALLED PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.



WITHIN THEIR COMMUNITY, ANTISOCIAL OR CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR IS INFREQUENT, BUT WHEN IT DOES OCCUR, THEY HAVE AN INTERESTING AND EFFECTIVE WAY OF DEALING WITH IT.



WHEN A MEMBER OF THE TRIBE ACTS IRRESPONSIBLY, HE OR SHE IS PLACED IN THE CENTER OF THE VILLAGE. WORK HALTS AND EVERY MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD IN THE VILLAGE GATHERS AROUND THE ACCUSED IN A LARGE CIRCLE. THEN, ONE AT A TIME, EACH PERSON, INCLUDING THE CHILDREN, CALLS OUT ALL THE GOOD THINGS THAT PERSON IN THE CENTER OF THE RING HAS DONE DOWN THROUGH THE AGES.



ALL OF THAT PERSON'S POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES, GOOD DEEDS, STRENGTHS, AND KIND ACTS ARE RECITED CAREFULLY AND AT LENGTH. NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO TELL AN UNTRUTH, TO EXAGGE-RATE, OR TO BE FACETIOUS.



THE CEREMONY OFTEN LASTS FOR SEVERAL DAYS AND DOESN'T STOP UNTIL EVERYONE IS DRAINED OF EVERY POSITIVE COMMENT HE OR SHE CAN MUSTER ABOUT THE TARGET PERSON. NOT A WORD OF CRITICISM ABOUT THAT PERSON OR THEIR IRRESPONSIBLE, ANTISOCIAL BEHAVIOR IS PERMITTED.



AT THE END, THE TRIBAL CIRCLE BREAKS UP, A JOYOUS CELEBRATION BEGINS, AND THE PERSON IS WELCOMED BACK INTO THE TRIBE. MY FRIEND DAVID MEYER, CHIEF OF PSYCHIATRIC SERVICES FOR HENDERSON COUNTY IN KENTUCKY, SAYS, THIS OVERWHELMING POSITIVE BOMBARDMENT STRENGTHENS THE SUPER-EGO OF THE ACCUSED, ENABLING HIM OR HER TO INTERNALIZE THE EXPECTATIONS OF THE TRIBE. THE BABEMBA SIMPLY SAY IT MAKES THE EVIL SPIRITS GO AWAY.



THIS IS AN APPROACH THAT DOESN'T SOUND SO VERY DIFFERENT FROM ONE WE KNOW, WHO LOOKED ON A WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY AND SAID, YOU KNOW, YOU DON'T REALLY HAVE TO DO THIS; GO AND SIN NO MORE. OR WHO LOOKED ON A ROMAN CENTURION AND PROCLAIMED.I HAVE FOUND MORE FAITH IN THIS MAN THAN IN ALL THE REST OF YOU PUT TOGETHER! OR WHO LOOKED ON FISH MONGERS AND TAX-COLLECTORS AND SAW INSTEAD DISCIPLES. OR WHO LOOKED ON A WEAK, PETULANT, VACILLATING FRIEND AND CALLED HIM NOT SIMON, BUT PETER -- A ROCK. OR WHO LOOKS ON US AND CALLS US THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD; AND THE LEAVEN IN THE LUMP; AND THE SALT OF THE EARTH; AND NOT SERVANTS, BUT FRIENDS.



FOR, YOU SEE, LOVE SEES THROUGH WHAT IS THERE TO WHAT IS REALLY THERE AND THROUGH WHAT IS REAL TO WHAT IS REALLY REAL.



HOW BLESSED WE ARE TO GATHER ON THIS SUNDAY IN A COMMUNITY OF FAITH AND REMEMBER THOSE WHO HAVE SEEN WHAT IS THE BEST IN US. AND IN SEEING IT, THEY HAVE DARED US TO SEE IT AS WELL, AND TO CALL IT FORTH, SO THAT WE BECOME WHAT THEY HAVE TOLD US WE ARE AT OUR VERY BEST. PARENTS DID THAT FOR US; SUNDAY SCHOOL AND PUBLIC SCHOOL TEACHERS DID THAT FOR US; OUR FRIENDS DID THAT FOR US. AND WE LOVE THEM AND REMEMBER THEM AND GIVE THANKS FOR THEM. AND BECAUSE THEY DID THAT FOR US AND TAUGHT US HOW TO DO IT, WE HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DO THAT FOR OTHERS. (WHAT IS IT DON QUIXOTE SAYS TO ALDONZA? YOU ARE DULCINEA [THE SWEET ONE]; ALWAYS YOU HAVE BEEN DULCINEA. YOU JUST DIDN'T KNOW IT.)



YOU SHALL LOVE THE LORD YOUR GOD WITH ALL YOUR HEART, AND WITH ALL YOUR SOUL, AND WITH ALL YOUR MIND; AND YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF.TO WHICH I CAN ONLY INVITE THE CHURCH TO SAY: AMEN.



THE PASTORAL PRAYER:

O God, who dwells in high places and yet also in the hearts of those who are humble, we gather once again gratefully to acknowledge that You have been our shepherd. We have not wanted. As our cup has overflowed, so now also do our hearts.

We know, O God, that beauty is everywhere, just as is suffering, and we would become experts in the art of discovering beauty in every person – not excluding ourselves.

We bless You for those who pitch tents of light in the dark valleys of this world; for those who refuse to give up; for those who know that peace is never so wild a dream as those who profit from its postponement would have us believe; for all those who stretch out tender hands to hearts and bodies in pain.

Grant, O God, that we too, in the week ahead, may not lose heart. Make us to realize that beauty is always at hand and that from You and from one another, as from earth and sky and all that walks and flies, we may derive strength and joy and endless pleasure.
Hear the gratitude of our hearts.
Amen.

REFLECTIONS OF A RELUCTANT SHEEP Easter IV

Spanish Lakes 05-03-2020 Psalm 23

A number of years back, I invited a guest speaker to a church I pastored. He was to come and do a weekend workshop on prayer. And as he spoke, I heard him say many of the same things I had been telling my flock about the spiritual life in my own sermons and classes. He quoted many of the same people I had quoted and cited many of the books I had cited. He suggested and explained and had them practice many of the same spiritual disciplines I had suggested and had them practice on other occasions. And when he was finished, I thought to myself that while he had not told them anything they had not heard from me before, he had done a nice job of reviewing with them some of the things they already knew about the importance of prayer in the life and ministry of the church, and indeed in their daily lives as well. After all, this is something I had been emphasizing with them since I had come there.



Later, after the guest speaker had left, and I was helping to clean up, I eavesdropped a little on what was being said by folks who had attended and were still around. And I hear:He had such wonderful ideas. And then I heard, His suggestions were just so fresh and exciting, I can hardly wait to try them.” And then, Why hasn't Greg talked to us about any of this before? You al have heard the old saying about relationships that familiarity breeds contempt. Well, I discovered a corollary that day: Familiarity breeds inattention.



The more we hear the same idea, the more familiar it becomes, and the easier it is to ignore. We tend to tune out the familiar. Thomas Ogden gods so far as to suggest that the present mood of the church is boredom, and that its greatest temptation is novelty. And so, we labor under the imagined mandate of innovation, and we serve the great god Entertainment. We search constantly for the fresh angle, the novel interpretation, the interesting application of an unusual text. We avoid the familiar because we fear it will get tuned out even before we start. We may sing with nostalgia, Give me that old-time religion, but please don't visit an old-time text, especially one we have heard a hundred times!



So, when we hear the phrase,The Lord is my shepherd . our eyes glaze over, and we kick on our automatic pilot. It's kind of like tuning in a re-run on television. We've seen it before; we know the lines and the plot twists. We know how it starts, how the narrative proceeds, and how it resolves all in 47 minutes, or maybe even in 23. While we keep the television on, we aren't really paying much attention to it. It's just noise and movement in the background without a lot of meaning. And such is the fate, I fear, of the 23rd Psalm for most of our churches.



Everybody already knows it. In fact, it is one of the few biblical texts of any length that a fair number of us still can recite from memory. I mean, we KNOW the 23rd Psalm! It's the stuff of children's Sunday School lessons complete with cotton-ball covered sheep for the craft project of the day. Like the old joke about the comedian that told the same jokes so often he finally just started using numbers, so that all he had to do was say, Number 3 or Number 16 to set his audience rolling in the aisles, all we have to do is announce that this mornings text is the 23rd Psalm, and you already know how the message is going to go.

One he makes me to lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside the still water, he restores my soul, and we all are transported in our minds and hearts to those familiar scenes from the childrens bible coloring books, and we see in the shades and hues of softly lit stained glass windows, gentle, clean shepherds keeping watch over fluffy, white sheep in beautiful fields of green grass and colorful flowers. We are so familiar with the text of this beloved psalm and so far removed from the reality of actual sheep and shepherds that this soft, sentimental image seems reasonable enough to us. Announce Psalm 23 and people relax, smile, and think pleasant, innocuous thoughts; it's a Sunday for spiritual coddling and cooing.



But is it, really?



This hardly is a new problem. When I was a kid in Sunday school, back in Florence Christian Church in northern Kentucky, we learned the 23rd Psalm and went out to a sheep farm out by Burlington so we would know what we were talking about. Now, all I remember about the field trip is the cupcakes that were shaped like lambs, with coconut sprinkled on the top for fleece. That, and the teacher used lavender toilet water and hence smelled a little funny and kind of old-fashioned.



But what that field trip failed to do for me, a trip to Portugal with Jane and her college roommate and her husband did. Driving in the Algarve, that hilly, somewhat remote section outside the civilization that is Lisbon, we rounded a curve and came face to face with Basque shepherds leading their flock up to the high country. We stopped and watched them work; Jane even exchanged a couple of rudimentary pleasantries with them. And in that brief exchange, all my romantic notions about shepherds acquired in Sunday school changed forever.



These guys spit and scratched. They were rugged and dirty. Their life was austere and demanding. This encounter convinced me that these were not the sort of people you mess around with. An ever since, I have not been able to read the 23rd Psalm without thinking about them.



Which, I think, is why my attention tends to turn to the darker verses in the psalm, Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Yes, it's good to know that in my days of green pastures and still waters I have a gentle companion who guides me. But when life takes a sudden detour into the valley of the shadow of death, and I have to sit at table with my enemies, that's when I need one of those no-nonsense Basque shepherds I saw in Portugal!! one of those guys who had a rod and a staff and wouldn't hesitate to use wither of them! And in those times in my life, that's the kind of shepherd whose presence and provision I welcome into the mess-that-is-my-life in Jesus Christ!



Thinking and talking about Jesus as our shepherd is an important part of our common vocabulary of the faith. That image is one of the oldest in Christian art. We can't hear the 23rd Psalm without thinking about Jesus parable of the good shepherd, who goes out and searches for the one sheep that is lost, and daring to believe that if we are similarly lost, he will come looking for us, too [Luke 15]. We remember his assertion in the 10th chapter of John that he is the good shepherd, who lays down his life for his seep; and we can't help but remember that image from Revelation of the lamb who is slain and yet lives, who conquers the powers of death and hell and brings the faithful to the very throne of God [Rev. 5:6ff]. It is such an important part of our common vocabulary that we ought not allow it to dissolve in our hearts like cotton candy dissolves in our mouth into a sweet, syrupy mess.



Roman Catholic philosopher Peter Kreeft says that God in Jesus Christ does three things for us in the face of the suffering and struggles we encounter in our lives: he says God in Christ cares; God in Christ comes; and God in Christ conquers. I am glad that God cares for me in Christ; it's nice to know that someone (other than our politicians) feels my pain but, that's not really enough. So, I am glad that God in Christ comes to me; it is good to have company to stroke my fevered brow and shout words of encouragement; but that not really enough either.



You see, what I need at the end of the day especially now what I really need is someone who sill step up and help me deal with everything that is arrayed against me help me deal with what threatens to defeat and diminish and destroy me. So, I am most grateful for the fact that God in Jesus Christ conquers. And the text for today assures us that this happens when it reminds us: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . . It's in that one little word, through. You can stand almost anything as long as you can believe that you are going to get through it.



When I hear, The Lord is my shepherd . . . and remember those fierce Basque shepherds in Portugal, I know that somewhere deep inside is the fact that I do not need to fear any evil. The shepherd who keeps watch over me and mine is not going to turn and run. He is going to stand and fight and prevail.

In my most difficult days, that is the most important thing I could possibly know.



And, I suspect, you might want to be assured of that as well. Let the Church say, Amen.

WHERE DO WE SEE HIM? Easter III
Spanish Lakes 04-26-2020 Luke 24:13-35

One balmy June night in 2004, Jesus, resurrection ceased being a theory for me and became instead a necessity. The idea turned from being the frosting on the cake of a charmed life into my heart's deepest cry. I suppose that happens when you suddenly lose someone dearer to you than life itself. In an instant you no longer have the luxury of tentative intellectual assent to this proposition, but you must instead find a secure piece of ground on which you can stake your tent.

Two authors and scholars who can help us do this have written a book together called The Meaning of Jesus. One is Tom Wright, British, who formerly taught at Oxford and now is Bishop of Durham. The other is Marcus Borg, American, distinguished professor at Oregon State University. They are good friends; both have doctorates from Oxford; both are preeminent in the field of Biblical studies; they both speak and write about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, but they have significant disagreements in their conclusions.

Today, I would like to share a couple of thoughts from each of them as we think about this 24th chapter of Luke, a chapter that speaks to us of what happened, and the significance of what happened, on that first Easter Sunday. My goal, as well as theirs, is that we encounter Jesus as very much alive.

We shall start with the good Dr. Wright, who believes that the only possible explanation for the birth of Christianity is the physical resurrection of Jesus Christ. Not just a spiritual resurrection, not one just perceived by his disciples, Oh, we think he's alive, but the physical resurrection of Jesus. Nothing else, he says, could have turned these doubting disciples, these sad folk whose friend had been murdered nothing else could turn them around and lead them to proclaim him as Messiah and Lord, one who had changed their lives and human history radically. With his death, their hopes had been dashed; their dreams were gone, and they were in despair. Luke hardly covers it when he notes that: they stood still looking sad. They were in the depths of despair; their hope was gone, their leader slain. Nothing explains the turnaround in their lives that causes them to proclaim not only, He's alive! but, He is your Lord and Savior, as well as the physical resurrection of Jesus.

Dr. Wright notes that other religious leaders came and went in the first and second centuries; there was no shortage of messiahs; but when they died, their movement died with them. Not so with this Messiah. In this case, the movement kept right on going, despite its initial disillusionment. And, says Dr. Wright:
There is no better explanation for this than that they saw
something, and saw it together, not merely personally or
internally, but together, objectively something that transformed
and changed their lives forever.

Nothing else, he goes on to say, can explain why they came back to
his teaching after his death, saying, His teaching is still relevant;
we must continue to listen to what he says.

And nothing else explains their moving on beyond his teaching to
proclaim him as the Son of the Living God; they called Jesus
Lord, which means not only master, but in the Greek translation
of the OT is the word used for God himself. These 1st century Jews,
who had been taught from childhood that you shall worship God
and God alone, are the ones who bowed down in worship before this
man. It was idolatry if it wasn't true; it was anathema if they
weren't convinced, and it would take something more than a vague
spiritual experience to convince them.

In short, it was the physical resurrection that changed and transformed their lives. So, that's where you find Tom Wright.

Marcus Borg, on the other hand, approaches this from a totally different direction. And yet, he says some things that are very important for us to hear, as well.

Marcus Borg is not really all that concerned with a physical resurrection for Jesus. In fact, he says that even if the tomb weren't empty that first Easter morning, he really wouldn't be too thrown by that, because, he says, if you spend all your time proving something happened historically then you may just miss out on something even more important, and that's Jesus alive in the here and now. For Marcus Borg, the resurrection isn't just about Jesus alive back then; it's about Jesus alive right now. It's not merely about the 1st century; it's also about the 21st century, as well. It's not merely about the disciples then, it's about you and me right now. And, if we do not experience the resurrection of Christ, he insists (almost with the passion of an evangelist), then we have missed it. And I agree!

Which is to say (unless some of you are holding out on me), none of us has seen Jesus physically with our eyes, but that is not the most important matter; what matters for us right now is our spiritual connection with the risen Christ. And this is crucial. We can spend all our time on history, and it's wonderful, I love it but if we don't know Jesus risen right now, then we have missed it. That's what Marcus Borg says.

He even goes so far as to say he regards the story of the walk to Emmaus as a parable designed to bring the spiritual truth of the resurrection to all kinds of people. And there is a sense in which it must be parabolic if we are to find ourselves in it today. So, let's hear the story again, and let's hear it as a parable which touches not only the lives of Cleopas and his friend who walk along that road to Emmaus, but one that touches your life, and mine, as well.

It's Easter day. Two followers of Jesus, not in the inner circle, otherwise we would be familiar with their names one Cleopas, the other unnamed (maybe the nameless one represents you and me) are walking along the road outside Jerusalem, on their way to a village, Emmaus, some seven miles away. And they are sad really sad. They have seen their leader crucified. They've seen him buried. Their hopes are dashed. They had hoped that he would be the one to redeem their nation, to lead their lives, to save their souls.

Yet, as they walk along the road in their sadness, they also wrestle with news that has just come to them this day, and which gives to them a ray of hope. Some women came to the tomb early on that morning and found the tomb in which they had laid Jesus there was no mistake about it they had laid him there they found the tomb empty!! And outside the tomb were two strangers, two men, who said, He is not here; he is risen. And others went to the tomb and found it the same way. And the disciples walking to Emmaus wonder aloud about these things.

And as they wonder, a stranger comes up beside them, whom they do not recognize. We know it's Jesus physically present, yet different in some way maybe the physical and the spiritual combined. But he comes up beside them and begins to speak to them and to ask them questions, and they engage in a conversation about the events that have happened. And Jesus, all of a sudden, begins to speak to them about what the Old Testament scriptures said about the Messiah suffering (to be sure, it's a minority report, but it's there, nonetheless); that this was no accident, but was instead part of the revealed purpose of the living God.

They reach their destination and this stranger, still unrecognized by them, would walk on past. But they persuade him to stay and invite him in. And as they do, they sit at table and then, when he breaks the bread, his true identity is revealed before them, and they see with new eyes who he is. And then, the story tells us, at that moment he vanishes.

What a great story! And there is one small piece of it that makes me think it is historical one little piece of evidence. Those who they name as the primary witnesses to the resurrection ARE WOMEN!! Nobody in the first century Middle East would have invented a story to read this way! These stories give a prominence to women, whose evidence the 1st century would have discounted completely; this is a prominence that is almost unbelievable if it were not, in fact, connected with what actually happened. If you were concocting a credible story, this is not the way you would go about it! So, I think it must have happened this way.

That being said, this story surely is a parable as well. And it's a parable about you and me. And in this way at least, Marcus Borg is right.

What this risen Jesus wants to do (and what he wants to do
desperately) is to walk along the road of life with you and with me.
We, too, like these walking disciples, are not in the inner circle; we
are distantly removed. Yet, he would come up beside us as we walk
along the road of life, no matter where we are on that road. It may
be that we have reached a place where our dreams have come true,
or it may be that our hopes are dashed. We may have arrived
today at a destination that feels like the pit of despair! Wherever
we are on that journey, this Jesus would come up and walk along
side us and enter into conversation with us; and he would remind us
that the sovereign God still rules, and that those things that look like
tragedy somehow weave their way into the plans and purposes of the
living God.

But this risen Jesus is infinitely courteous. He will not invade
your life uninvited. As you come to a stopping point, he would
always act as if he were going on. But what he wants you to do,
more than anything is for you to challenge him and say, Don't
walk on by; come in with me, into my house, into my home, where I
stay; and stay with me.
And he wants us to do that, whether we fully recognize him or
not maybe even before we fully recognize him, before we can fully
believe he wants us to make that invitation because sometimes it's
only after that invitation that we see him alive. The disciples did
that; they invited him to stay. And we are called to do that, as well.

Jesus appeared to the disciples in many different ways after
Easter: as a gardener, as a beloved friend, as a stranger giving
fishing advice, as a breakfast chef on the beach, as a teacher of
Scripture along the road, as one who broke bread. The point of
each appearance, however, was not the form it took, but the message
that was transmitted: HE'S ALIVE!!

From that resurrection message came the courage to live
differently from other people, to carry forward the mission that
Jesus began, to risk persecution by the powerful, to share property,
and to love each other.

Unfortunately, institutional Christianity all too quickly lost touch
with the message and fixated on the form. It then said the way to
know Jesus was through the breaking of bread, and this way was
normative for all. They built an institution around the altar and its
ordained hierarchy.

It would have been just as reasonable to focus on teaching
Scripture, cooking fish, washing feet, healing the sick, welcoming the
outcast, serving the weak, standing up to the powerful, praying in
solitude, or walking. In selecting this one form the breaking of
bread at table early Christians took a road that was easy and, in
no small way, self-serving.

It required no amendment of life, just participation in the cultic
ritual and acceptance of its hierarchy. Instead of grappling with
the complexities of human life, the Church said there is one way,
the Eucharistic way, and then it was arrogant enough to presume
that God waits to see whom religious authorities allow to receive
communion.

To this day, congregations still take that same easy course. It
pleases and affirms the clergy; it makes of faith a rather tidy and
non-demanding affair; it costs relatively little, and it consistently
accomplishes far less than God wants.

Rather than escape danger and self-sacrifice through easy forms,
we need to proclaim Christs message and live differently. When
we do that, our eyes are opened to Jesus presence, and we see him
as he is our risen Lord and Savior.

And when that happens, we find our place to stand, and a secure
piece of ground on which we can stake our tent. Amen and Amen.

SEEING THE LORD Easter II
Spanish Lakes 04-19-2020 John 20:19-31

Our Gospel lesson this morning is this well-known story from John 20 of Thomas missing out on seeing the risen Christ that first Easter evening. When told by the other disciples that they had seen the Lord, Thomas says,
I can't believe this not unless I see his scars! A week later, he made sure he was present with the community of disciples, and, sure enough, he saw the Lord.

Thomas did not see the risen Lord the first time because the resurrection makes no sense apart from the community of disciples.

There's a great scene in the movie The Big Lebowski. Early in the movie, Walter is talking to Dude. Donny, their other close friend, keeps trying to interrupt with a question. Finally, Walter dismisses Donny with a line that has now become famous: Shut up, Donny. You're out of your element here. In other words, when you're out of your element, what you say just doesn't make any sense.

In John 20 the resurrection of the Lord didn't make sense to Thomas because he was out of his element. His element was the community of disciples of Jesus gathered in worship and prayer. Apart from them apart from that he missed Christ, and the resurrection made no sense to him.

Apart from in-the-flesh people living out the resurrection, it makes no sense. Apart from a worshipping and disciple-making community, explanations of the resurrection make no sense. They are out of their element or, as Rick Lischer notes, they are im-material. Remove the story of the resurrection in the Gospels from the Church gathered in worship or serving God during the week, and the words are im-material. You can say, The Bible says, all day long, but without a people seeking to make flesh out of the Bible, you might as well be shouting to the wind.

The Roman writer Celsus noted that everybody saw Jesus die, but only a crazed woman and a few close friends saw him alive again. I'm sure that every Easter folks wonder why the risen Christ did not appear to Pilate or Caiaphas, that'd show em! That would have cleared up a lot of misunderstandings. In the tenth chapter of the book of Acts, Peter preaches, and he says much the same thing: But God raised him on the third day and made him manifest; not to all the people, but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.

There's a lot about this I don't know. But this I do know; I believe it really happened, but we will never prove it or disprove it historically or scientifically. There just is not that sort of proof, if you will, so God employs other proofs or truths.

Clarence Jordan says in his characteristically vivid style that the proof that God raised Jesus from the dead is not the empty tomb, but the full hearts of his transformed disciples. The crowning evidence that he lives is not a vacant grave, but a spirit-filled fellowship; not a rolled-away stone, but a carried-away Church!

The truth of the resurrection of Jesus Christ cannot be proved, dismissed, or discussed without reference to the concrete community that Jesus called and formed the Church. The truth of the Gospels is not built on a belief system, but is simply practical. If Jesus is raised, what sort of lives does he produce? If Christ is resurrected, then how is that demonstrated in changed lives in people who practice what Jesus practiced people who embody the living spirit of the living Christ?

Wendell Berry, one of my favorite authors, says that we are to practice resurrection. And we do that in nursing homes and helping to provide innovative educational opportunities for young people. You practice resurrection when you support fraternal workers in France, or provide space and opportunities for people from our community to hear outstanding music. You practice resurrection when you carry groceries in for the Laurel Community Center so hungry people will not be so hungry. That's how we practice resurrection.

So, if the resurrection of Jesus makes sense only within the context of people seeking to embody this resurrection, how do we see it? How do we see the Lord? Theologian Marianne Sawicki, defines the Church as the community of those who have the competency to recognize Jesus as the risen Lord. Don't you just love that? We are specialists in seeing and discerning the risen Christ.

Heaven knows the four gospels are replete with incompetent witnesses! Every time you turn around, they misunderstand Jesus. They can't figure out what he is talking about. On Easter, they are especially incompetent; it's as though they remember nothing of what Jesus has told them beforehand. They are confused, afraid, running over one another, and of course they do not recognize the risen Lord when he talks to them. In Luke, two disciples leave for Jerusalem and head for Emmaus, and they do not recognize the risen Lord, even though he walks beside them the whole day long! And, here in John, Thomas is similarly incompetent in understanding what this resurrection stuff is all about.

But they keep at it! They keep on talking with this One they all keep showing up and talking with Jesus, and finally the darkness breaks into dawn, and they see the risen Lord. They become competent witnesses. In the end, even Thomas declares, My Lord, and my God!

Someone once asked William Faulkner how he would counsel someone who had read The Sound and the Fury once or twice, but still didn't get it. And he said, Read it a third time. Sometimes, we just have to keep at it in order to get it. We keep talking about it and showing up for worship, keep on praying and singing hymns and keep serving up a cup of cold water in Christs name. We do all this, and at last we see the Lord.

By continuing our dialogue with Jesus, we are trained and taught by him in how to see him. It's as if the scales slowly fall from our eyes, and one day we look up and recognize the risen Christ in ways and places we never had seen him before. There he was, in front of us all the time, plain as day!!

That is why the only witnesses to the resurrection were the disciples not Herod, not Pilate, not Caiaphas, not the soldiers who were right there guarding the tomb. Only the disciples, who had been trained by Jesus to learn to recognize him, saw him resurrected. When they finally remembered and practiced what Jesus had taught them, they recognized the Lord.

In a memoir, Florence Jordan, widow of Clarence Jordan, tells about the time two weeks after she and Clarence had been kicked out of a nearby Baptist church because of their work across racial lines, in a time when it was dangerous to do such a thing. And she was in the kitchen when there was a knock at the screen door a man from the church was asking for Clarence. And about that time Clarence came up to the house from working on a tractor out in the barn and asked how he could help the fellow. The man said, Clarence, I can't sleep at night, and I came to see if you could help. You see, I can't sleep at night because I keep hearing singing all night long. This singing goes on and on, and I think it's angels singing, Clarence. And you know what they're singing? They're singing, Were You There When They Crucified My Lord? The man went on: And, Clarence, I was there. I was there two weeks ago when we voted you out of the church. Clarence, can you help me out? Will you forgive me?

And Florence writes that Clarence put his hand on the fellows shoulder and said, I forgive you. And the man broke down and began to weep, and said, Will you ask the Lord to forgive me, too, Clarence? And Clarence said, No, I won't ask the Lord to forgive you but I'll tell you what I will do. I will go with you while you ask the Lord to forgive you. And Florence said that Clarence and the man went out in the yard and knelt at the foot of an old oak tree and prayed together and were reconciled. They were reconciled to God and to one another.

Friends, that's a resurrection story! When enemies forgive and receive forgiveness and embrace and come together, their reconciliation is not because someone was a great counselor or because they are just really nice folk. No, their reconciliation is a witness to the God who raises the dead and calls into being things that are not! And, when you reconcile with your enemy, or when you see it happen, you, too, see the risen Lord!

I know a mother who, first thing in the morning, gives thanks to God for his grace and bounty and goodness, and then spends the rest of her day caring for a Down syndrome daughter. Why? Because she has seen the Lord!

I know a white-haired grandmother who, after her kids were grown and gone, went back to school seminary no less; and now, at 70 plus, serves as an Episcopal priest in a small, poor, predominate-ly Black parish in the inner city. And every week she visits her parishioners, going door to door in drug-infested neighborhoods, to serve the body and blood of Christ to her shut-in members. Why? Because she has seen the Lord!

And we shall rise from here and go out to our several callings to be among folks who believe, and folks who half-believe, and folks who don't believe at all. And in our words, but more so in our actions, they will discern what we believe to be true. May they know that WE HAVE SEEN THE LORD!!

Let the Church say: Amen.

RESURRECTION STORY EASTER SUNDAY
Spanish Lakes 04-12-2020 Mark 16:1-8

Although the gospels vary significantly in the ways they tell the story of the life and ministry of Jesus, the differences never are more pronounced than in their accounts of the Resurrection. Each proclaims the risen Lord, but they do so in very distinct ways.

The resurrection account found in Mark is the one that gives us the most trouble. Most versions of the Bible include either two brief sentences or twelve additional verses following Mark 16:8, but most scholars agree that the 8th verse comprises the first ending to the gospel. So, they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone for they were afraid. Mark closes with an announcement of Jesus, resurrection by a young man, whom we identify as an angel, but, Jesus himself neither appears nor speaks to anyone.

This final scene makes us elated to have three other gospels, gospels that end with the risen Christ comforting his disciples, appearing in various places, and giving final instructions before ascending into heaven or mysteriously vanishing from sight. Many ancient believers obviously felt the same way. As most of you can tell by reading the various footnotes and added verse in your Bible, within the first generation of its circulation, other endings found their way onto Mark. In them Jesus appears to several of his followers, commissions believers to continue his ministry (including some dealings with snakes and poisons we prefer to omit), and is taken up into heaven. Each of these makes for a much happier and more satisfying final scene than that of a group of women fleeing from the tomb in fear and saying nothing to anyone.

Why would Mark end his gospel on such an apparently dismal note? Why would the women feel such fear; and, even if they did, why would Mark end the story there?

Some readers have posited that the women feared that the authorities who had crucified Jesus would punish them, if they reported his resurrections. A Possibility. The Book of Acts indeed reports that the authorities punished Peter and other disciples when they spread the news of the risen Christ. But this text is talking about Easter morning. Could anyone who had gone to the tomb expecting to anoint a lifeless body, and instead had discovered a talking angel, truly have said nothing to anyone because they thought they might get in trouble? Most of us can't keep quiet about anything, much less something as extraordinary as this! The women may have avoided the authorities, and they may not have shouted the news from the rooftops, but surely, they would have said something to someone!

Others have suggested that Mark ended his story the way he did in an attempt to convince the readers, the believers in the First Century, that they had to get involved in spreading the good news about Jesus. Sounds plausible. Certainly, God expects us to share our faith, to “tell the old, old, story. But let's not push that too far. Notice that the angel says that Jesus has gone before him. He remains out there in the world somewhere. God calls us to spread the news, but it does not all depend on us.

Why did the women leave the tomb in silence, and why did Mark end the story that way? Could their fear have been not debilitating dread of something awful that might happen, but awestruck awareness of the implications of the angels message? Could they have gone forth, not in terrified silence, but in trembling, yet hopeful, expectation that the words of the angel would prove true that Jesus truly had gone ahead of them and they soon would see him?

How many of us would rush into the sanctuary immediately, joyfully, and with no hesitation if a vision, a dream, or an angel told us we would come face to face with the risen Christ? Would we not come slowly and cautiously, hoping and trembling, if at all? It isn’t that we don't want to see Jesus; we may consider seeing Jesus to be the most wonderful thing that could happen to us. But wouldn't we approach this possibility with awestruck trembling as well as hopeful expectation?

Mark challenges us to believe that Jesus goes ahead of us, that we can expect to encounter him in our daily lives. Mark appears to consider stories of resurrection, not the unique experiences of a chosen few, but gifts from God to all who live with trembling faith and expectation.

We may not have seen the risen Jesus in a physical body, but we have seen, or have been a part of, some tremendous stories of resurrection stories whose truth leaves us trembling:
In 1963, 11-year-old John witnessed the marriage of his mother to her fifth consecutive alcoholic husband. It took only a few months for him to discover that his was also the fifth man who would hit his mother and abuse him and his younger sisters and brothers.

His mother had instructed him well: Hide your brothers and sisters when he gets like this. Sometimes that worked; sometimes it didn't. One night when the crashing and screaming started, John hid them, just as he had been told, his sisters in the closet and his brothers under the bed. But, this time, he didn't hide. Instead, he ran into his mother's room to protect her that might, to stop the hitting to do something. His stepfather momentarily turned to John, but before the blows had landed, there was a report, and the beating stopped as his stepfather slumped to the floor. It was then he saw the gun in his mother's hand.

What chance does an 11-year-old have in such an environment? None, we might well think. But, cross-town neighbor Ben didn't think that. When he heard from his friend, a public defender, the story about John and his family, Ben decided to try to do something. He and his wife came to the house with food, clothes, a few toys, and the offer of a ride to church. The children accepted all four gifts. When they first came to church, there were some stares, some grumbling, some rough moments. But, many members received John and his siblings warmly. While he found a lot of the talking boring, John also found some things he enjoyed they served doughnuts! And they let him drink coffee and they invited him back that afternoon!

Ben spent a lot of time with John and his family. It wasn't always easy or comfortable, but things slowly improved. His mother married two more alcoholic and abusive men before dying when he was twenty. John and his siblings received a lot of help, and they helped each other.
John will preach his fortieth Easter sermon this morning. Two of his sisters teach school. Only one brother followed the path of his stepfathers.

This is a story of resurrection, a story of new life springing up from death, a story of a new beginning made possible by Jesus and our trembling faith in him.

Juanita was in her fifties when she was diagnosed with cancer. For eight months she lay in the hospital in intense pain. She refused to see her children, including her son to whom she had not spoken for two years, and her grandchildren, one of whom she had never seen. She accepted no visitors other than her husband, whom she blamed for her suffering, and her pastor, from whom she demanded an explanation of where God was in all this mess. She was bitter, angry, and more than a little afraid.

One day she asked her pastor to anoint her with oil as a preparation for her death. Although this was not a common practice in her denomination, the pastor agreed to do it. During the anointing, the pastor prayed that Juanitas pain would ease, and that she would feel Jesus loving arms upholding her. Juanita lived just two more days, but during them she hugged her grandchildren, conversed with her son, and told her daughter and husband that she loved them. She died with a sense of peace and with a family moving toward reconciliation.

This is a story of resurrection, a story of life springing from death, a story of a new beginning made possible by Jesus and our trembling faith in him.

Disasters seem to happen monthly, weekly, even daily. Remember the pictures, 28 hours after the earthquake in Mexico, when rescue workers had given up all hope of finding survivors in a hospital that had collapsed? Then someone thought they heard a whimper. Weary workers carefully removed the rubble and located a small child, battered and terrified, but very much alive. Much celebration ensued. The towns recovery would, and did, take a long time, and still is by no means complete; but the story they tell most frequently is about that one small child who unexpectedly survived.

This is a story of resurrection, a story of life springing up from death, a story of the refusal to abandon hope, a dogged determination to celebrate life wherever it was found. Can anyone other than a person of faith, even a trembling faith, dare to do that?!

Believing that God remains with us does not end every heartache. Sometimes faith can make our hearts ache even more. But, faith also allows us to glimpse eternity in a sunrise, to discover new life in unexpected place, to light a candle called hope that flickers, yet burns stubbornly, even in the face of a howling wind!

Do we have any rock bottom and certain proof of Gods abiding presence? No. Do we always get to see, with absolute clarity and beyond all doubt, the risen Jesus? No. But faith does not need that. The resurrection of Jesus is not a theory to prove. Even the scriptural witnesses don't try to do that. The resurrection is a reality to believe and experience as we go forth with trembling faith, hoping and expecting to discover Jesus outside the tomb in the Galilee where we live. That's where others have found him! That's where he promised he would be!!

We have heard these stories and have told some of our own. The risen Christ goes before us waiting to be recognized in both extraordinary and common places. No one can tell where or when the next story will unfold, but faith insists that there will always be resurrection stories to tell.

So, rise, heart! Thy Lord is risen! Thanks be to God! Amen.

CRUCIFIED BY STUPIDITY Maundy Thursday
Spanish Lakes 04-09-20 Luke 23:32-34
From New Testament times to our own day, the cross of Jesus has been closely associated with sin. It was because of sin that Jesus was crucified such is the familiar teaching and I am not of a mind to deny that long association between his cross and our sin. But we need to set beside it another association: Jesus was put to death not simply by sin but by stupidity. It was stupidity that cried, Crucify him! It was stupidity that nailed the Son of man between two thieves.

If at first this seems an odd thing to say, recall that the Master himself said it: Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. Numberless times we have heard those words from the cross repeated, and yet how little we have really ever heard them! Generally, we have interpreted them as an expression of Jesus magnanimity. In earlier days he had taught his followers to love their enemies and to forgive seventy time seven, and now on Cavalry forgiveness rose to heights that words alone never can reach, and he pardoned those who slew him. He even made excuse for them blamed their deed upon their ignorance asked that they might be forgiven because they did not know what they did. That is how we have understood those words.

And, while that interpretation clearly is there, I would ask you to look at the words again, not from the standpoint of the Masters magnanimity, but from the standpoint of the men who crucified him. Seen in that light, the words take on another aspect altogether; they change their hue; they cease their gentleness and become accusatory. Those angry men before Pilate, crying out, Crucify him! did not know what they were doing. What a tragedy! The people by the roadside jeering at the staggering figure under his heavy cross did not know what they were doing. How terrific a thing stupidity can be! Pilate, Herod, Caiaphas and all the rest who went to bed that night content, thinking that everything now was well done and Jesus finished off, did not know what they had done.

What an appalling accusation that is! Looked at from the standpoint of Jesus, they mean one thing; looked at from our standpoint, they mean quite another, and there is scant comfort in them. To crucify him because we meant to do it is one thing; but to crucify him stupidly, when we did not know what we were doing that is the most terrific and tragic experience in human history!

Surely this needs to be said in our churches today. To say of us that we are conscientious and mean well, important as that is, does not address the germ of the issue. We must not be stupid! But how often have we heard folk talk as though to be kind-hearted and well-intentioned is enough! To see that this will not do, we have only to look back in history at those things of which humanity always shall be ashamed.

The Athenians who made Socrates drink the hemlock, far from being bad, were among the most earnest, conscientious, religious people of their day. But they stupidly thought Socrates was an atheist, because his idea of God was so much greater than their own. They stupidly thought that Socrates was misleading the youth of Athens, he who now, like the Parthenon, is regarded as one of the glories of ancient Greece!

In the same way, the Crusades were not so much wicked as stupid; the people who threatened Galileo and Leonardo with torture were not wicked, but stupid; the judges at the trial of Joan of Arc were not bad, but senseless: so, over that most shameful tragedies of history as over the cross of Jesus, the judgment floats like a perverse banner: They knew not what they did!

When you look at contemporary public life rather than at history, you see the same thing. The people who cry up war and all its supposedly noble consequences are not so much wicked as stupid. The folks who think our economic system can go on without deep-seated changes, which take into account the interests of all the people, are not wicked but stupid. Look most anywhere and see the cruel crosses erected by stupidity! So, Anatole France quotes a friend as saying that fools are worse than knaves, because knaves take a little rest once in a while, but fools never do! How can one look on the current scene and not see the imminent danger from stupid choices?!

But we cannot stop merely with history or with current public life, can we? No, this is a road that leads straight to our own door. Let us, in this hour of honest penitence, face those things about which we are most sorry and ashamed, and of what do we accuse ourselves? Is it not folly? I can answer only for myself: and my answer is that, always in retrospect, the things of which I am most ashamed wring from me the cry, O,Lord, be merciful to me, a fool! To have had some Christ in our experience where we might have welcomed him, and stupidly to have chosen some Barabbas instead; and then, when it is too late, to wake up and see what fools we have made of ourselves that is a tragedy with which we are all too familiar.

At any rate, Jesus was right about those who crucified him, was he not? Indeed, they did not know what they did. Nearly two thousand years have come and gone since Calvary, and he who hung there has become for billions of us the Lord of Life.
I wish for just a moment I could help you see the cross I mean really see it. They say when Lincolns body was brought from Washington to Springfield, Illinois, it passed through Albany. And, as it was carried through the streets, a Black woman stood on the curb and lifted her little son as high as she could reach above the heads of the crowd, and was hear to say to him: You take a good, long look, honey. That man died for you.

So, if I could, I would lift you up this day so that you might see the cross. You take a good, long look; that man died for you.

But, even with all our gratitude, there is still warning there. He was nailed to the cross by human stupidity.
We knew not what we did!

The Pastoral Prayer for Maundy Thursday:
Let us with open minds and contrite hearts feel our way into the meaning and mystery of this night: May God quicken our imaginations to the end that what went on in that upper room may come alive for us. For we would sit at table with the twelve and open ourselves to the close-up presence of the Christ.
The Lord Jesus, the same night in which He was betrayed, took bread.
We marvel at the mastery of One who, on the evening of his own demise, could avoid all thoughts of self and bend to the task of breaking bread for others.
So strong in us is the desire to get even that we can scarcely fathom sharing food and drink with one whom we know intends to do us harm.
So brittle is our faith in the providence of God that we can only stand and stare when One whose ways are perfect shuns all complaining in his final hours and meekly asks Gods blessing on the meal.
We do not sit in judgment on the twelve for having hassled with one another over which was the greatest, for pride has often marred our work for God.
We are not surprised that, one by one, they asked that night, when betrayal was announced,Lord, is it I? for, like us, they knew full well that under ample provocation any one of them might cash their Master in.
So, let this night be for us a night of resolution.
May we be blessed with a renewed and enlarged awareness of our need for grace, a more honest reading of our frailty and sin, a hope-building confidence in the durability of bread and cup, and a stretching of soul as we contemplate a foolishness with God that is wiser than our wisdom, and a weakness, with God that is stronger than our strength. Amen.

Garden Tour
Spanish Lakes 03-01-20 Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7


To begin our journey through Lent, the lectionary cleverly places us right at the beginning of the dilemma of sin and temptation as encountered in scripture. And what better format than this story we have known and loved and hated since childhood? Our very familiarity with the text becomes part of the problem for us.

As I was reading the text for this morning's worship and charging through the mountain of scholarship that surrounds it, I caught in my minds eye the image of a cloak boy, the child designated at the door of a Victorian party who gathers up the coats and hats of all who enter. The pile keeps on growing, higher and higher, until the child is holding so many coats and hats that it is hard to see who or what is underneath. This second creation story in Genesis suffers a similar fate as the cloak boy.

Walter Brueggemann, well-known and well respected OT scholar, writes in his Genesis commentary: No text in Genesis (or likely in the entire Bible) has been more used, interpreted, and misunderstood than this text. It has so many layers of interpretation and dogmatic tradition added on top of it that it's hard to see what's underneath. Just as an example, the apostle Paul read this text and saw in it a story of the fall of creation. You can read what he has done with it in Romans 5:12-21 and 1 Corinthians 15:21-22, 45-49. Paul's interpretation is that Adam brought sin into the world, but through Christ, that sin is absolved.

Later, Augustine, Martin Luther and other church founders and reformers took Pauls interpretation and further developed it into what we now know as the doctrine of original sin. But none of that was ever a part of the Old Testament idea behind the story! It was layer upon layer that was added later. Through the years, people have looked to this text and have taken abstract ideas like evil and sin and death, and objectified them. Still others have tried to make this text answer questions about life that we couldn't understand otherwise by adding still more layers: questions about sex, and sin and evil, and even the role of women.

Now, this story in Genesis 2 and 3 has tremendous significance and cannot be reduced to a single interpretation. As Christians, we look at it through Christian eyes, and yet the story has a simplicity to it that seems to cry out to be heard without so many complicating layers encumbering it. Like the overburdened cloak boy, if we can free it from some of its layers, maybe we can see what is underneath in a different light.

This story should be read and allowed to stand on its own. The problem is that it is so familiar to us with so many layers from pop culture and Hollywood, painting and sculpture down through the ages, and remnants of Sunday School lessons from decades ago, that we have difficulty knowing which layers to peel away. Fortunately, we are not without help. Walter Brueggemann and Phyllis Trible and Terence Fretheim to the rescue! with their expertise and careful scholarship. After reading them, perhaps we are ready to hear the story pared down to offer a glimpse of insight we may have missed before. It is not a substitute for the original, but should be seen alongside it.

In the beginning and a long time ago, in a land far away, but not so very unlike Nokomis, the Earth waited for creation. And Yahweh God caused a stream to rise up and water the ground. And from the dust of the ground and in divine mystery the Lord God formed a being an Earth creature: call him Dusty. And the Lord breathed into its nostrils, and Dusty became a living being. But he needed a place to live, so the Lord planted a garden of delight, a gracious gift of life and pleasure. And out of the ground the Creator made living things: trees that were fine to see and good for food and a tree of life, and a tree of the knowledge of good and evil. And there were rivers in the garden waters to bring hope and regeneration and healing for every kind of need for all time to come. And it was lovely, and it was good.

And the Lord God took Dusty the Earth creature and put him in the garden to till it and keep it. Ah! There was work to be done, and Yahweh God entrusted this creation to Dusty. It was good to work, to have a vocation, a lifes purpose to grow and tend and create from the earth. And the work was good.

And there was freedom in the garden. So much freedom! -- so many kinds of trees that were good to eat; so many things from which Dusty could choose. So much freedom in how Dusty could live. And the freedom was good.

But there also were limits in the garden. A boundary line was drawn around one tree just one tree in the garden. It was given as a reminder that this creation still belonged to God, and the order of things still belonged to God, and God still was the Creator, and Dusty still was the creature, and all of creation needed to live by the terms that God had set. The boundary was a protection; and the boundary was good.

And all was well, except that Dusty was lonely and needed community. None of the other living things was adequate to be a true partner. So, in great mystery and in a crowning moment of creation, the Lord God crated a woman, and the man and the woman became one flesh in the same covenant of life. Together they would share work in the garden; together they would enjoy the freedom God had given; together they would honor the boundary set by God.

Vocation and freedom and boundaries all in balance
-- there was a oneness between them, an intimacy like the comfort between old lovers, an innocence like the sweet nakedness of children who don't even know they are naked. It was the beginning of community; and it was good.

But even in the delightful garden there would be tension. Some creatures were rather craftier than others. And there was still the problem of the tree that delicious, tempting tree, that dangerous tree right there in the middle of things. A boundary line drawn right in the middle where you couldn't miss it, right there so you could want it even though you knew you weren't supposed to have it.

Along came the serpent . . . that was just a serpent and he spoke slyly to the woman, misconstruing God's words: Did God say, You shall not eat from any tree in the garden? What a clever question. How can she answer and avoid trouble? She tells him what she has heard, but the serpent responds, You will not die; your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God.

What God gave as a prohibition the serpent has made an option. What had been a boundary for their safety becomes a thing to conquer. What was to be trusted in faith now has to be understood.

So, the woman ate. And the man ate. And the safety line was crossed. Their eyes were opened, but their new vision was not what they expected. They saw they were naked, and they were ashamed. They covered themselves, their nakedness and their shame, but their guilt they could not so easily cover. And the hiding and the separation began.

And we hear this story, though it was told in a time long ago in a land far away, and our hearts sink with sadness; we know what was lost in the garden, for we have been there, too.

While the lectionary sets us down here at the end of verse 7, we know the rest. We don't need the text to tell us how it goes. The beauty and the brilliance is that we find ourselves in the story. It's not that they left the garden once; it's that we leave it how many times a day? We see our own sin that separates us from God. And isn't that always the consequence of sin that it alienates us from God and from each other that it leaves us exposed and vulnerable so that we want to hide? We expel ourselves from the garden.

Today we embark on a journey to the cross. The season of Lent calls us to the repentance of our ways that lead to sin and separation. Lent also brings us to the desire and prayer for redemption. In a world divided by so many things, in a world torn by violence and terror, a cry goes up to stop. Stop! Have we forgotten from whence we came? Have we forgotten who we are? We are created to live in trust with the Creator to care for this garden to care for each other and to trust in the Lord God even when we don't understand why things are the way they are.

Can we live in this world according to God's rules for living rather than the ones we create? On this first Sunday in Lent, we remember from where we have come, and through the mercies of Christ, we anticipate our return.

Once upon a time in a time yet to come, in a land far away, but not so unlike the garden, the earth awaits redemption. And the Lord God will cause a fountain to rise up, and it will overflow and never run dry. And the Creator-Redeemer will set a Table like no table ever has been set. And the beloved children of God will come home, friends even in the presence of their enemies . . . and they will again be joined as one in the covenant of life. Amen.

SOMEBODY TOUCHED ME
Spanish Lakes 02-23-20 Mark 1:40-45

Did you hear about Sally, a friend asked in a worried tone one morning at my office in church? The news was a shock. She and her husband had been in a car accident, and the resulting injuries were serious. To complicate matters, it happened two states away.

In a week, she was able to come home to the local hospital rehabilitation unit. Weeks later she really was able to come home to a hospital bed in the middle of her living room. Now rehabilitation was on an outpatient basis. Weeks of therapy were required before she even could be scheduled for needed surgery and after that, more rehab.

Countless prayers from countless people were immediate and ongoing. Cards and notes clogged the mail delivery system. E-mail flowed like water. Friends, family, the church, people from work all brought food along with huge portions of tender loving care. The days passed, one after the other day after day, week after week, month after month.

The pain of the injuries was, and remains, real. But the pain of being cut off from your community is something that catches both the injured and those who love them off guard. That pain is real, too. Confined either to hospital or home, even with visits from others, there is a disconnectedness that happens. Sally said as soon as she was able, she got out onto the front porch so she could see neighbors engaged in the dailyness of ordinary living emptying the garbage, backing out of the garage, mowing the lawn. This seemingly minor and passive activity gave her a sense of connected-ness to others that she badly needed.

If you have ever had to be confined for a long period of time, you know how it affects you. We even refer to these folks as homebound or shut-in, which, you have to admit, are pretty restrictive descriptions. But the reality is that there is a degree of isolation from the rest of the world and from community, no matter how small or large your home or institution is. There is an apartness. Loneliness can set in so fast it takes your breath away. Depression is a real possibility the blues can suffocate.

In this mornings gospel text, Jesus encounters someone like that. A leper comes to him, begging to be made clean. Leper not exactly part of modern American life. I remember reading about Father Damian, missionary to the lepers at Molokai back in high school. I never had read about lepers outside the Bible. My teenage reaction was one of admiration for Father Damian and one of revulsion at the thought of doing what he did. Creepy was the operative word from the early sixties.
Now, folks in the Bible know that lepers are to be avoided. The outward signs of the disease were unpleasant to the eye and frequently offensive to the nose, given the festering nature of the skin eruptions. Lepers were reckoned to be significant sinners suffering from the worst sort of punishment sent from God. How else could you explain this horrible affliction that had no logical cause? What other reason could there be for the horrible suffering these folks were experiencing?

And folks were afraid that the disease might rub off on them if they associated too closely with the afflicted. Surely, they were contagious! You might even acquire it through the air! So best to keep you distance. Can't be too careful, you know. And lest we get too smug about their limited knowledge of the disease process, there are plenty of folks that feel exactly the same way about AIDS in our own day. How often have you heard, It's Gods judgment on an immoral lifestyle or Don't get too close; you might catch it.
So, lepers were outcasts literally. They were cast out of the city limits, forced to live on the edge of town, on the other side of the tracks, off to themselves and away from everyone else. And just in case someone came near and was momentarily forgetful or uninformed as to their condition, they had to cry out, Unclean! Unclean! It was a warning that sent folks heading for the nearest exit, pressing their accelerators and speeding away in a cloud of dust.

And if you did accidentally come into contact with a leper, you yourself were defiled. Should even their shadow fall on you, until you performed a ritual of cleansing, you were outcast, untouchable, exiled from normal society. You would be considered unclean, the same as one of the outcast lepers until you were cleansed and approved by the priests.

So, the lepers of Jesus day found themselves avoided by every-one, isolated from all save their own. The had only themselves for consolation, since they could not be among others in the town or in the Temple. They were told they were being punished by God, so inevitably they felt more alone and cut off even from God. Where was their hope? Where was their future?

Well, for one such leper, hope and future were found in Jesus of Nazareth. Whether as a supreme act of faith in having heard Jesus and believing he could do what they said, or whether out of sheer desperation to be whole again, this nameless leper came to Jesus begging to be made clean. If you want to, you can make me clean, he announces. Is the possibility too good to be true? Dare he hope that this is the moment?

Who can say for sure? All that is described is the desperate act of a desperate man who had little hope, if any. He had no future he in fact had no life, by any definition we would recognize as life.

Marks story records no hesitation on Jesus part, no questioning as to whether the man is worthy or not. Jesus doesn't ask where his church membership is or whether he's prayed daily or not. He didn't ask to meet with his parents to check out whether or not he has been a good son, nor if he observed the Sabbath or tithed or worked in the local Habitat for Humanity housing blitz last spring.

Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him and said, Of course I want to; be clean. And then he reached out and touched him. Stop for just a moment. Let the picture sink into your minds eye. Got it? WOW! What can it have meant to the leper to be made clean?! Can we catch a sense of the joy at being able to return to the community?

As I was trying to catch up with the elder before worship to make sure we had the announcements straight, my eyes opened wide and then filled with tears. Three months after the wreck, there was Sally walking through the churchs front door standing without a cane, arm in a sling, smile on her face, big hugs all around. It was a wonderful moment. My eyes weren't the only ones with tears; the sanctuary threatened to turn into a communal bath. Our hearts overflowed with joy, and so did our tear ducts. Sally was back with us, in our midst. Still not 100%; still a long road ahead of her, but she was back with us, among us, returned to her community of faith. WOW!

She had been genuinely touched by individual visits from her family, friends, and church. She had been touched by people remembering to give her a phone call or send a card or take a meal or drop off a bouquet. And that morning, Jesus stretched out a collective hand to touch her and welcome her back into the worshipping community.

It was the same for our leprous friend in today's story. He went to show himself to the priest for the required cleansing so he could rejoin his faith community. The laws were right there in Leviticus. The priest could decide if he was well enough to rejoin society. Others could again allow him in their presence.

Once again, he could come to the temple and be among those who worshipped God there. He could lead a normal life as part of the community, just like everyone else. No longer an outcast, he could go to the annual Labor Day picnic in the park. He could help serve the bagels for breakfast at the local high school during finals and proudly tell his friends that God acts in large and sometimes seemingly small ways to show love and acceptance and compassion.
He could walk down to the new coffee shop and share in the daily chatter about the weather, who would win the basketball game, and complain with others about the expense of that third whirlpool at the new school gym. He could return to normalcy, with all its quirks and tics and frustrations and glorious celebrations. He sighed with great joy and relief.

But this joyful and happy man did one more thing a thing Jesus had asked him specifically not to do. Jesus had begged him not to say anything about his role in the cleansing. Just let the certification of the priest be testimony enough not one word about Jesus, please.

But the man just couldn't help himself! He spoke, he yelled, he shouted, he cried! He began to proclaim freely, we are told. In short, he spread the word. Anyone who might pass him on the street soon knew about Jesus and what he had done for this nameless man the miracle that had been done, the wonder that had been wrought. A simple proclamation: nothing more, but nothing less. He had a story to tell which he could not keep to himself. And he apparently did such a good job that Jesus had to flee from the city lest he be mobbed. One persons simple proclamation about the touch of Jesus can be mighty powerful.

There are lots of pieces to this brief, little story in Mark. How can we be like Jesus and reach out to touch the outcast in our community you know, those people who are not like us? How can we touch the marginalized? Or, flip it on its head: How can we respond to the touch of Jesus in our own lives? How can we authentically proclaim to others what Jesus has done for us? What risks are involved if we decide to become one with the outcasts, the untouchables, those on the fringe?

There is plenty out there to fill our religious day planners. Sally remarked one day that she had been touched by God in a new way. She never had lost her faith, nor had she really been mad at God for her circumstance; but she found that she had been given the gift of time as she recovered time to look and listen for God to stretch out a divine hand to touch her.

And when that happens, is there any course to follow other than to begin to proclaim freely what has been done for us to spread the word?! WOW! Somebody touched me! Somebody touched you! It's time to spread the word! Amen.

A LOVE STORY
Spanish Lakes 02-16-2020 John 15:9-17

Love one another as I have loved you. It sounds so simple. Why, then is it so hard to do? I do not know, except to say that it is, even when you have a happy occasion like a wedding to plan.

You get problems, particularly when people from widely differing backgrounds join. And to be asked to officiate at such an event is to try to join two people crossing a mine field without being blown apart. I have a friend, a Unitarian minister, who told me a story about officiating at just such a wedding a story which you need to hear.

Here is the story of the wedding of the very lovely woman from Brooklyn huge family. Polish immigrant stock. And Jewish. Her tall, dark, and handsome fiancé hailed from Detroit. Likewise huge family. Likewise immigrant stock, but Irish. And Roman Catholic. The brides family included a rabbi and a cantor; the other team had a priest and a couple of nuns on the roster.

It was bad enough that the young people had gone away to graduate school; bad enough that they did not marry someone from the old neighborhood; but to fall in love with and, even worse, marry someone not like us was a shameful disgrace a family earthquake of the first magnitude. Unthinkable!

But Ms. Brooklyn and Mr. Detroit were 25 years old and overwhelmed with love. And love, they were quite certain, could find a way through any obstacle. The minister had his doubts, having not made it through the mine field with such couples before.

Now, from here on out the pieces of the plot fall like dominoes. So predictably did it go that I could have made a fortune on side bets as to what would happen next, said my friend. I could have told them, but they would not have believed me. Some things you just have to find out for yourself.

Here is how they saw their options:
Plan A: Get married by a judge and never, ever tell the folks in Brooklyn or Detroit. But and her comes love again, they really loved their parents; and if their parents ever found out, which surely they would, they would be deeply wounded, especially when they found out there hadn't been a religious ceremony of some sort. And so

Plan B: Get married by a local minister and tell their parents a day later kind of a semi-elopement. Their parents had no idea what Unitarians were or believed, but at least it would be a religious deal in a church. Good idea. Enter me. Which lead to

Plan C: As long as the wedding was going to be in a church and with a minister, they might as well invite just a few friends instead of having only two witnesses. And as long as they were inviting those friends, they might as well invite a few more friends, since they didn't want to hurt anybodys feelings. And now, since we were at the soft edge of the list where the category of friend and acquaintance merge, they might as well go ahead and invite everybody they know. So, by now we have a big wedding a juggernaut, in fact. Because if you're going to have all these people, you have to have a reception you can't just say, Why don't we all go out for coffee somewhere? And of course if you are going to have all these people and a reception, you can't just have a dinky, little wedding and be embarrassed in front of all those people. No sir! The long, white dress, rented tuxes, flowers, attendants, photographers, rings the whole kit and caboodle. All because they thought having just a few more people would be a nice idea. Guess what comes next. Right!

Plan D: We can't do the whole thing and not invite the families. Mine field, here we come!

I should say at this point that weddings always tend to get a little out of hand. I've never seen one get smaller or stay in budget. One thing always leads to another kind of like marriage itself or life. And why not? When it comes to joy and celebration, let it be expansive always.

My friend continued: Anyhow, they stepped on a mine a big one. Called their mothers and invited them to the wedding. They called from the phone in the parsonage, and it never worked right after that. Probably fried the wires all the way back to Brooklyn and Detroit. The mothers were united in their responses: You're marrying a what? A WHAT?!! followed by silence and a lot of sobbing. Then their fathers got on the line, and the sum of their remarks was: You come home now, this instant!!

For a month the mail and phone calls flowed like a waterfall. Uncles and aunts got sucked into the fray. The rabbi wrote a thirty-page letter. The priest and nuns formed a prayer chain. The families were not coming, ever, to any such wedding. They threatened blackmail, hellfire, and heartache. Bribes were offered. No matter, nothing could dissuade the couple not even the threat of being disinherited, which was the trump card thrown down by both sides.

Not that the bride and groom were unmoved. They spent a good deal of time in my office, the bride sobbing, the groom swearing carelessly. But the marriage was meant to be, come hell or high water, both of which seemed well on the way. But the couple had an invisible shield love. And a secret weapon a sense of humor, light hearts they laughed as often as they cried.

Also, they came from tough, resilient folk who had made it the hard way and always had taught their kids not to back off when they believed in something. And now the kids were doing just exactly what their parents had taught them to do. They believed in each other, and that was that.

Now, the tiebreaker in this standoff was a grandma -- grandmother of the groom. By God, if her only grandson was getting married, even if it was to a you-know-what, she was going to be there. For the sake of her unborn great-grandchildren who would need her. Besides, she hadn't approved of her daughter-in-law either, and that had worked out just fine, thank you very much. Granny was serious she went out and bought a plane ticket. She was coming to the wedding. Period.

Thus did the dominoes begin to fall. If Grandmother was coming, then she would need support she couldn't go alone, of course, and pretty soon all the Irish Catholics from Detroit were coming. They'd show those Yahoos from Brooklyn what real family loyalty was all about! And they'd bring along Uncle Dickie the priest to keep things as godly as possible.

Well of course you know what happened next. Thirty-five Brooklyn Jews, including Grandfather rabbi, all had plane tickets.

The wedding was shaping up as a grudge match between Notre Dame and Jerusalem Tech. In nuclear physics I believe this is what they call achieving a critical mass.

Sure enough, they all came. Then it got really interesting. Grandfather rabbi begged to at least be allowed to say a traditional Hebrew blessing at the end of the service. When the Irish Catholics got wind of that, nothing would do but that the grandmother, who once had performed in light opera, should sing the Schubert Ave Maria to ward off the Hebrew. One side wanted a little incense, the other side wanted to break a goblet. The bride and groom could do little but smile and say, Whatever.

Come the great day, Saturday evening after sundown to please her side the families marched into the church and sat down actually, dug in would be the more accurate phrase on either side of the aisle. Odds makers surveying the room would have given even money on a free-for-all instead of a reception following the ceremony.

But, again, there was the matter of love. The Irish Catholics from Detroit loved the groom no less than the Polish Jews from Brooklyn loved the bride. And for very good reason they both were remarkable young people, worthy of pride and respect even if they didn't have a brain in their head when it came to choosing a mate. And even the most bitter, jaundiced critic of the match had a hard time ignoring how tall and handsome the groom was, or how charming the bride. And you'd have to have been really blind to miss what happened during the ceremony. When the couple said their vows, it was clear they meant every word. And when the bride began to weep, and the groom took her in his arms and began to weep, too well, the whole church was awash in tears. I mean, we've all been to wet weddings before, but this one threatened to turn into a communal bath! Even Uncle Dickie the priest, lurking out in the vestibule lest he be contaminated by the proceedings, was seen dabbing his eyes and blowing his nose.

What was happening was simple, really. Joy had jumped us all from behind along about the time the bride said, Yes, yes, oh yes! when asked if she took this man, etc. Something very old and fine and new and good was plainly happening. Only a head or heart of stone could have missed it. Joy, unspeakable affirmation of something right and so we wept for want of words.

It was then that the grandmother of the groom, the grand matriarch of the Irish Catholics, seventy-eight years old, rose to sing Ave Maria. She had not come all this way to let her grandson down. She stood at the piano, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and delivered the goods. Never was the song offered with more feeling, more passion, more fervor. She was magnificent and not the scratchy, over-dramatic sound you might expect from an aging, third-rate opera singer, either. No, this was the voice of a grandmother distilling her life into the music for a once-in-a-lifetime occasion to honor what she loved and believed in. When the last, lovely note faded away and silence held us firm in its grasp, Grandmother opened her eyes, smiled at her grandson and mouthed, There, now.

And the Brooklyn Jews gave her a spontaneous standing ovation. They might not know what was proper to do in church, but they knew music, and they new Grandma had given it everything she had and they knew great love when they saw it. She was their kind of guy! A standing O was called for. Yea, Grandma!!!

Well, Grandfather rabbi was not about to be outdone. He walked slowly down the aisle to stand close by the bride and groom, reached out and took their hands in his, and then, speaking for Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and all the Jews in Brooklyn, he laid a blessing on them that ought to last a lifetime. I mean they were blessed, and you didn't have to understand Hebrew to know it, either!

Catholics gave Grandfather rabbi a standing ovation he will never forget. Yea, Grandpa!!!

It was at this point, said my friend, that I sighed a deep sigh of relief, knowing that joy had won the day, and the possibility of a happy ending to this affair was real. A happy ending; more than anything else, we hope for a few happy endings in life, and one was on the horizon here.

You see, what the families had not understood until the end of the wedding was that they really had many of the same values and traditions, despite their arguments over the metaphors they chose for ultimate things. They all believed in family, love, faith, the same God, and the necessity and capacity to celebrate those things.

The bride and groom rushed off down the aisle to the reception hall where a polka band was waiting. The newlyweds danced, and everyone applauded. Then, Grandfather rabbi asked Grandmother opera singer to dance, and the crowd roared its approval and then joined them, and the party was on. Never was there such a reception such dancing and eating and singing, long, long into the night. Magnificent!

Three days later when my head was beginning to clear, I wondered how it all had happened. And I decided that the skeptical minister was wrong and the bride and groom were right. Love was more powerful than prejudice. Love had, indeed, won out. I don't know that I am totally convinced in every instance, but in this case it was Love, 2-1 evil spirits, zip. When in doubt, trust those you love all of em.

Incidentally, my friend concluded.this has a postscript. A year later, close to the anniversary of this amazing occasion, a postcard arrived from the Caribbean mailed from a ship. Ah, from the bride and groom, thought I. Wrong from the parents of the bride and the parents of the groom, who have become fast friends and travel together all the time.

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you . . . So says our Lord. So say I. So be it. Amen.

REPENT!!
Spanish Lakes 02-02-20 Jonah 3:1-5,10

The story of Jonah is a funny story; and I don't just mean funny as in strange, though there are some bizarre elements to it: I mean funny as in hilarious as well. The story of Jonah seems to be an extended parody of the prophets. Plus, it's fun to watch us as we try to reconcile Jonah's survival with the digestive tract of the great fish. Consider some of the stories more off-beat elements.

Jonah is called to prophesy to a foreign nation, not to his own people. Nineveh is described as a great and terrible city, it is the capital of the great and terrible Assyrian empire. The Assyrians were enemies of the world in their day and would have been hated and feared by everyone who heard the story. By the time of this story, Assyria had assimilated Israels ten northern tribes (which is how the ten, lost tribes were lost, of course; they were gobbled up). So, the fact that God sends Jonah to a people other than Israel, especially to the hated Assyrians, sets the stage for what you immediately know is going to be a very odd prophetic journey.

A second unexpected element is that Jonah is a wildly successful prophet. For the most part, the prophets of the Hebrew Bible are decidedly unsuccessful in terms of getting anybody to listen to them. Jonah, on the other hand, converts an entire boatload of foreigners to the God of Israel. Then, with perhaps the shortest sermon on record, he succeeds in convincing the entire population of Nineveh to repent and call on his God for mercy. This prophetic success story is a form of extreme hyperbole used by the narrator to make us both laugh and wince as we learn something about this God whom Jonah so reluctantly serves, and as we learn something about ourselves.

The third over-the-top element in the story is the extent of the Ninevites, repentance. The king repents. The populace repents. So devout do the people become that they even drape their animals in sackcloth and smear them with ashes. Ancient midrash said the king repented so thoroughly that, if he discovered that so much as a stone in the wall of that great and terrible city had been taken unjustly, he would have that portion of the wall torn down so the stone could be returned to its rightful place in the earth.

One of the strangest episodes of the story comes towards its conclusion. In response to God's choosing to spare Nineveh, Jonah hurls accusation after accusation at the Creator of the Universe. And these are his indictments: You are slow to anger, merciful, full of compassion, abounding in steadfast love. I hate you for that! The very attributes that Jonah depends on for himself offend him when God extends them to Jonahs enemies. We wince in painful self-recognition, because there is at least a little bit of Jonah in all of us. We, too, would deny to those we condemn or dislike the very mercy and grace that God so generously has shown to us. Jonah;s attack supports the very nature of God that Israel had come to appreciate and count on, while at the same time bristling at those very same attributes when applied to others of whom we disapprove.

Finally, the narrative of the Bibles most wildly successful, yet most unhappy, prophet leaves the reader hanging. God has the last word, but, mercy, it is an abrupt word. God saves the city out of compassion for those who do not know their right hand from their left small children, the mentally challenged, those without voice and then adds, and also many cattle. God saves the city for the sake of those who have no standing, no political clout in their culture. God is concerned not only with those who are outside our arena of concern, but also has compassion for those we regard as beneath our concern because they are powerless those who simply are not on our radar screen. That's the problem in Jesus'parable of the rich man and Lazarus in Luke 16. There is no indication he intentionally ignored Lazarus; he simply did not see him.

So, with this as background, hear a reflection on my imaginary encounter with this comical and troublesome prophet:
I had passed him on the street many a time as I rushed toward whatever appointment dragged me forward, intentionally never meeting his eye as I strode toward the future I imagined and past his signs that denied such an expanse of time lay before me or anyone else. THE END IS NEAR! they always read. Little did I imagine I ever would see his long, untrimmed, ungroomed beard wagging across a paper-covered table, or that I would find it in me to hear the tale of woe that I heard, Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown! he shouted.

His eyes were clear with nothing of the haze that drugs or alcohol leave. I doubted he was under the influence of anything less than the God of the universe, Maker of the multitudes, the God of love who inspired this devastatingly terse sermon about the final fate of the city in which I lived. So, I asked if he would give an account of his journey and the bait that lured him to my town and bade him proclaim so dire a destiny.

My tale of woe will show how I proved faithful to the calling that pressed me to travel to a city I hated, that great, old and terrible city called Nineveh. God knows I did exactly as I was told. The king repented, and God relented, which shows that God loves my enemies more than He loves me, he said.

You did exactly as God told you? I asked. I heard the story a little differently.
I doubted, myself, was his reply. Who was I to go to Nineveh? So, I headed out to sea. I went down to the shore, then down into the ship, then down into the escape of sleep. A storm rolled in, the sailors slipped from their normal cursing into prayer, and the deep was my last downfall and my rising as the sailors worshiped Yahweh. The fish became my water taxi, my prison, my conveyance, as I prayed my barely-remembered prayers in its dark innards. I wished for death rather than this calling.

My obedience was reluctant, bitter and hard-won,tis true, but it was obedience of a sort, nonetheless. Finally, I did what I had been told. I went and preached. The word of destruction I pressed into the hated, pagan streets and ears and lives of the Ninevites!

The fish-stench hung about me like a curse as I uttered the sacred message of their destruction. Then something worse than even death itself happened. They repented!

You had even left out the repenting part, said I. As I recall, your sermon never even hinted that there might be a way out, a new start for those to whom you brought this bad news.

From the king down to their dogs and cats they repented, said he,put on their sackcloth and ashes, changed their ways. And God forgave those terrorists, ignored my cries, turned away from their destruction. I was so angry and disappointed that I marched out and spent my days on the outskirts of that great and terrible city in a righteous pout.

A plant grew up to shade me from the punishing heat of the sun. Then a worm God sent crawled out and cut the plant down at its very source. You see, the One who sent me to Nineveh and refused to punish this pagan crowd was not content until I was further humiliated.

I was hesitant to ask, since my friend with the matted beard had grown louder and so worked up that I was somewhat afraid to bother him, but I raised the question that preyed upon my mind: Can't God forgive those whom He chooses those we cannot, even our enemies and those we hate? Is there ever a time when it is too late for God to forgive?

He paused in his tirade almost as if, this time, my comment had broken his stride. God wanted me to be a prophet, so I am a prophet. And as a prophet I will not let God hide behind that long-suffering, slow to anger, merciful mask any longer! I want a God who will be on my side and against them! All I ask is for a God who hates whomever I hate and loves only those I love. God gave me the task, and I did it. was God who did not keep His part of the bargain!

Who wants a God who will prattle on about mercy and grace and show a loving face to friend and enemy alike!? who will save a great and terrible city for the sake of little children and also many cattle?!
I rose from the table where the bitter prophet sat, and as I did, I asked myself silently whether, had I tried all day, I could have put the question any better myself. Amen and amen.

THE BABY AND THE CROSS
Spanish Lakes 01-12-20 The Nicene Creed

Every Sunday in churches all over Christendom, the gathered faithful recite in the Nicene Creed:Who for us and for our salvation came down from heaven. And was incarnate of the Holy Ghost and of the Virgin Mary and was made man, was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate, suffered and was buried; and the third day rose again according to the Scriptures. And nobody thinks a thing of it! But, please do note that this official summary of the faith astonishingly jumps straight from birth to death, with apparent indifference to what happened in between. Have you ever asked yourself, Why? My suspicion is that it is to keep Jesus manageable.

Nicene Christianity is the religion of Christmas and Easter, the celebration of a Jesus who is either too young or in too much agony to bother us with his revolutionary rhetoric. The adult Jesus who calls his followers to renounce wealth, power and violence is singularly absent, passed over in preference for the cooing baby or the screaming victim. As such, Nicene Christianity is easily conscripted into a religion of convenience, with believers worshipping a glorified but gagged Savior who has nothing to say about how we use our money, or how we treat the poor and marginalized, or whether or not we go to war.

Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire with the conversion of the emperor Constantine in 312 C.E., after which the Church began to backpedal on the more radical demands of the adult Jesus. The Nicene Creed was composed in 325 C.E. under the sponsorship of Constantine. It was he who decided that December 25 was to be the date on which Christians were to celebrate the birth of Christ; and it was Constantine who ordered the building of the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem. Yes, Christmas, a festival completely unknown to the early Church, was invented by the Roman emperor. So, from Constantine onward the radical Christ worshipped by the early Church gets shoved more and more to the margins of Christian history so that he can be replaced by the infinitely more accommodating religion of the baby and the cross.

In his first public discourse at his home synagogue in Nazareth, the adult Jesus describes his mission as being to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and to set at liberty those who are oppressed. [Luke 4:18] He insists that social outcasts should be loved and cared for [Matthew 19:21], and that the rich have less chance of getting into heaven than a camel has of going through the eye of a needle [Matthew 19:24]. Jesus sets out to destroy the imprisoning obligations of debt, speaking instead of its forgiveness and the redistribution of wealth. There is considerable evidence that the early Church took him seriously as we read:
All who believed were together and had all things in common;
and they sold their possessions and goods and distributed them
to all, as any had need [Acts 2:43ff]. In the end, He was accused of blasphemy for attacking the religious authorities as self-serving and hypocritical.

In contrast, the Nicene religion of the baby and the cross gives us Christianity without the politics. The recent nativity scene with movie stars cast as the Holy Family, shepherds, Wise Men and angels is the perfect tableau into which to place this Nicene infant, for like these much-lauded celebrities, this infant Christ is there to be gazed upon and adored but neither heard nor heeded. In a similar vein, contemporary praise choruses offer wave upon wave of glory to the name of Jesus but offer little political or economic content to trouble his adoring fans. You simply will not hear: Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, but it's in our hymnal, #475; look it up some time; it's powerful stuff!

Yet, despite the silence of the baby, it's obvious to anyone who actually has taken the trouble to read the Christmas stories that the Gospel regards the Incarnation as a challenge to the existing order. The pregnant Mary anticipates Christs birth with a little fiery political theology of her own, blazing: God has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away, [Luke 1:52-53].

Born among farm laborers, yet worshipped by kings, the coming of Christ announces an astonishing reversal of political authority. In a universally neglected Christmas text [Matthew 2:13-23], the local imperial stooge, Herod, is so threatened by rumors of this birth that he sends troops to Bethlehem to find the child and kill him. Herod instinctively recognizes that to claim, Jesus is Lord and king is to say that Caesar is not. So, Christs birth is no silent night it's the beginning of a revolution that threatens to undermine the entire basis of Roman power. And, to state the obvious, empires never relinquish power gladly.

It was hatred and danger, of course, that drove the Holy Family out of Bethlehem and across the harsh desert, the wilderness, of Exodus, to exile in Egypt. No romantic images there, especially when compounded by Herods slaughter of the children.

Joseph and Mary paid a stiff price to be Jews in Caesars empire, and then an even stiffer price to be Messiahs parents in Herods kingdom. Matthew glosses over the details, but we can imagine the arduous trek after childbirth, finding sustenance in the wilderness where, 1400 years earlier, the newly-liberated Hebrews would have panicked and died had God not laid out provisions for them every day. Then Mary and Joseph had to make a home in the foreign land where their ancestors had found themselves dependent on a lost brothers generosity [cff. the Joseph saga in the last quarter of Genesis, chapters 37-50].

This vignette which combines the Hebrew Bibles two most potent images, wilderness and exile, grounded the Jesus era in danger and ordeal. Whatever sentimentalized picture we paint for Lukes Christmas Eve, with shepherds and angels and friendly animals gathered round the manger, the harsh light of Matthews morning-after discloses the deeper truth of the Incarnation: it was danger and ordeal from the beginning. Everyone who touched it was in danger, because the darkness fought back, willing to destroy many lives in order to stifle the One Life.

Herods furious slaughter of the children two and under is a tragic foreshadowing of what happens whenever power feels threatened. Over the centuries, the powerful have stopped at nothing to preserve their fortunes and thrones. Holy wars, genocide, torture, slavery, child labor, unsafe working conditions, thievery in high places, vote-stealing, assassination of political opponents, predatory business practices they happen again and again and again, as if a single script were simply passed on from one powerful hand to another.

Little wonder, then, that commentator Jim Wallis, editor of Sojourners magazine, created a firestorm back in 2004 when he penned an attack on what he called the Bush administrations theology of empire, helpfully illustrated with a picture of George W. Bush made up to look like the emperor Constantine, complete with laurel wreath. Argued Wallis, Once there was Rome; now there is a new Rome.

Constantine was converted to Christianity by a vision that came to him on the eve of the battle of Milvian Bridge.He saw with his own eyes, up in the sky and resting over the sun, a cross-shaped trophy formed from light, and a text attached to it which said, In hoc signo vinces -- by this sign, conquer. Soon the cross would morph from being the hated symbol of Roman brutality into the universally recognizable logo of the Holy Roman Empire. Within a century, St. Augustine would develop the novel idea of just war, an idea which trimmed the Church originally pacifist message to fit the needs of the imperial war machine.

We cannot suppose all this has stopped in our own time, can we? Contemporary politicians appropriate the language of Christianity to support and justify their political ambitions. The most current example happened just ten days ago, as Donald Trump announced to a cadre of evangelical leaders in Miami: God is on our side! And just like Nicene Christianity, the Christianity of our new Rome offers another carefully edited version of the Bible. Once again, the religion that speaks of forgiving enemies and turning the other cheek and going the second mile is singularly absent, while what remains gets draped in red-white-and-blue bunting and unquestioningly conscripted into service. Constantine would be proud about how facilely we do this.

The story of Christmas asserts that God is not best imagined as an all-powerful despot, but as a vulnerable and pathetic child. Just think of it! It is an astonishing statement about the nature of divine power. But in the hands of conservative theologians, the Nicene religion of the baby and the cross becomes a way of deflecting attention from the teachings of the adult Christ. It’s a form of religion that concentrates on things like the virgin birth (about which the evangelist Mark and the apostle Paul know nothing or at least write nothing) while ignoring the fact that the gospels are far more concerned about the treatment of the poor and forgiveness of our enemies.

Lots of politicians claim that Jesus Christ changed my life, but Jesus seems to have had little impact on their policies. In Mississippi, the newest want-to-be Americans are reeling from the Thanksgiving present visited upon them by immigration and naturalization officials, who tore families apart with coordinated raids at seven chicken processing plants to prevent undocumented Hispanics from working one more day in this nation of immigrants. How many plant owners, managers, or HR personnel were jailed or even questioned regarding their shoddy record-keeping of I-9 documents? Zero. But 680 migrants were summarily deported. Imagine the courage it takes to try to build a new life in a nation where the settled demand walls and officials prevent husbands and wives from kissing each other goodbye.

I don't know what boat your ancestors came over on. Mine came from France; my great, great, great seven greats back and all women; my mothers mothers mothers nine generations back. They wouldn't educate her in France; they were in the middle of a revolution, so it was inconvenient. So, she did a Yentel; she chopped off her hair, dressed like a man, and graduated from the Sorbonne, married a dirt farmer, and moved to southern Indiana. My mother would regularly remind me: That's in your blood somewhere, child. Always remember you are genetically predisposed to adoring uppity women! It's a good thing; I married two of them.

Rather than turning away from these pockets of sadness and courage as we bask in the aftermath of Christmas cheer, we should see within them the very heart of this holy season we've just celebrated. Before we turned Joseph and Mary into marble statues, they were a brave young couple who agreed to serve God at a time when most everyone else was busy serving themselves. Before they became the prototypes for the commercial season, the gift-bearing Wise Men were brave pilgrims who left behind everything they knew in order to follow Gods star. Before they inspired sweet carols, the shepherds bravely stepped outside the box of their long-established station in the world, stopped guarding somebody elses sheep, and went to experience God's new thing at Bethlehem.

Even now sadness and courage walk hand in hand. Ask your pastor what it is like to serve at the Christmas season, putting on best-ever events while trying to help people deal with the grief and stress that erupt at this time of year. Young people need to ask their parents how they deal with year-end work, mounting debt, wanting them to have a sweet holiday, while wishing they could taste once more the cookies their moms used to bake.

Talk to the young who flood the airports in search of childhood homes they pray aren't completely left behind. On a purely personal note, the Christmas I came completely unglued was the year our great-nephew, Andrew, flew from Oklahoma City to Lexington to be with his grandparents. He had to change planes in St. Louis, -- alone -- and thus learn what the words unaccompanied minor, mean. He was seven. Thank you, compassionate and competent airline personnel who assisted him, but we held our collective breath for three hours in Kentucky while he made the trip. There are some things a seven-year-old simply should not have to know how to do.

Talk to newlyweds trying to merge Christmas expectations in new homes, while wishing they could be in yesterdays nest one more time. Talk to the newly divorced who cannot hide from the cost of attempting a fresh start.

Talk to the Mexican who cleans your house or hotel room, the Honduran who cooks your food, the Somali who packs your meat, or the Immokalee farm worker who picks your vegetables, about how it feels to be poor, and unwanted, and excluded, and exploited in our land of the free and home of the brave.

It takes courage to see this sadness, and it requires a capacity for sadness to see their courage. But there simply is no better way to greet the dawning of Gods new age! For we seek to serve a God who reminds us from Isaiah all the way to Revelation: Behold, I am doing a new thing[Isaiah 43:19; Rev. 21:5]. Let the Church say: Amen.

STARSTRUCK FEAST OF THE EPIPHANY
Spanish Lakes 01-05-20 Matthew 2:1-12


MERRY CHRISTMAS!! I AM CERTAIN THAT SOUNDS HOPELESSLY LATE TO YOU, BUT REALLY IT IS NOT; LET ME BE THE LAST TO WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS. MANY OF US STILL ARE DECORATED FOR THE HOLIDAY (THE HOLY DAY, FOR THAT IS INDEED THE ORIGIN OF THE WORD HOLIDAY). TODAY WE WIND UP OUR CELEBRATION OF THE SEASON OF CHRISTMAS. THAT'S RIGHT; CHRISTMAS IS NOT A DAY, BUT A SEASON, AND THAT SEASON IS TWELVE DAYS LONG, JUST LIKE IN THE OLD SONG . . . ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME . . .

WITH ALL OUR CONTEMPORARY YEAR-END BUSY-NESS WE HAVE TELESCOPED THIS SPECIAL HOLY SEASON INTO A SINGLE DAY. AND ALTHOUGH WE DECIDEDLY ARE SWIMMING UPSTREAM AGAINST A PRETTY HEAVY SECULAR CURRENT, WE NEED CONSTANTLY TO REMIND OURSELVES THAT THE SECULAR CALENDAR AND THE CHURCH CALENDAR ARE NOT THE SAME CALENDARS. THE CHURCH CALENDAR BEGINS THE FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT, SO WHILE WE THINK OF THE YEAR AS BEING ONLY 5 DAYS OLD, IN THE CHURCH OUR YEAR HAS ALREADY PASSED THROUGH TWO ENTIRE SEASONS: ADVENT, WHICH BEGAN FOR US DECEMBER 1; AND CHRISTMAS-TIDE, WHICH BEGAN CHRISTMAS DAY, A WEEK AND A HALF AGO. THE EXPRESS PURPOSE OF THE CHURCH CALENDAR IS TO SLOW TIME DOWN FOR US, SO THAT WE CAN ANTICIPATE AND PREPARE FOR OUR HOLY DAYS AND SEASONS, SO THAT WE CAN CELEBRATE THEM MORE FULLY.

RECALL WITH ME THAT WE BEGAN OUR PREPARA-TION FOR CHRISTMAS BACK IN AT THE BEGINNING OF DECEMBER WHEN JAY LIT THE FIRST CANDLE ON THE ADVENT WREATH FOR US. AND DURING THAT TIME OF ADVENT PREPARATION WE HEARD TEXTS FROM MATTHEW ABOUT CHRIST’S RETURN IN GLORY, REMINDING US TO REMAIN PATIENT AND WATCHFUL; AND WE HEARD FROM MICHA AND JEREMIAH AND MALACHI ABOUT REMEMBERING, AND WAITING, AND HOPING AGAINST HOPE.

OUR ANTICIPATION OF CHRISTMASTIDE INCREASED AS WE HELD OUR CANDLELIGHT SERVICE CHRISTMAS EVE, AS THE CHRIST CANDLE IN THE ADVENT WREATH WAS LIT AND WE SANG THE CAROLS WE ALL HAD BEEN CHAMPING AT THE BIT TO SING.

LAST WEEK, REV. FRED RHINES LED WORSHIP AS BEWILDERED SHEPHERDS CAME TO VISIT, AND WE WERE REMINDED THAT GOD'S JOYFUL ONRUSH INTO THE WORLD IS GOOD NEWS, NOT JUST FOR SOME, BUT FOR EVERYONE.

AND TODAY (ACTUALLY TOMORROW) OUR SEASON OF CHRISTMAS DRAWS TO A CLOSE WITH THE CELEBRATION OF EPIPHANY, THE VISITATION OF THE MAGI TO THE MANGER, THE STORY WHICH WE HAVE JUST READ TO US IN MATTHEWS ACCOUNT OF JESUS BIRTH. THE WORD EPIPHANY, MEANS SHOWING, AND HERE JESUS IS SHOWN TO THE GENTILE WORLD THROUGH THE EYES OF THE MAGI.

MATTHEW DOES NOT GIVE US A WHOLE LOT TO GO ON IN HIS ACCOUNT. IN FACT, DESPITE THE TITLE OF THE OPENING HYMN, WE DO NOT EVEN KNOW HOW MANY WISE MEN THERE WERE. MATTHEW MENTIONS THREE GIFTS, THAT IS TRUE, BUT NEVER DOES HE SAY HOW MANY THERE WERE WHO BROUGHT THEM. HE SIMPLY SAYS THERE WERE WISE MEN WHO CAME FROM THE EAST, PRESUMABLY PERSIA – WHAT WOULD BE PRESENT- DAY IRAQ, TO SEEK A KING, THE COMING OF WHICH HAD BEEN DECLAMED TO THEM BY A STAR IN THE HEAVENS. DOUBTLESS THESE WERE ANCIENT ASTROMONMERS, WHOSE BUSINESS IT WOULD HAVE BEEN TO WATCH THE HEAVENS, SO CERTAINLY THEY WOULD HAVE NOTICED A NEW STAR. REMEMBER THE EXCITEMENT AT FINDING THE COMETS KOHOUTEK AND HALE-BOPP AND SHOEMAKER-LEVY? YES, THEY WERE COMETS RATHER THAN STARS, BUT RECALL THE STIR THEY CREATED IN THE ASTRONOMICAL COMMUNITY. SO IMAGINE THE BUZZ AT THE DISCOVERY OF A NEW STAR PARTICULARLY ONE THAT SEEMS TO HAVE A MIND OF ITS OWN.

WHAT IS IT LIKE TO SEE SOMETHING THAT NO ELSE SEES?! WHAT IS IT LIKE TO HAVE A PASSION AND AN URGENCY TO FOLLOW IT THROUGH TO SEE WHERE IT LEADS DESPITE THE COST, DESPITE ALL THE WELL-REHEARSED ARGUMENTS AND PRACTICAL REASONS AS TO WHY IT WON'T WORK, WHY YOU SHOULD JUST FORGET ABOUT IT, WHY YOU SHOULD JUST DROP IT? WOULDN'T IT BE EASIER JUST TO STAY SAFELY AND COMFORTABLY AT HOME AND FORGET THE WHOLE THING? HOW MANY TIMES HAS THAT QUESTION BEEN ASKED DOWN THROUGH THE AGES? COLUMBUS MUST HAVE ASKED IT OF HIMSELF A MILLION TIMES AS MUST HAVE MICHAELANGELO AND JOAN OF ARC AND FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, AND ORVILLE AND WILBUR WRIGHT AND MADAME CURIE AND DAG HAMMARSKJOLD AND MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. AND ST. MOTHER TERESA AND ARCHBISHOP ROMERO AND BISHOP DESMOND TUTU AND GRETA THUNBERG. AS NOTED AUTHOR AND THEOLOGIAN KARL RAHNER WROTE:
THE GREAT EXPERIENCES OF LIFE MAY BE A MATTER
OF DESTINY, GIFTS OF GOD . . . YET THEY TEND TO BE
MOSTLY GIVEN TO THOSE WHO ARE PREPARED TO
RECEIVE THEM. OTHERWISE THE STAR MAY RISE OVER
A PERSONS LIFE, YET REMAIN UNRECOGNIZED. FOR
GREAT MOMENTS OF WISDOM, OF ART, OR LOVE ONE HAS
TO PREPARE BODY AND SOUL. (Karl Rahner, S.J.)

IT WAS IN THE WINTER OF 1985 THAT I FIRST SAW DESMOND TUTU. HE WAS MAKING A VISIT TO CHICAGO, WHERE JANE WAS AT THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO DIVINITY SCHOOL. AN INVITATION HAD BEEN ISSUED TO THE STUDENT COMMUNITY TO COME FOR BREAKFAST. SO, WE DECIDED TO GO.

THE BALLROOM WAS JAMMED. WE WERE SITTING AT AN AISLE TABLE, WHEN THIS TINY, NUT-BROWN MAN STRODE PURPOSEFULLY IN AND WENT TO THE PODIUM. HE BROUGHT GREETINGS TO US ALL AND TOLD US ABOUT THE PROGRESS THAT WAS BEING MADE IN THE DISMANTLING OF APARTHEID IN SOUTH AFRICA, AND HOW IMPORTANT IT WAS FOR US TO SUPPORT THESE EFFORTS. AT THE END OF HIS ADDRESS, HE AGREED TO TAKE A FEW QUESTIONS.

THE VERY LAST QUESTION CAME FROM A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG BLACK WOMAN, FULL OF SPIRIT AND FIRE, WHO SQUARED HER SHOULDERS, LOOKED HIM DIRECTLY IN THE EYE AND ASKED: WHY SHOULD A YOUNG BLACK MAN IN SOWETO, POOREST BLACK DISTRICT IN SOUTH AFRICA, LISTEN TO DESMOND TUTU AND HIS MESSAGE OF HOPE AND PEACE, INSTAED OF ENGAGING IN REVOLUTION?

AND TUTU STOPPED FOR A MOMENT, LOOKED AT HER TO SEE IF SHE WAS SERIOUS AND DISCERNED THAT SHE WAS, AND THEN SAID IN HIS CLIPPED BRITISH LILT: LISTEN TO TUTU, THAT OLD FOOL!? NO, I NEVER WOULD TELL HIM TO LISTEN TO TUTU. INSTEAD HE MUST LISTEN TO GOD! AND WITH THAT, HE LEFT -- THE ROOMFUL OF US TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK CONVICTED BY THE ESSENTIAL TRUTH OF THE OBVIOUS, WHICH HE HAD JUST SO CLEARLY ARTICULATED.

WHY IS IT THE OUTSIDER WHO SO OFTEN CAN SEE THE REALITY AROUND US THAT WE SIMPLY DO NOT SEE? ARE WE BLINDED BY FAMILIARITY? DO OUR EXPECTA-TIONS OF HOW SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN GET IN THE WAY OF RECOGNIZING IT WHEN IT HAPPENS IN ITS OWN WAY? DO WE SIMPLY HAVE TOO MUCH INVESTED IN OUR EXPECTATIONS TO RECOGNIZE THE REAL THING? WHAT DO WE HAVE AT STAKE IN THE STATUS QUO THAT THE OUTSIDER DOES NOT? AND THERE IS NO QUESTION BUT WHAT THE MAGI IN THIS MORNINGS TEXT ARE OUTSIDERS. THEY ARE FOREIGN NATIONALS, AND MOREOVER THEY ARE GENTILES; THEY ARE OTHER IN JUST ABOUT EVERY POSSIBLE CATEGORY IMAGINABLE.

ANYWAY, OFF THEY GO, WHETHER WISE MAN OR BISHOP OR SEER, NOT KNOWING WHERE IT ALL WILL LEAD OR HOW LONG THE JOURNEY WILL TAKE, NOT UNLIKE ANCIENT ABRAHAM CALLED UNTO A LAND HE DOES NOT KNOW AND CANNOT IMAGINE, BUT LISTENING TO THAT COMPELLING INNER VOICE THAT SAYS: I'LL TELL YOU WHEN YOU GET THERE; UNTIL THEN, COME ALONG.

WE CAN ALWAYS THINK OF A MILLION PRACTICAL REASONS NOT TO GO, NOT TO FOLLOW THROUGH, AND ONLY ONE REASON TO DO IT: I JUST HAVE TO SEE WHERE IT ALL LEADS.
WELL, THE PASSIONATE AND THE PRACTICAL COLLIDE FULL FORCE AT JERUSALEM, THE SEAT OF GOVERNMENT. A PALACE SEEMS LIKE A REASONALBE PLACE TO BEGIN THE SEARCH FOR A KING, WHICH IS WHERE THE MAGI RUN STRAIGHT INTO HEROD WHO HAS NOT EVEN NOTICED THE NEW STAR. AND ALTHOUGH HE RECEIVES THEM CORDIALLY AND SENDS THEM ON THEIR WAY TO CONTINUE THEIR SEARCH, CLEARLY HE IS TROUBLED. YOU CAN ALMOST HEAR HIS MIND AT WORK:
KING?! NEW BORN KING? I'M THE ONLY KING
AROUND HERE – AND THAT'S THE WAY IT IS GOING TO
STAY! YES, BY ALL MEANS, WE MUST FIND HIM AND
WHEN YOU DO, RETURN TO ME SO THAT I CAN COME
TO WORHSIP HIM IN MY OWN SPECIAL WAY . . .

AND IT IS NOT JUST HEROD WHO IS TROUBLED; NO, JERUSALEM IS PRACTICAL AS WELL. THE TEXT IS QUITE CLEAR ABOUT THIS, NOTING THAT THEY, TOO, ARE TROUBLED AT THE PROSPECTS OF A NEW KING: AND ALL JERUSALEM WITH HIM. ALTHOUGH HEROD IS A SCOUNDREL, AT LEAST HE IS A KNOWN SCOUNDREL; AT LEAST HE'S PREDICTABLE, SO THEY KNOW WHAT THEY ARE DEALING WITH. BUT THE PROSPECTS OF A NEW AND DIFFERENT KING ARE TROUBLING:
NEW KING? OH, DEAR. DIFFERENT RULES; MAYBE
MORE TAXES; MAYBE EVEN TROUBLE WITH ROME. NO,
NO, NO!! THIS WILL NEVER DO!

AH, YES. A MILLION REASONS TO IGNORE THE STAR OR TO WISH IT AWAY, WHETHER WISE MAN OR KING OR PLAIN, OLD, ORDINARY CITIZEN. AND YET, THEY CANNOT IGNORE IT, FOR THEY HAVE NOT CHOSEN THIS JOURNEY IT HAS CHOSEN THEM.

SO, THE WISE MEN FOLLOW THE STAR UNTIL IT STOPS OVER A NEWBORN BABE IN AN OBSCURE, LITTLE VILLAGE. HERE IS THE RULER THEY HAVE BEEN SEARCHING FOR NOT WHAT THEY EXPECTED – NOT WHAT ANYONE EXPECTED BUT HERE, NONETHELESS, OR AT LEAST THAT'S WHAT THE STAR SAYS. AND GOING INTO THE HOUSE, THEY SAW THE CHILD WITH MARY HIS MOTHER, AND THEY FELL DOWN AND WORSHIPPED HIM.

THESE MEN HAVE COME I DO BEG YOU VERY EARNESTLY TO NOTE THIS NOT SIMPLY TO SEE OR TO EVALUATE, BUT TO DO REVERENCE. THEY ARE NOT CURIOUS; THEY ARE NOT TALKATIVE; THEY ARE SUBMISSIVE.

AS THEY WATCH THE CHILD, IN HIS SMILE THEY CATCH A GLIMPSE OF ETERNITY, AND THEY OFFER GIFTS BEFITTING ANY MONARCH GOLD, FRANKINCENSE, AND MYRRH. AND, HAVING SEEN HIM, THEY RETURN HOME BY ANOTHER WAY.

NO NEED TO GO BACK TO HEROD. THEY HAVE SEEN A REAL KING. AMEN.

THE IMPOSSIBLE AND THE IMPROBABLE
Spanish Lakes 12/15/19 Micah 5:2-5a; Luke 1:39-56

Today's paired Bible readings ask us to consider the improbable, the unlikely, the impossible. As Christians we should be used to this, despite the fact that we rely primarily on the rational and the predictable the part of our faith that we can understand easily and manage with our minds. We discount at worst or refuse to embrace fully at best those parts of scripture we do not understand. Today's Hebrew Bible reading and Gospel reading we just heard are prime examples of such wildly improbable passages.

The prophet Micah writes at a time when his country lies in ruins. Israel is defeated, her cities destroyed, her farms devastated, her leaders carted off into exile in Babylon. This obviously is the end of the line. Rather I should say it is obvious to everyone except Micah. Micah refuses to believe any of it! Instead, as one of the faithful of God, he anticipates the day when the tables will be turned.

His mind dwells, sometimes almost with serenity, upon the revolution of events. The writer accepts as he must the defeat of Israel. Her troops are beaten, her cities besieged, her government thrown down. And yet, that is not the end, says Micah. Her revival and triumph will begin in a small way and a small place, and it will proceed apace. Their new leader will come from Bethlehem, a small town hallowed by memory and story. He will be the long-awaited deliverer for Israel, ..whose going forth has been from of old, from everlasting. Hence, he is to be no temporary leader, blessed with temporary triumphs. No, he will re-establish the Davidic kingdom which is to last forever.

Well, clearly Micah is out of his mind! Everyone knows that the mighty and powerful live in Jerusalem. That’s where the money is; that's where the prestige is; that's where the power is. Bethlehem is the smallest town in the area occupied by the smallest tribe, a real backwater kind of place the least of the least. This is fly-over country. And someone from there is supposed to lead us? Impossible! Kind of like someone from the backwoods of Kentucky or Springfield, Illinois trying to be president. Surely you catch the sense of how offensive and unthinkable Micah's vision must have been to folks busy looking elsewhere for their deliverer. No, not Bethlehem . . . must be some mistake. Impossible!

Now from our Hebrew Bible reading we turn to the gospel reading of the day that part of scripture which we have come to call the Magnificat of Mary. The entire scene is equally as improbable as Micah's vision. Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Mary is a bewildered pregnant teenager in search of counsel from someone older and wiser who, as it turns out, is expecting as well all this well past her expected child-bearing years. You can almost hear their cries of, What!? You too? ringing out upon their meeting. How improbable that one so old and one so young should be instruments of Gods work in the world.

As they blurt out their stories, each so eager that their words tumble out over one another, Mary tells Elizabeth of the angel visitation and his announcement that she has found favor with God. And yet by the ordinary reckoning of the world, what kind of favor is it that Mary has found? Such favor as many would be reluctant to claim. Presently she would go on a long and wandering journey to a small town not because she wanted to go, but under compulsion the foreign masters of her country. And there in Bethlehem, on a winters night, the pains of childbirth would come upon her. Certainly no glory or favor would be round her then. No, nor even mercy, seemingly. There would be no room for her or her baby in the inn. He would be born in a stable and cradled nowhere but in the hay of the oxens crib. At that moment she may have seen herself as just one more figure in the eternal agony of motherhood amid conditions as hard and harsh as any woman ever had faced.

And after Bethlehem, what would follow? A flight to Egypt to assure the childs safety; and do recall with me: Egypt took them in. They knew these foreigners had crossed their frontier. Not to put too fine a point on it but had our current national immigration policy been enacted by Egypt, Mary, Joseph and their newborn son would have been returned to Herod's furious slaughter. How many refugees were admitted in September? For the first time in our nations history: ZERO. But that is a different topic for another day.

Then came a return to Nazareth and long years of obscurity and poverty there in the village hidden among the hills. Marys baby of Nazareth would grow up into the man who must go out into a life which she soon perceived would be one of increasing danger. The humble people loved him while those who had a great deal at stake with the status quo regarded him with increasing suspicion and hatred. And at last he would be taken to the leaders of the nation, condemned to death, and crucified. That was the career which was to follow the salutation of the angel. Favor with God, indeed!

No, if Mary expected unbroken happiness, clearly she did not get it. Had she measured Gods favor by the presence of that, she would have had to say, when it was all added up, that the promise of favor from the angel was only an illusion. But the truth lay deeper then and lies deeper now.

We typically regard Gods favor as ease and pleasure. We sing it every Sunday morning: Praise God, from whom all blessings flow -- and while ease and pleasure sometimes may come from Gods hand, they are not synonymous with blessing. We may come to know at last that Gods favor has been revealed in those things which were desperately hard, but the confronting of which has made our souls heroic. Gods favor may come in a collision of our conscience with malignant forces in the world which batter and bruise us, but which enable us to create a better world. At first blush, in such situations a claim of Gods favor would seem unlikely. But in the end, it is those given something great to do, even though they are battered in the process, that have been blessed by God. I'm reminded of Mother Theresa, saying: Sometimes I wish God didn't trust me so much. Or Teresa of Avila lifting her eyes heavenward after her convent burned for the third time and saying to God: If this is how you treat your friends, it's no wonder you have so few!

So, Marys song of praise that we call Magnificat comes tumbling out. To be sure, it has to do with Mary, but in a deeper and stronger sense it has to do even more with Marys Son. Here is the reason for her rejoicing: not for what she, herself, might do, but because of what might be done by him who was to be born of her. The early Church saw the Magnificat as an expression of the kind of wild and impossible salvation God wrought through Jesus. It was a salvation that the great ones of the earth refused to welcome; there was dynamite in it. It would challenge the selfish powers of this earth and exalt those of low degree.

The Christian gospel, when it is truest to itself, always must have in it an explosive power from which some will shrink in fear. The Church has to have that fire call it the leaven of discontent, for it cannot be true to the Christ who came into the world bringing abundant life unless it is restless in the face of the unChristian aspects of this world, restless and rebellious against unemployment and needless poverty, against the wretched drabness of tenements, against the starved misery of exploited migrant workers, against the fomenting of bigotry and hatred towards those, not like us.

When Mary sings her Magnificat, she catches a glimpse of the wholesale overthrow of the order of things as they are to the way God would have them with a little fiery political theology of her own: God has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts . . . has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree . . . has filled the hungry with good things, and has sent the rich empty away. Social upheaval threatening stuff for those in power!

It must have sounded like so much dreaming by a foolish youngster in the midst of an occupied land. How could she or her child have been more vulnerable or powerless? How could anyone stand against the might of Rome with all its money and troops and armaments? Impossible!

And yet, who is it today that we remember in love and awe? At whose feet do we fall? Caesar? Herod? No, we remember the One who came not in power, but in love the One who is the embodiment of love, the One who came to be Emmanuel, God with us -- even Jesus Christ. It is to his lowly manger we come to worship and kneel in adoration.

The coming of the Christ into the world in this unpredictable and unlikely way is a reminder of the delight God must take in doing the impossible with the unlikely. For in the face of our own confusion about how God will use us in the world, we hear echoed the angels reply down through the ages to laughing Sarah, questioning Elizabeth, and bewildered Mary: Is there anything too hard for God to do?

And, in answer, the ages laugh:
Too hard for God? IMPOSSIBLE!

THE GRASS WITHERS, THE FLOWER FADES . . .
Spanish Lakes 12-08-19 Isaiah 40: 1-11

Isaiah 40 is the First Testament text for the day. It forms the beginning of the second part of the book of Isaiah. Here we find Israel now in exile for some fifty years. Most of the people who originally had been captured by the Babylonians and taken back to Babylon have died. There is a whole new generation of the children of Israel, a generation born into exile. Most of the people to whom this passage is directed have never seen Jerusalem; they've only heard stories told in hushed tones behind closed doors. They've heard tales of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekkah, Jacob and Joseph. They've heard stories of how Moses led the children of Israel out of bondage in the land of Egypt, and how Miriam danced in freedom beyond the Red Sea. They've heard stories about great King David and how his empire had been the envy of the Middle East. They learn about their God, Yahweh and how once that God had spoken a word and brought the world into being, how that God had spoken and brought a people into existence. Yes, the word of God is the one thing to which Judah can always return with certainty, for when God speaks a covenant, it is something upon which one can count.
They've heard the stories, but now that the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob apparently is lying somewhere in a ditch, tail between the legs, defeated by the god of the Babylonians what will they do? To whom can they turn? Perhaps, they scarcely can bring themselves to think it perhaps, our God is dead. And why not? God promised to protect them, and clearly that has not happened. Here they are, imprisoned in someone else's backyard; someone had to go through Yahweh to get to them, and now that someone has gotten to them. What else are they supposed to think?

These are the children of the covenant the covenant first made with Abraham. God is supposed to be faithful, and Israel will stand forever under God's protection. What are they to think when God clearly has not kept up his end of the bargain?

Then, out of the bleakness of their dark futility, comes a word to the prophet Isaiah: Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Now, lest we hear these words as words that have come to people who have been patiently waiting, hoping to hear something of this sort ever since they left their cozy split-levels in the nicer section of Jerusalem, we have to remember that these are people without much hope. These are people who have just about given up on the idea of ever seeing their God alive again. They are dejected, dispirited, despairing. But, suddenly, out of nowhere or out of everywhere all at the same time there comes a word, a word that not only restores hope, but brings joy on the wings of angels,Fear not! Speak tenderly to Jerusalem. Out of the graveyard of the gods, comes a word that not only is Yahweh not dead, but Yahweh is coming to restore Judah to honor the covenant to reconstitute the children of Israel.

In the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord; make
straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every
valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be
made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and
the rough places a plain. Then the glory of the Lord
shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for
the mouth of the Lord has spoken. [40:3-5]

Do you see what God is doing? Using language guaranteed to make everyone sit up and take notice, God has invoked the imagery of a royal procession through the desert. The desert you remember the desert, of course -- the wilderness where God delivered God's people right out from under Pharaoh's nose. The very same desert around which the parents of these exiles had been dragged naked, kicking and screaming some fifty years ago. The image here is of a king who is making a royal road through the very harshest of wildernesses and chaos for the purpose of claiming his people. Do you see? Not only is the king not dead, the king is coming in a big parade to lead his people home, and all the people will witness the glory of the Lord.

And a voice says,Cry out!
And I said,What shall I cry
What shall I cry?& Which is to say,What shall I tell these poor people who can't see through the darkness of their despair? What am I supposed to tell them?

Do you remember the stories about how God was humiliated by Nebuchadnezzar? Do you remember the stories about how the word of Yahweh had failed, how the covenant had been nullified? Do you remember how it was said that the word of our God not only didnt stand forever, it wasn't even worth a plug nickel? Do you remember? Well, forget about those stories. Prepare yourself, because while kingdoms may rise and fall, while kings may come and go, while conventional wisdom may change, while treaties may be made and broken, while the grass withers and the flower fades, the word of OUR God stands forever!
Behold, here is your God! That is what you shall cry. Before the rulers and dignitaries of this world the procession will pass. Before the eyes of the doubters and those who thought I was dead, the procession will pass. Before your very eyes the royal procession will pass. My might cannot be hidden, yet I am as gentle as a shepherd who gathers the lambs in his arms, and carries them in his bosom, and gently leads the mother sheep.

This is good news indeed! . . . the best of all possible news! The humiliation of the king has turned into a royal procession. The irony should not escape us.

In Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch (a lawyer and single father of two) does an unpopular thing in his small Alabama town he defends a black man, Tom Robinson, against a white man who has accused him of raping his daughter. Atticus agrees to take on the case, and subsequently presents evidence to indicate that Tom Robinson could not possibly have committed the crime of which he is accused. The air is thick with tension as the all-white male jury retires to determine the verdict.

As the jury is leaving, Atticus discovers that his children, Jem and Scout (her real name is Jean Louise) have silently snuck into the courthouse, and are sitting in the Negro balcony. Atticus is horrified to see that his children have been witness to a rape trial, but eventually allows them to sit next to the Rev. Sykes (minister of the black church) in the Negro balcony to await the verdict.

The children are bursting with pride at their fathers fantastic showing. Indeed, the black population of their small town has turned up in force to support their new patron saint, Atticuls Finch. Jem, the older child, goes into detail to anyone who will listen about how his father's masterful handling of key details virtually assures Tom Robinson of acquittal. Their father has gone against tradition in defending a black man against a white man, but he has done it with such conviction and dignity that he is, for that brief time while the jury was out, a bigger hero to his children than he had ever been. He has stood up to the pettiness and bigotry of the old South, and in the process has become a champion to his children.

After many hours and much tense waiting, the jury returns. The courtroom falls silent as the judge begins to poll the jury: Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, Scout observes,
I peeked at Jem; his hands were white from gripping the
balcony rail, and his shoulders jerked as if each guilty.
was a separate stab between them.

The bottom gallery of the courtroom begins to clear; Atticus leans over, puts his hand on Tom Robinsons shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Then, he picks up his briefcase and begins to walk down the center aisle toward the exit. Not a single person has left the Negro balcony. Scout, shocked by the obvious injustice of the outcome, loses track of what's going on around her and focuses only on the top of her fathers head. Moments before, he had been a hero to his daughter, but now he's just a small, broken man whose most distinguishing feature seems to be a few wisps of hair on top of the head that, in his daughters eyes, should have worn a crown, but now is bowed in shame as he shuffles off toward his cultural exile defeated, impotent, an embarrassment. Oblivious to all that is going on around her, Jean Louise Finch can only see the broken humiliation of the man who tomorrow will be the town joke -- the death of the little girls king.

Jean Louise Finch sits staring at the bowed head of a fallen king. She cannot tear her eyes from his head, for all the shame and hopelessness she feels; and in what she can only interpret as his humiliation, Atticus doesn’t look up to meet her gaze. As she sits there with her eyes glued to the top of his head, something begins to happen all around her, but shes too humiliated to notice. She feels a punch in her side, but she's reluctant to avert her gaze.

Miss Jean Louise?!

A hush falls over the courtroom. Out of the horror of the moment, Scout musters the strength to pry her eyes off her humiliation long enough to see everyone in the balcony, every black person in that small Alabama town, standing, paying silent tribute to the man who has suffered a great humiliation on their behalf. And Rev. Sykes, voice hisses, Miss Jean Louise, you stand up! Your fathers passion
The king, once humiliated, beaten, dead to all the grand expectations of his children, now walks in royal procession.

On this Sunday morning, we stand here once again peering into the dark eyes of Advent, wondering, Where is our God? The promise, spoken so many years ago, seems now so far away. Jesus, where are you? It's been so long now.

We live in a culture that sees our hope as a sign of ignorance and obscurantism, as a mark of our humiliation. Because to a world that pays homage to power and violence, we serve a small, broken man who died a shameful death rather than return violence with violence. And to the world, the Word to which we cling some 2,000 years later seems foolish and irrelevant. Indeed, when the king falls, the ground trembles for everyone.

But if that king should rise, the ground will break apart. If that king should rise from the grave that everyone knows must certainly be occupied, reality will be forever altered.

Take heart! Behold your God. The glory of the Lord shall be revealed. Because he's already come to us one time, lo these many years ago, now we may cling to the promise that he will come again for us, and our eyes shall behold the royal procession of our God.

Take heart! Fear not! Because while the grass may wither and the flower may fade, the Word of our God will stand forever!

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us . . . full of grace and truth. [John 1:14a]

Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus! Amen.

Spanish Lakes 11-10-19 Luke 19:1-10

This might sound strange, but we don't really know which one was the short one. In today's story the Zacchaeus story The Crook and the Christ
we don't know for certain whether Luke was telling us that Zacchaeus was short, or is he was telling us that Jesus was short. Verse 3: He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. By the time we get to the third,he in the sentence in the Greek, we can't tell which he, is the short one!

While this is a minor point, you have to admit it does mess with some of our long-held assumptions. Remember the old Sunday school song: Zacchaeus was a wee little man, a wee little man was he -- ? Well, maybe not. If we got that wrong, what else might we have gotten wrong about the Zacchaeus story?

Luke sets up this encounter with Zacchaeus back in the previous chapter when he recalls Jesus parable about the Pharisee and the tax-collector praying in the Temple. You remember: O Lord, I thank you that I am not like other men!

Tax-collectors were those people, in Jesus, day. Not only were they viewed as immoral, they were regarded as traitors. Walter Brueggemann describes them as a revenuer for the Roman Empire. The Roman Empire, like every other empire, was coercively extracting wealth for the sake of the center of the Empire. Which makes the tax-collector an agent of violence for the Empire. Given what he points out, we note that Luke tells us Zacchaeus was not just a tax-collector, the CHIEF tax-collector godfather of the toll-taker Mafia. We assume he was corrupt, possible violent, and definitely someone you would not want to be around.
But, Luke is not yet done with his description. Not only is Zacchaeus the chief tax-collector, Luke makes a point to say he is RICH. If you have been hanging with me in our sermon texts thus far this fall, you know already that rich folk don't fare too well in Luke's gospel. Just remember the story he tells about the rich man and Lazarus, and you will recall that the great reversal of the haves and the have nots is one of Luke's major themes.

In a story that precedes today's encounter, Jesus is approached by a rich young ruler to ask how he, too, could experience eternal life. And even though Jesus response deeply grieved the ruler, he was terrified to even consider something so radical. He could not do it, not even for Jesus. (Go, and sell all you have, and give it to the poor, and the come and follow me.) And Jesus ends that depressing encounter by commenting that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the realm of God. So, when Luke emphasizes that Zacchaeus has great wealth, he gets our attention.

The crowd, gathered to see Jesus, paid attention, too. To them Zacchaeus represents everything that is wrong with their world, he is the poster-child for corruption, extortion, avarice and elitism. When they see him climb up the tree to get a better view of Jesus, it must feel like sitting at an Occupy Wall Street protest and seeing the Wall Street executives arrive and set up their own tent to stay awhile. (Break out the champagne and caviar, boys.) Zacchaeus behavior does not fit the crowd's assumption about who he is and what he represents. It probably even makes them angry.

Lots of folk who came to see Jesus were not rich, and many of them would have had to give a big chunk of their money to Zacchaeus or folk like him without any choice in the matter. None of them would have any interest in interacting with this despicable outsider, someone who they assume takes great joy in preying on those who are vulnerable and oppressed. He is a very rich tax-collector. What business does he have coming to see their Jesus? We might well wonder what they said to him up in that tree as he waited.

When Jesus stops under that tree and calls Zacchaeus by name, their Jaws hit the ground. Why on earth out of all the people who desperately need Jesus to liberate them, to heal them, to save them when all of them are right there waiting for him, why would Jesus go out of his way to seek out and call out to Zacchaeus, the rich, corrupt, elitist, greedy, chief tax-collector, whom they so despise?! Jesus behavior didn't make any sense because it didn't fit their assumptions about Zacchaeus, nor their assumptions about Jesus himself.

As they stand there and fume at this unfortunate turn of events, Jesus tells that rich, corrupt, elitist, greedy, chief tax-collector to hurry down out of that tree. He is bringing the party to Zacchaeus, house this very day! As soon as the invitation leaves Jesus, lips, Zacchaeus tumbles out of the tree, not in fear and trembling for his corrupt behavior, but in complete rejoicing. Because, out of all the people there, Jesus has seen him, has purposely sought him out, has even called him by name; and Jesus is coming to his house!

Which, undoubtedly, makes the crowd fume even more. His response of joy does not square with their assumptions, or maybe even our own assumptions, about how he would respond to Jesus. Everything we have heard in Luke so far has been about how difficult it is to balance wealth and discipleship. We remember all the parables Jesus has told us about the dangers of a scarcity viewpoint and the violence that can go hand in hand with the greed it produces. Let us recall those encounters between Jesus and people who had great monetary and worldly power, but who cannot imagine giving that up, not even in order to become a disciple. These are all Luke's stories.

So, Zacchaeus all in response to Jesus simply does not square with our carefully crafted preconceptions. Luke tells the Zacchaeus story in such a way that we naturally begin to assume that someone like that has about as much chance of becoming a faithful disciple as I have of going to a Klan rally. No way. Not going to happen.

But, not only is Jesus stepping all over our carefully groomed, well-crafted assumptions, Zacchaeus is doing the same thing! He's not supposed to care about Jesus. He is rich and greedy and corrupt. He isn't supposed to be so happy that Jesus is coming to his house. Yet, there they go, the crook and the Christ, walking side by side on toward the table for the feast. The whole scene makes no sense to anyone in the crowd. It feels as though their liberator Jesus has just betrayed them.

But even the sight of them walking off side by side is not the most shocking part of this encounter. Before they even get to his house, Zacchaeus stops and says to Jesus: Look, I give half of my possessions to the poor; and if I find I have defrauded anyone of anything, I pay them back four times as much. Now I know the translation in your Bible and the translation Gail read for us puts his words in the future and conditional tense: If I have defrauded, I will give, I will pay back. But that's not whats in the original Greek.

The original Greek sets every one of those verbs in the present tense, and that verb tense indicates that actively giving and regularly paying back is, in fact, how Zacchaeus already is living right now! If we take the Greek verb tense at face value, this means that he already gives half his possessions to the poor. And if he mistakenly defrauds anyone, he already completely complies with religious law and makes generous restitution. Fourfold. Ongoing, present action is the way Luke writes Zacchaeus, words here. He is already regularly doing it.

So, why then do so many of our translators interpret his statement to be one about future behavior? When we look it up, we find that translators have actually categorized this one usage into what they call, a future present tense; it's the only time traditional Greek scholars claim this verb tense is ever used in all of scripture. Hear that again; it's the only time it is used in the Bible. (?!)

Why? What is it that has given so many brilliant scholars and translators so much pause about the possibility that Zacchaeus, words are present tense, already-being-done, action? Luther Seminary scholar, Karoline Lewis, claims it's because assuming Zacchaeus repents makes him easier to stomach. A repentant Zacchaeus bolsters our assumptions that Luke has set up so well for us assumptions that because he is rich and because he is the chief tax-collector, it is also inevitable that he is corrupt, greedy, elitist, etc. That makes it much easier for us to hear and to understand. It is easier for us to assume that Jesus, embrace of him was so powerful and life-giving that Zacchaeus immediately changed course, repented, and turned from his old life of exploitation to a new life of generosity. We can wrap our minds around that. It fits with our assumptions. It makes intuitive sense to us.

But, what if our assumptions have been wrong all along? What if Zacchaeus lived in a generous way all along, and yet no one knew it, and no one bothered to learn about it, because they wanted to hold onto their assumptions about who he was? Their assumptions about him protect their world views. If they can bother him, write him off because of his wealth and assume he is incapable of faithfulness due to his job, then their nice, neat way of seeing the world can stay intact.

But, if Zacchaeus is living in a way that is generous and kind and faithful, then all their stereotypes, all their carefully set up and well-crafted assumptions about those people are blown apart, destroyed, revealed as empty. As David Lose writes: If Zacchaeus, story is not a conversion story, then it does not fit our formula.

In the story, I do not hear Jesus say one word to Zacchaeus about repentance. Do you? We do not hear him say, You have to give it all up to follow me. We do not hear Jesus say anything to him about the camel or the eye of the needle. From the way Jesus responds to Zacchaeus, this does not appear to be a conversion story. Maybe Zacchaeus does not stop their walk in order to turn to Jesus and declare a totally new way of living in response to God's grace. Maybe Zacchaeus turns to the crowd instead.

Perhaps he turns to his neighbors those who have been so starkly judgmental and tells them, You think you know me, but you don't. I have been living faithfully and generously the entire time, but because of my wealth you assume differently. You assume I do not care; you assume I am corrupt; you assume I am not generous with what I have. And your assumptions make you as close-minded about me as you think I am about you.

Could it be that Zacchaeus has encountered God's grace long before this day, which is why he is so thrilled to see Jesus? Can it be that Zacchaeus already knows God's claim on his life, which is why he regularly gives away half his resources to the poor and quickly corrects any mistakes he makes fourfold? Can it be that Zacchaeus, faithfulness is already known to Jesus, which is why he stops at the base of that tree and calls out his name? Can It be that when Jesus says he has come to seek and save the lost, he does not mean that Zacchaeus is lost to him, but he knows that Zacchaeus has been lost to his community for a long time?

Is that why Jesus speaks words of salvation and restoration for Zacchaeus, entire household? Jesus knows Zacchaeus and his household need to be restored to their community and healed from all the mistrust they have encountered since forever. Is that what is really going on that long-ago day in Jericho as Jesus slowly makes his way to Jerusalem? And, if so, can it be that one way Jesus goes about saving us, restoring us, healing us, is by unburdening us of our stereotypes, all our carefully set up and well-crafted assumptions about, those people, too?

I wonder if Jesus assumption-bending, stereotype-breaking ministry is one reason why he ends up dying on a cross not too long after this encounter with Zacchaeus and the good people of Jericho. It's all downhill from here. Later in this chapter, Jesus enters Jerusalem on what we now call Palm Sunday, and just four chapters later he's hanging on a cross.

You see, the religious leaders, the political leaders, the regular folk in the crowd, none of them likes having somebody so thoroughly destroy all their stereotypes, revealing that many of their assumptions they hold about others are wrong and empty even violent. Jesus messes with the nice, neat power systems of their world so much that they don't know what he will do next. He is much too unpredictable for them to domesticate!

Jesus makes their lives so much messier, so much more complicated, so much more difficult! It has taken years to craft all these assumptions about each other! Who's an elitist? Who's a thug? Who's worthy? Who's a loser? These are generalizations that have been passed from one generation to another, after all! Or as goes the song in the musical South Pacific:
You've got to be carefully taught how to hate,
Whether you're six, or seven, or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!

But, all of a sudden, this Jesus thinks he can just show up and disrupt everything by eating with rich tax-collectors and sinners, and calling poor fishermen to discipleship, and healing old women with hemorrhages, and restoring young girls to life, and giving sight to the blind, and touching lepers, and setting the captive free. Jesus refuses to bow down to the way of life that has been set up in his day and time.
So, the word goes out: He's just ruining everything. He has to be stopped!

And the assumption that it is past time for Jesus disruptive ministry to die was an assumption many of them were all too willing to make. After all, if they did away with him, not even Jesus could disrupt something as strong as death. And that is the only thing that can bring an firm end to his assumption-bending, stereotype-breaking ministry.

And once he was gone, they could all get back to life as usual.

Those who have ears, let them hear . . .
. . . especially me. Amen.

NOSTALGIA ISN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE (All Saints)
Spanish Lakes 11-03-19 Deuteronomy 34:1-12

In the holy moments at the close of Moses,life, the writer of Deuteronomy reflects on all the accomplishments of Moses, or rather, all the wonderful things God has accomplished through Moses. This was Moses, whom God saved from infanticide at Pharaoh's hand (hidden among the bull rushes), to whom God appeared at the burning bush at Horeb, and through whom God freed the Hebrew slaves. Moses had stared down mighty Pharaoh, declaring in the name of God, “Let my people go!” Moses was there atop Mt. Sinai to receive the Ten Command-ments. Moses had talked face to face with God, even convin-cing God not to destroy the Hebrew people when they turned to idolatry. (It's not everyone who can actually change God's mind, but Moses did.) Not even Charlton Heston could do him justice nor could anyone else. The text tells us there never was, nor would there ever be again, one like him.

And yet as we remember great figures from the past, it is easy to romanticize them and to forget that they, too, had clay feet. Moses found God out in the wilderness because he was on the run for murdering an Egyptian overlord, whom he found beating a slave. He was reluctant to accept God';s call, trying to make excuses based on his lack of eloquence, even suggesting that God call his brother, Aaron, instead. But this is not what Israel remembers; in today's passage they remember only the good. We do the same sort of thing. How often have we said, Oh, if only we could go back to those good old days when everything was wonderful! Remember when the saints did this? Remember when they did that? Oh yes, it was a really great world back then. If only we could go back . . .

Something inside us is naturally inclined towards nostalgia. Remember 60 years ago when children really respected their parents? (Yes, and I also remember racial segregation 60 years ago.) Remember when we didn't have to worry about locking our doors at night? (Yes, but I also remember the duck and cover drills, where I was supposed to fit in the knee- hole of a desk, during the nuclear arms race.) Remember when we didn't have to worry about AIDS and teen-aged pregnancy? (Yes, but I also remember when women could not be pastors or doctors or lawyers). And so it goes. In remembering only the good parts of our history, while overlooking our moral failures, we fall so in love with the past that we never have to think about the present, much less the future. It feels good to stroll down memory lane, but if we get stuck there, it can sap our strength and paralyze us, leaving us no energy to work in the present and no imagination with which to engage the future.

So, in today's reading, the writer of Deuteronomy indulges in a bit of nostalgia: Never since has there arisen a prophet like Moses; but the story-teller doesn't just leave it there, He also points to the future: Joshua was full of the spirit of wisdom because Moses had laid his hands on him.

We have had some wonderful saints in the history of our congregation. They have led us in some remarkably creative ways, supporting the food pantry at the Laurel Civic Center with food stuffs and cash, helping students there learn language and math skills in an awards-winning after-school program. They have served this community and built us up in love. We honor and respect them, as the children of Israel honored and respected Moses. But, we also know God keeps raising up Joshuas, new leaders for God's people in the future, and he or she may not even be the leader here, but in some other promised land. While they will serve with the same kind of fidelity, they will do it in some new and fresh ways,ways we haven't even thought of yet.

Yes, there never would be another Moses. But there would be a Joshua. We do not honor the saints of the past simply by mimicking their every move. Rather, we honor them by being who God has called us to be.

Rowan Williams, former archbishop of Canterbury, with whom I am privileged to have shared in a book of essays, has said that when the day of judgment comes for him, he will not be asked why he was not Martin Luther King or Mother Theresa or Archbishop Romero, he will be asked, Why weren't you Rowan Williams? He writes:
I cannot become holy by copying another's path. Like
the novice in the desert, I must watch the elders, and
learn the shape and the rhythm from those who have
walked farther and worked harder. And then I have
to take my own steps and create a life that has never
been lived before.

That's where Joshua finds himself. There is both continuity and discovery for him continuity that Moses has laid on him through his hands, so that the community knows that the same God who has worked through Moses is now working through Joshua. But, there is discovery and discontinuity as well, God will lead Joshua through different circumstances, different challenges. Joshua is going to have to be God's servant in his own unique way. The distance between Joshua and Moses will be as great and as small as the River Jordan itself, over which Moses looks as he surveys the future promised land.

Do you remember Dr. James Bevil's stirring words the day after Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered in Memphis? Dr. Bevil addressed the group of bewildered civil rights workers and comforted them with these words:
There's a rumor going around that our leader is dead.
Our leader is not dead. Martin Luther King is not
our leader. Our leader is the One who led Moses out
of Egypt. Our leader is the One who went with Daniel
into the lion's den. Our leader is the One who walked
out of the grave on Easter morning. Our leader never
sleeps nor slumbers. He cannot be put in jail. He has
never lost a war yet. Our leader is still on the case.
Our leader is not dead. One of his prophets died, but
we will not stop because of that.

I think what Dr. Bevil was trying to say that morning was that the same God who worked through Martin Luther King works through others, just as the same God who worked through Moses would work now through Joshua. Joshua would be faithful to God as was Moses, but he would do it in his own way, guiding the Israelites into the promised land in his own style.

God is calling us to be Joshua, to take up the mantle of covenant fidelity and carry it into the future for whoever will follow us. It's tempting to survey the scene and say, No Joshuas here. Oh, it will never be as good as that again . . .
In that case, you need to meet Katherine Commale, a new Joshua God raised up. In April of 2006, Katherine was watching television with her mother in Downington, Pennsyl-vania. There was a special on television about the devastating effects of malaria on the continent of Africa. Every thirty seconds, a child in sub-Saharan Africa dies from malaria, a disease spread by mosquitoes. The only children fortunate to be protected from the deadly disease are those whose beds are covered with nets to keep out the mosquitoes.

So, Katherine said, We've got to do something! We need to send bed nets right away. So, Katherine and her family began to do research and discovered that each net costs about ten dollars. Ten dollars to save a child's life. They began raising funds in their community and in their church, and by Thanksgiving of that year, they had raised $4,000 for the project 400 nets. Soon, others developed an interest in helping.

In January of 2007, on Katherine's sixth birthday, she was invited to the global launch of the Nothing But Nets campaign at the National Basketball Association store in New York City. There she met representatives of the NBA, the United Nations Foundation, UNICEF, and the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Later that year, Katherine attended the first National Malaria Awareness Day in the White House Rose Garden, where both President George W. Bush and First Lady Laura Bush spoke.

Katherine's enthusiasm reminds us that Joshuas are still being raised up among us. We can never tell who they are going to be, but they are leading us into a new promised land. They are using different tools than we did e-mails, instant messaging and texting, but they are doing God's work in a new way with these new tools.

Just as we should not be too nostalgic for the past, so we shouldn't look at the future with rose-colored glasses, either. When Joshua went into the promised land, the Canaanites didn't exactly throw roses at his feet. He and the people of Israel had to endure many struggles in that promised land, and I do not envy today's children the challenges they will face. God knows we've left them a mess. I regularly feel compelled to apologize to my nieces. As they sort it out, no doubt they too will stumble from time to time. But of this much I am sure: God will be just as faithful and gracious to them as God has been to us.

The good news is that we do not place our faith solely in people, even good people like Moses or Joshua or even Katherine Commale. The promised land of God's realm is sustained by God's grace, and God's grace alone. The true leader of Israel did not die when Moses died. The true leader of Israel, the true leader of the Church, will never die. He will continue to live and love and liberate through people like Moses, and Joshua, and Katherine and you, and you, and you.

And, maybe, even me. Amen.

YOU HAVEN'T GOT A PRAYER

Spanish Lakes 10-27-19 Luke 18:9-14



My niece, Katherine, refused to offer a memorized table grace. She insisted that she be allowed to pray extemporaneously for the specific meal set before her. With hands folded, head bowed, and one eye scanning the table, she would pray: Thank you, God, that Mom mashed potatoes and made gravy. Thank you, God, that there are enough rolls that I can have two. I do not thank you, God, for the Brussels sprouts. Amen.



Her prayers were highly contextualized and painfully honest. She was, at the age of four, the master of an ancient prayer form and an interpreter of a tradition. She was a tiny Pharisee in a pony tail and a pink romper.



Jesus had a burr under his saddle about the Pharisees. It's kind of a shame, because they served a vital role in Jewish religious life. They believed the law was a living, breathing thing. Pharisees held the received (written) tradition in one hand and the lived (oral) tradition in the other, interpreting texts in context. Pharisees prayed, as did Katherine, faithful to both ancient form and daily reality.



The divide between Pharisees and Sadducees is the same divide we find in our current debates about Constitutional interpretation in our country. Originalists (the Sadducees) attempted to read and interpret the text through the eyes and intentions of its authors. In our own time, the Constitution is regarded by originalists as some regard scripture: inerrant, infallible, unaltered.



Living Constitutionalists (the Pharisees) believed the message of the Constitution changes over time, as social attitudes change. The framers could not have dreamed of the legal wars we wage. Living constitutionalists are regarded as interpreters, loving the law as it stands and allowing it to breathe 21st-century air. In a way, that's preacher's task, too: remaining faithful to both the text and the context in which it is read. Which would make me a 21st-century Pharisee.



Parables don't allow for nuanced character development. Jesus characters here are all elbows and ankles, sharp edges and hard surfaces. Therefore, even though not all Pharisees were raging hypocrites, nor were all tax collectors repentant sinners, we will leave them, for the moment, in their one-dimensional frames. After all, we love a good caricature. It's easier to hate the one-dimensional, imagined enemy than it is to embrace the complicated creature Jesus names, neighbor.



But we don't tell parables these days. We tell jokes, instead.



So, Jesus told them another joke, we are told, and he told this one to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and looked down on others.



Now, I suspect your translation does not read joke, but says parable instead, but I actually think joke is a pretty good translation here.



We don't really tell parables anymore. We tell jokes, but they are much the same thing. Jokes and parables tend to be stories that look at life in a different way, and they can make us wince as well as give us a good laugh.



Understood in this way, we appreciate that Jesus was renowned for his jokes, especially jokes like this one, that had a punch line aimed at those who trusted in themselves that they were righteous. Itss always kind of fun to skewer the self-important.



Did you hear the one about the Pharisee and the tax-collector, asks Jesus, who turned up at the temple at the same time? This is the classic opening line for a joke, with two natural antagonists finding themselves face to face at the same location accidentally:



Did you hear the one about President Trump and the president of Iran winding up in the same men's room at the U.N?



During a visit to the UN, the president of Iran runs into President Trump at the men's room. And Trump can't resist the opportunity to have a little dig at his Iranian counterpart.



So, he says, I hear that Ayatollah of yours doesn't mind a little nip now and then. I know he has to be against it publicly, but I hear he keeps a bottle in his bottom desk drawer. And the president of Iran laughs it off and says, Oh, is that what you hear?



So, Trump takes another run at it: And I hear he has quite a few women on the side in addition to his wives all quite hush, hush, of course. The president of Iran laughs it off again and says, Really, is that right?



So, President Trump can't resist one final dig: You know, I hear that your Ayatollah is thinking of becoming a Christian becoming one of us! Have you heard that? And the Iranian president says, From your description, I'd say thats exactly what he's doing.



OUCH!!



Back to the joke in Luke 18. The Pharisee and the tax-collector show up at the temple at the same time to pray. There's no sarcastic dig at the door, but the Pharisee can't resist making a back-handed reference to the tax-collector during his prayer. So, he prays aloud: O God, I thank you that I am not like other men, I don't thank you for thieves and rogues and adulterers and certainly not for this tax-collector, except that I am not one. I fast twice a week. I give tithes of all I get. I am one of the good guys. Amen. (Like Katherine, he is probably not a fan of Brussels sprouts either.)



Actually, I just added that last part, about him being one of the good guys. He didn't say it out loud, but surely he had to be thinking it. After all, that's the point of the joke: he is one of the good guys, according the expectations of his day!



The Pharisees were among the very best of their day. While it is true that the gospels paint a pretty unflattering portrait of them, there is another side to their character altogether. When the Greeks under Antiochus Epiphanes (214-164 BCE) crashed down upon the Temple, violated the altar by sacrificing swine upon it, and tore to pieces the scrolls of the sacred writings, it was the Pharisees who rose up to protect their desecrated faith.



We need to remember that the word Pharisee actually means puritan; and like our own Puritan forebears, they had a long history of courageous resistance. They had saved Judaism. And now, with Greece gone and Rome here, with its overwhelming seductiveness for Jewish youth, they were determined to save it again. They believed in God; they believed in God's revelation to Israel; they believed that their Law was an entrustment from on high. So, they dedicated themselves to building a dike to protect their people from an encroaching sea of pagan faith and morals.



By New Testament times, Hebrew religion is thriving. Another Temple has been built. The Jews are still worshipping the God of their ancestors, living their distinctive way of life, and passing it along to their children. But the Roman occupation of Israel, like the prior occupations of Babylon and Greece, has created a spiritual problem, as well as a political one – namely: How do you function as the people of God when you find yourself in the midst of a Godless culture? (Does this sound at all familiar? Can I get an Amen?)



It seems to me that in such a situation, there are only four options:



You can fight back. That was the most popular response back then, and in similar situations today it still is the most popular response to foreign occupations. One of Jesus’ disciples came from these ranks (Simon the Zealot.) Yet, insofar as we know, Jesus never encouraged this form of resistance.



You can go with the flow and compromise. You know, the old, When in Rome, do as the Romans do, and you collaborate. This has always been a popular response, but again, it was not encouraged by Jesus. (Enter our friend, the tax-collector, stage right.)



A third possible path is the way of escape. The Essenes did that in New Testament times by moving out to the shores of the Dead Sea. These are the Dead Sea scrolls folks. They moved out into the desert. Some folk still do that sort of thing; I am thinking of the survivalists and off-the-grid folk. But it was not a very popular response back then and is even less so today.



So, the remaining response to the occupation of a politically and spiritually foreign power is that you try to stick it out in community. And you try to bring your faith and your tradition into that community as best you can, without fighting back in such a way that you betray the very ideals you are trying to uphold.



This is a hard path, the most difficult option. This is the tough and often mundane, hard-working alternative, where you just plug away over the years by teaching the truth as you see it, by being distinctive in your speech, and by showing integrity in your dealing with people, so that it testifies to the faith that is resident in you. We have wonderful Amish neighbors up in Pinecraft who are doing precisely that. They are distinctive in their dress, too.



This is the path the Pharisees chose. And while we know that Jesus gave them a hard time, we also know that out of all the different groups that took different paths, the Pharisees were the only ones that Jesus talked to at all.



They were, as the apostle Paul says, “in the world, but not of it. They were distinctively religious folk who knew who they were and what they were about. They were the pillars of their community, and historically they held their community together. So, when the Pharisee stands up and prays, I am not like other men, he is telling the truth. He isn't like other men! And he certainly is not like this wretched tax-collector!



The tax-collector is a collaborator. He is one of those wretched individuals who sees in the tragic occupation of his people a way to make money! He is regarded as the drug-pusher of the ancient world. There were folks who made their entire living out of other people's misery. So, when we are told he stands near the back of the temple and bows his head and beats his chest, and prays, God have mercy on me, a sinner, what more could we expect him to say? He's praying the only prayer he's got!



As a joke, this story from Luke is probably not one designed to generate a lot of laughs. But it does have a great punch line. In fact, New Testament scholar, Joachim Jeremias suggests that the key to getting the joke in this case is to recognize that by this stage of the story, most of Jesus original hearers would have guessed the punch line.



Jesus tells a story about two antagonists, a Pharisee and a tax-collector who both show up at the temple at the same time. And knowing Jesus kind heart, his hearers have already jumped ahead to the punch line: I tell you in truth, not only the Pharisee had his prayers hear that day, but the tax-collector did as well. Not only the Pharisee, but also the tax-collector. That's the set up; that's what they are expecting.



But that's not what they get. No, where the real sting in the tail of this joke comes is that this is not the punch line! Instead, Jesus concludes the story with the statement that the tax-collector went to his home justified, and not the Pharisee. The tax-collector, and NOT the Pharisee.



The tax-collector went home justified and it's worth noting here that this the only time in the Gospels that the Greek word di-ki-o-su-ner (justified) is ever used. Oh, Paul uses it all the time in his letters when he talks about being justified by faith and justified before God. It speaks of God's grace toward the undeserving, but it is used only this one time in all the Gospels, referring to the tax-collector in the temple. HE went home justified a complete man, whole before God, heard and loved and accepted and forgiven, and ready to be accepted back in the God-fearing community on full and equal terms.



The Pharisee, on the other hand (and ironically), goes home still carrying the same problems he started out with. His prayer has not registered with God! Like an e-mail that gets lost in the Divine spam filter, his prayer does not get through.



I once heard a preacher who ended his sermon on this parable with a prayer that began: O God, I thank you that we are not like the Pharisee in this parable!



If only that were true! For the problem is that we all wince in painful self-recognition. For, in our heart of hearts, we know that we are better than other women and men; we do consider ourselves superior; we have not sunk to the depths to which others have sunk, and in our better moments, we thank God for that.



Scratch the surface just a little, and I suspect you will find at least a small Pharisee in each of us. And the only hope for us Pharisees is to make the prayer of the tax-collector our own: God, be merciful unto me, a sinner!



Otherwise, we haven't got a prayer! Let the church say: Amen.

PRAYER AIN'T ALWAYS PRETTY
Spanish Lakes 10/20/19 Luke 18:1-8

A doting grandmother is on Siesta Key beach with her adorable, little grandson. As he builds a sandcastle at the water's edge, a huge wave comes ashore unexpectedly and washes the child out into the Gulf, sand bucket, shovel and all. The grandmother is frantic, falls to her knees and pleads with God: Please God, please bring him back. I'll do anything! And with a whoosh, a second giant wave deposits the child back at her feet. She grabs him up, clutches him to her bosom, and looks him over. He is drenched and sputtering, but otherwise fine. Grandmother lifts her eyes heavenward and says, YOU KNOW, HE HAD A HAT!

To what shall we compare prayer? Let us leave aside, for a moment all our preconceptions about it. I know how comforting it is to think of prayer as those times when Jesus carried you, just like that reading, Footprints in the Sand. But, leave it aside. Also, set aside for the moment The Lord's Prayer, which so automatically spring to our lips during each Sunday morning worship service. Leave aside, especially, the pastoral prayer. Let go of the prayer of dedication at the end of the offering. Drop the Doxology. Never mind our one-word prayer, Help! Which pops out in times of desperation. And don't even bother with the one word, Thanks, when that desperation passes (although Meister Eckart says that even if Thank You is the only prayer we ever utter, it is enough.)

NOW, to what may prayer be compared?

If you listened carefully to the Gospel reading this morning, , I may compare prayer to a lawsuit. Not that I am entirely innocent in all things; no, that certainly is not the case. But, if I hunger and thirst to find God's love, whether I am right or wrong, I will sue God to make sure God keeps that promise about seeking and saving the lost especially when I am the one who is lost! It's not a pretty thing to do, but it sure beats despair and cynicism and laziness and sentimentality and just plain giving up.

Does all this struggling and striving sound like prayer to you? Probably not. And I don't blame you. There is enough struggle and suing in life without it invading the sanctity of our prayer life as well. But bear with me for a moment, because it turns out to be about receiving the promises of God in an unpromising world, just like the widow insists.

Some folks kneel when they pray; some stand and raise their hands; others bow repeatedly. Some pray and clap, and some pray as they are silent. These are all respectful and graceful postures that we have been taught from childhood on up. And they serve well our need to appoint a way of being with God that is set apart from all other relationships.

But . . . prayer isn't always pretty or attractive. Prayer isn't even always respectful. Prayer is, after all, conversation with God about the things that matter most to us. Prayer may even take on an impudent position (more about that later), challenging the very ground of God's justice, and presence, and caring.

This, too, is well-attested and time-honored in the Bible. Job roars his anger at God from atop the dung-hill. I can imagine him shaking his fist and stomping his feet. But it's prayer.

In Psalm 13, the psalmist cries out as though pointing an accusing finger at God: How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? But it is prayer.
Jacob's prayer in Genesis 32 (22ff) takes the form of his wrestling all night with an angel, only to realize with the light of early morning that he has been wrestling with God himself. His name is changed thereafter from Jacob to Israel, which means one who wrestles with God. (We might do well to claim that part of our spiritual heritage and do a little more wrestling.) Jacob's blessing happens as he struggles with and hangs onto God. He has good reason to be ashamed of his past, and he has good reason to fear his future, that coming encounter with his brother Esau, whom he has so sorely wronged. So, he wrestles and is wounded. And he comes away a changed man. Gone is the sly trickster. Gone is the driven flock manager. Enter Israel, whom neither fear nor failure can overcome.

A gentile woman begs Jesus to cast out a demon from her little girl; and when Jesus curtly dismisses her as a foreigner, she tosses his remark right back at him. It is not right to give the children's bread to the dogs, says Jesus; and her retort is, Oh, come on; even the dogs get a crumb every now and then. (Mark 7:24-30)

Prayer is more than just positive thinking. Why? Because prayer is not concerned only with positive outcomes. The God who calls us to embrace a cross is not necessarily offering a plan for long life, material success, comfort, or fame. God calls us to love and to be loved, the knowledge of which forms our blessing and healing. But, it is a blessing that frequently is sorely tested.

I once was asked to visit a woman in the hospital while her own pastor was on vacation. She was a middle-aged, highly competent professional woman; and she was really, really mad at God. You see, a simple winter virus had severely damaged her heart, and she had just learned that because of this she would spend the rest of her life as a semi-invalid at best. She was secretly angry because she had expected to live out the good genes she had inherited from her mother, who had lived happily and healthily well into her nineties.

She was also terribly afraid because she had an adult son who was developmentally disabled, whom she felt her husband would have trouble caring for alone. While she was waiting for results from her final heart test to see just how much she might be capable of, she said to me, “Well, I’ll just have to think positively. And I said to her, That's a good start; but, is that all you want to talk to God about? And she was quiet for a moment, and then blurted out amid sputtering tears, No, dammit! I want to know somebody still loves what's left of me!

I purposely have not edited her comment, because I am pretty sure there is no more elegant way to express what she wanted to say. This highly competent, very beautiful person was no longer in control of how others experienced her. She could not fix her life, let alone anyone else's, at the moment. She could only get in God's face and demand a blessing.

I once heard a story about a boy who was dying of Muscular Dystrophy. After making peace with his family and friends, he asked his father to arrange his body in such a way that he would die in an impudent position. I like that story. And I think it shows great faith in the God he will encounter, and in the rather vigorous discussion about fairness that I'm sure will ensue. His impudence is a declaration of his love and faith, every bit as much as if he could get down on his knees at his bedside.

Our big, old Airedale, Molly, had a cast-iron stomach. She ate anything we put in front of her and anything she found. She took such joy in eating that it was hard to deny her. But, when she tipped the scales at a hundred pounds, our veterinarian had a stern talk with me. You can't always give her what she wants, he said.

Ignoring the confused look in Molly's eyes, we altered her diet and increased her exercise. Gradually, she lost the extra weight, and I lost interest in monitoring it. As long as neither she nor the vet barked at me again, we were fine.

But somewhere about her twelfth year, she stopped maintaining her weight. Her wiry coat started to thin; her bright eyes began to dim. In desperation we fed her anything she would eat, but she wanted nothing. She no longer licked the dirty dishes in the dishwasher or slowly swept the floor with her shaggy paws, waiting for morsels to drop from above. Within months she was rangy and ribbed.

Our vet diagnosed her with untreatable liver cancer and cautioned us, kindly, that Molly's remaining time with us was short.

Will she be in pain? How will we know if she is hurting?

You may not, he admitted. We were to watch for sleeplessness, pacing, a change in temperament but dogs can't tell you when they hurt. Or what they need.

A few days before she died, I lay beside her on the floor, stroking her fur, whispering in her floppy ear, Do you hurt, Molly? Are you sad? What do you need? Please tell me.

She was silent. I wept.

We can be forgiven for failing to recognize the pain of another when they can neither recognize nor speak their own sadness. But there is no forgiving us when we choose not to hear, when we turn away from another's pain.

By that standard, the unjust judge in Luke's parable would be deemed absolutely unforgivable. Though dogged by a persistent widow day and night, the judge refuses to hear her pain, refuses to acknowledge her request, pretends she doesn't exist.

Luke doesn't reveal the specifics of her complaint, only that she has been treated unjustly. Kudos to the widow for her persistence, but what, exactly, was the injustice?

Perhaps her son has been wrongly imprisoned, or her sister abruptly fired. Maybe she herself has suffered age discrimination. It might be that her brother is being detained at the border or her deceased husband's lawyer is dragging his heels in settling the estate. Perhaps she has been driven into bankruptcy by exorbitant medical bills.

Injustice comes with so many alibis and aliases. I want to look her in the eye and ask, Do you hurt? What do you need? Please, tell me. But both she and Luke remain silent.

But wait. The judge is deemed unjust, even though he responds to the widow's pleas. Something is awry.

Does the injustice in this parable lie in judge's self-attested cynical character or in his reluctance to respond? And we don't know that she has been treated unjustly Luke provides no corroborating evidence here. How do we know that her complaint has merit?

So, what is the greatest injustice? That the woman was mistreated? That the justice is slow to respond to her claims? Or that, ultimately, he acts with mercy, regardless of the merits of her case? After all, her request is granted without benefit of a trial or jury. Where is the justice in that? Without reviewing her claims, the justice grants her request. Is it merely justice that she receives, or an even greater gift?

Perhaps Luke is hinting that Jesus is also unjust, because Jesus hears the prayers of righteous and unrighteous alike. Perhaps Luke is implying that Jesus justice is based not on the merits of the case, but on his expansive, explosive, inexplicable love and mercy for sinners. Is it just to forgive sinners who will just sin again, to feed those who will hunger again, to heal those who will be sick again, to raise those who will die again? In some quarters, Jesus kindness would be deemed not so much unjust as foolish.

At the end of the parable, Jesus promises that all who cry will be heard, all in need will be helped. Jesus promises that justice His justice will be served without delay.

I still grieve my inability to recognize Molly's grief and pain. Had she asked for a meal of oysters on the half shell and champagne, I would have fed her by hand. But we could not know her complaint. Like the unjust judge, we knew only that she was troubled. We loved Molly and cared for her until, cradled in my mother's arms, lying on a palette of blankets in the living room floor, she breathed her last.

Finally, like the persistent widow, Molly was heard and loved. She received the justice of a gentle, peaceful death. Finally, Jesus is the unjust judge delivering kindness and mercy to all who cry out, regardless of the merits of our case.

Let the Church say: Amen.

NO THANK YOU
SPANISH LAKES 10/13/19 LUKE 17:11-19

AND NOT A WORD OF THANKS -- THINK OF IT! LUKE TELLS THIS REMARKABLE STORY. AS JESUS MAKES HIS WAY THROUGH THE COUNTRYSIDE, TEN LEPERS APPROACH HIM, CRYING OUT FOR MERCY. JESUS TELLS ALL TEN OF THEM TO GO SHOW THEMSELVES TO THE PRIESTS TO VERIFY THEIR HEALING. AND ON THE WAY THEY ARE HEALED. JUST IMAGINE THEIR ENORMOUS RELIEF AND JOY! YET ONLY ONE OF THE TEN -- AND AN OUTSIDER, A SAMARITAN AT THAT -- RETURNS TO KNEEL WITH THANKSGIVING BEFORE JESUS FOR THIS MIRACU-LOUS CURE.

SUCH INGRATITUDE STUNS US, NO MATTER HOW LONG WE HAVE KNOWN THIS STORY OR HOW OFTEN WE HAVE HEARD IT. HOW CAN IT BE THAT ONLY ONE IN TEN WOULD TAKE THE TIME TO SAY "THANK YOU?" THE WORDS DON'T COST ANYTHING; THE TIME INVOLVED IS NEGLIGIBLE. WHAT HARM COULD COME FROM A BRIEF EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE? AND WHAT ARE WE TO MAKE OF THE SILENCE OF THE NINE?
THE NINE WHO DISAPPEAR INTO THE BACKWATER OF HISTORY WITHOUT A TRACE SHOULD NOT SURPRISE US. THEIR COUNTERPARTS LIVE ALL AROUND US: AND, TRUTH BE TOLD, EVEN WITHIN US MORE THAN WE CARE TO ADMIT. SEVERAL YEARS AGO, I VISITED WASHINGTON, D.C. WITH A GROUP OF HIGH SCHOOL SENIORS. SOMEONE ASKED THE STUDENTS IF THERE WAS A PARTICULAR TEACHER WHO THEY REMEMBERED FONDLY, WHO HAD INFLUENCED THEIR LIVES. THEY ALL RAISED THEIR HANDS. THEN THE SPEAKER ASKED WHETHER THEY HAD BOTHERED TO TELL THAT TEACHER. NOT A SINGLE HAND WENT UP.

PARENTS WHO FIND THEIR CHILDREN'S FAULTS WITHOUT NUMBER SELDOM FIND THE TIME TO EXPRESS THEIR GRATITUDE FOR THE GRACE THEY EXPERIENCE THROUGH THOSE SAME CHILDREN. AND THOSE GROWN CHILDREN WHO KNOW THE SHORTCOMINGS OF THEIR PARENTS' NURTURING HAVE A HARD TIME ARTICULATING WORDS OF THANKS FOR THE LOVE THAT MAY NOT HAVE BEEN VERBALIZED BUT WAS NEVERTHELESS FELT.

BACK IN KENTUCKY A FRIEND OF MINE WHO WAS A PASTOR RESIGNED FROM THE CHURCH SHE HAD SERVED FOR SEVERAL YEARS. THE CONGREGATION WAS ASTONISHED, AND, FACED WITH HER IMMINENT DEPARTURE, THEY POURED OUT THEIR GRATITUDE FOR HER GOOD WORK AMONG THEM AND THE GOOD WORK SHE HAD HELPED THAM TO DO. WHAT THEY NEVER KNEW WAS THAT SHE RESIGNED BECAUSE SHE WAS CONVINCED THAT SHE WAS NO LONGER EFFECTIVELY MINISTERING AMONG THEM; SHE FELT SHE HAD EXHAUSTED HER LEADERSHIP CAPITAL WITH THEM. HAD WORDS -- HOWEVER INADEQUATE OR FUMBLING -- EXPRESSED THEIR GRATITUDE EARLIER, THAT PASTORAL RELATION-SHIP MIGHT HAVE HAD A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COURSE.

HUSBANDS AND WIVES, COLLEAGUES IN THE WORKPLACE, LAY LEADERS IN CONGREGATIONS, VOLUNTEERS IN AN ENDLESS ARRAY OF ORGANIZATIONS -- THESE ARE BUT A FEW OF THE MANY FROM WHOM WE WITHHOLD OUR WORDS OF THANKSGIVING AND APPRECIATION.

WHAT DO WE HAVE AT STAKE IN OUR SILENCE? ARE WE SIMPLY IMPOLITE, NEEDING ANN LANDERS OR MISS MANNERS TO REMIND US OF THE IMPORTANCE OF THOSE LITTLE MAGIC WORDS, "THANK YOU?"

NO, THE SILENCE OF THE NINE LEPERS (OR PERHAPS I SHOULD SAY FORMER LEPERS) HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH OUR NOTIONS OF MIDDLE CLASS CIVILITY. INSTEAD, THE SILENCE OF THE NINE, AND OUR SILENCE, REFLECTS OUR FUNDAMENTAL INABILITY TO ADMIT THAT WE HAVE RECEIVED SOMETHING FROM THE GENEROS-ITY OF SOMEONE ELSE. TO SAY THANK YOU, WE HAVE TO ADMIT THAT WE HAVE BEEN NEEDY; WE ARE IN SOME WAY BEHOLDEN TO THAT PERSON. THIS PUNCTURES OUR BUBBLE OF SELF-SUFFICIENCEY, ONE OF OUR MOST DEEPLY CHERISHED MYTHS, ONE ON WHICH WE 21ST -CENTURY AMERICANS HAVE BEEN WEANED.

TO EXPRESS GRATITUDE TO A PASTOR OR A TEACHER IS TO INDICATE THAT WE NEEDED INSTRUCTION OR CARE OR ASSISTANCE. TO THANK MEMBERS OF OUR FAMILY IS TO ACKNOWLEDGE HOW DEEPLY WE ARE CONNECTED TO THEM. TO RECOGNIZE THE LABOR OF OTHERS IN OUR CHURCHES, ASSOCIATIONS AND BUSINESSES IS TO CONCEDE THAT WE CANNOT DO IT ALL BY OURSELVES. IT IGNORES OUR INHERENT CONNEC-TEDNESS.

THEMES OF INTERDEPENDENCE DO NOT PLAY WELL IN CONTEMORARY AMERICAN LIFE. WE ARE RELUCTANT TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WE STAND ON THE SHOULDERS OF THOSE WHO HAVE COME BEFORE US. WE HAVE BELIEVED OUR OWN PRESS RELEASES. WE HAVE COME TO BELIEVE THAT WE ARE SELF-MADE PEOPLE, AND WE WORSHIP OUR CREATOR.

THIS SUBTLE IDOLATRY IS HARDLY A NEW PROBLEM. ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE BOOK OF DEUTERONOMY [Deut. 8:11ff], AS MOSES IS GETTING READY TO SEND HIS PEOPLE ACROSS THE JORDAN TO POSSESS THE PROMISED LAND, HE CALLS THEM TOGETHER. HE REMINDS THEM OF WHAT THEY HAVE ENDURED TOGETHER: THEIR FREEDOM AT THE RED SEA, MEETING GOD ON THE HOLY MOUNTAIN AT HOREB, BEING SUSTAINED BY GOD'S HAND DURING THEIR WANDERING IN THE WILDER-NESS WITH WATER FROM THE ROCK AND MANNA AND QUAIL EACH MORNING, DISPLACING WARRING PEOPLES AS THEY SOJOURNED IN THEIR LANDS.

AND THEN MOSES SAYS THAT THEIR MOST SEVERE TEST IS YET TO COME. THEY HAVE SURVIVED ADVERSITY. NOW, MOSES WONDERS ALOUD, WILL THEY BE ABLE TO SURVIVE PROSPERITY? AND HE ISSUES A SOLEMN WARNING: "TAKE CARE, LEST WHEN YOU HAVE PROSPERED YOU FORGET THE LORD YOUR GOD AND SAY, `I HAVE GOTTEN ALL THIS WITH THE MIGHT OF MY OWN HAND.'"

AH, YES, THERE’S THE RUB: WITH THE MIGHT OF MY OWN HAND. THIS REMINDER IS NOT JUST FOR THE PEOPLE OF ISRAEL, BUT FOR US AS WELL. AND IT IS A REMINDER WHICH IS AS UNWELCOME AS IT IS MUCH-NEEDED.

HOW MANY OF US REGULARY PAUSE TO GIVE THANKS TO THE ONE WHO HAS CREATED US AND PROVIDED FOR US? OR, INSTEAD, DO WE CASUALLY ASSUME THAT WE DESERVE THESE BLESSINGS BECAUSE "WE HAVE WORKED SO HARD FOR THEM?"

PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT I AM PREACHING FIRST OR ALL TO MYSELF THIS MORNING. FOR, WHEN I THINK ON THIS, I AM FORCED TO ASK MYSELF: DO I RECOGNIZE THE MAGNITUDE OF WHAT I HAVE BEEN GIVEN AND GIVE THANKS LIKE THE ONE WHO RETURNED, OR AM I MORE LIKE THE NINTY PER CENT WHO TOOK THEIR BLESSINGS FOR GRANTED?

---------------------------------------------------------
Rev. Gregory Russell

GOD'S GIFT IS JOY
Spanish Lakes 03-31-19 Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Best-known of Jesus teachings are his parables: The Good Samaritan, the rich man and Lazarus, the unjust judge, the dishonest steward, the Pharisee and the publican, and of course, the one we have just read. These stories recorded alone by Luke have a different look and feel than most of the other parables. For one thing, they are longer with a more narrative style, not like the pithy, short examples of the light on the stand or the mustard seed or the leaven. And these longer parables have more do with people than with nature or planting or fishing.

Just look at what our lesson left out this morning, the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin, and you begin to see the uniqueness of the parable of the prodigal son. The sheep is lost, sought, found, and celebrated in five verses, the coin in three. But when the son wanders off, the pace slows down. The story-teller carefully leads us through the human drama. In fact, the parable is different enough that some scholars think they don't belong together or offer the same lesson. But Luke places them together, and it seems to me that the stories of the lamb and the coin serve as a sort of prelude to the larger drama of the father and his sons.

Consider the common themes of these three stories. First, there is the theme of lostness a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son. In each story, something is lost to get the action moving. This part of the story is told gently and without accusation. This is certainly true in the first two the sheep wanders off into a thicket, we presume; the coin evidently is dropped unnoticed. But even in the third parable, the younger son's story is told with sympathy. It does not linger over his decision to take his inheritance and leave. While that portion of the story is told, it is told with no more detail or urgency than any other part of the story. All of which invites us to ponder in a different way what it means to be lost and to consider that lostness is not always some horrible, willful violation. Instead, we are urged to see that it can be a product of the normal course of life. The very gentleness with which this aspect of the story is told is part of the explanation as to why you would expect regularly to find Jesus in the company of tax-collectors and sinners, one of the early charges against him by his opponents.

Another common thread in these parables is that of finding. The sheep, the coin, the son, each is found in its own way. We could even pause to wonder how each of the parables got its name which emphasizes the negative rather than the positive. We could just as easily refer to them as the parables of the found sheep, the found coin, and the returning son. Great value is laid on the finding. You see this notably in the father's summary at the end of the parable: This brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.
The progression is from death to life, from lostness to being found, for if there is something worse than death, lostness, there also is something better than life being found.

The third theme is joy: all three parables end in celebration. In the first two this is easy to accept. The sheep is found, the shepherd is delighted. The coin is found; the woman is ecstatic. The son returns home and . . . aye, there's the rub. You see, it is not his return that galls the elder brother, it is the party.

Odd as it may sound, joy can be a stumbling block for the faith, especially among people who might be characterized as the religious. Is joy ever a problem for us? Take the case before us now forgiveness is fine, we say, but do we have to be so darn happy about it? Isn't such an outburst a contradiction of the sin's seriousness? Repentance, yes forgiveness, certainly, but a party?! I think not! Yes, such grace offends the sensibilities of even the religious because it transgresses our sense of what is right or fair. Surely you have felt that way at times; I know I have.

After all, you don't have to be a Pharisee to see the wisdom of keeping people of suspect character at arms length. It is necessary to preserve the health and decency of the community we say. We particularly feel the weight of that argument when we look at our children. If we allow scoundrels in our community, they might introduce a corrupting influence amidst our children. Even if we allow that there properly is ministry to such people, it is another matter altogether to give them standing in the community. We would never think of holding up such a restored relationship as an example of how things should be; and we would certainly never make such a fuss over them. For religious people folks like us and like the older brother it is not the finding that offends; it is the joy. That's the issue for the elder brother, a fellow Mark Twain once described as a good man in the worst possible sense of the word.
An observation repeated in virtually every commentary on this passage is that its action turns, not on the repentance of the son, but rather on the love and forgiveness of the father. Thus, a host of commentators suggests that the parable is actually misnamed, and they propose instead its re-naming as. The parable of the loving father or some variation on that theme. To fully appreciate that observation, we must read the parable to its conclusion. It's all too easy to focus on the returning son, forgetting the elder brother, content to leave him outside the party.

Instead of pitting the two sons against each other, what happens if we observe the interaction each son has with his father? Throughout the story there is no rejection from the father. He loves both his sons. More to the point, he loves each of them precisely when they are the most unlovable. Oh, it would not be hard to love the younger son at the end of the parable when he returns, all shame and contrition, tail between his legs; but the father loves him even as the story begins, when his eye is only on money and fast living as he is headed out the door. And conversely, we see the father loving the older son not only at the beginning of the story when he is all duty and obedience and loyalty, but even at the end amid his fitful display of bitterness.

The parable presses us to consider whether in matters of faith the emergence of winners requires the presence of losers. It teases us into considering the notion that faith is less about the identification and correction of evil and more about the celebration of goodness, the proclamation of forgiveness, the affirmation of everything that makes for life.

Early on, this parable was understood as God's affirmation of sinners and rejection of the Scribes and Pharisees. In a larger context, it was understood as an allegory about the rejection of the religious leaders and inclusion in God's favor of the Gentiles. But an even better reading certainly a more gracious reading -- of the parable is to see it as an expression of the affirmation of love and forgiveness and grace that is not necessarily aimed in any one direction, but which is spread upon all of God's sinful children. It is a grace that does not exclude one group in order to include another.

And the good news of the gospel is that there will be no celebration indeed, there can be no celebration no authentic expression of joy until we are able to revel not only in the grace and love and life that bless us, but also the grace and joy and life that bless our brothers and sisters. Whether they are repentant or unrepentant, whether we are religious, or not religious, or too religious for our own good, God's gift is always joy.

That, says Jesus, is the very nature of God. Theorize all you want about ethics and propriety. Preserve your dignity. Remember the offense. Extract an apology and savor it as a token of victory. Defend your honor and destroy. God isn't like that.

God will see, and God will feel compassion. All the harsh judgment that we ascribe to God is merely a projection of our own hardness of heart. All the rules that we enforce, lest God should somehow be offended, have nothing to do with God and instead have everything to do with us.
God sees the son who had been broken by life and rushes to greet him. That is all we need to say. God feels joy at the lost child coming home. God's gift always is joy. Amen.

Fanfare for the Common Man Genesis 4:1-16, 25-6

Spanish Lakes February 3, 2019 1 Corinthians 1:26-31



This morning I want to talk about Adam's other son, Eve's too, for that matter. Almost sounds like a crossword puzzle clue, doesn't it? Let's see: offspring of Adam and Eve . . . four letters . . . Cain. No, has to have an e in it . . . Abel. No, the e is in the wrong place. Another son. Hmmm; who could it be?



As the word other suggests, it's a person we usually have a way of overlooking . . . the one who got away, someone whose identity we have not troubled ourselves to learn. Adam and Eve we know, and Cain and Abel we know; but it's a good bet that not one person in ten would come up with the name Seth for the other son of Adam and Eve!

And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son and

called his name Seth, for she said, God has appointed

for me another child instead of Abel, for Cain slew him.

To Seth also a son was born, and he called his name

Enosh. At that time men began to call upon the name

of the Lord. [Genesis 4:25-26]



Seth. I've only known one person with that name. And then there's Seth Thomas of clock making fame, but that's pretty much as far as it goes with me. But maybe Seth's very obscurity can be instructive for us.



Seth's obscurity illustrates the world's tendency to notice the very good or the very bad and to ignore all the ordinary folks in the middle. Now, anyone who knows the Bible at all knows Cain. We find him fascinating in a sinister sort of way. He wasn't slow about letting his true feelings show No! His brother's blood testifies to that. He was marked by God for his own protection as an early sign of grace. Over the years, writers have let their imagination play with the mark of Cain, wondering what it might have been. That term has become a byword in our language. He was made to be a Nomad and a fugitive, and it's not too hard to romanticize that, particularly for a generation afflicted with wanderlust.



Truth told, evil attracts us. William Blake spoke for many of us with his observation that an active evil is preferable to a passive good. And while we pray every Sunday: lead us not into temptation . . . I only had to be led once; after that I could find it all on my own.



All the same, Cain was, by any measure, a wicked man, the first murderer. He slew his brother, and not, we suppose, because of a deprived childhood or some other deficiency in his environment. No, his heart was evil. Had the mass media been around in his day, he surely would have made the 11:00 news and been on the front page of The Herald Tribune with his picture above the fold. Anybody who knows that Bible at all knows Cain.



And anybody who knows the Bible knows Abel, too the victim patron saint of all who have been treacherously done in. He was a good man . . . so good, in fact, that he incited his brother's jealousy and anger. The record says: The Lord had regard for Abel and his offering, but for Cain and his offering, the Lord had no regard. Ever wonder why? Some have seized upon that comment to talk about the importance of blood sacrifice. Others say it is a precursor to the tension between nomadic peoples with wandering animals and settled farmers with their crops.



I don't think it's all that complicated. Abel was superior in righteousness to Cain, because Cain conceived wickedness in his heart. After all, does not God say to Cain, If you do well, will you not be accepted?



Abel stands out in our minds as a figure of relative innocence and exceptional goodness. Yes, anyone who knows the Bible knows Abel.



But who remembers Seth?! He's the other one . . . the one that turned out all right. He's ordinary in the literal meaning of the word: of the usual order. Nothing more is said of him than this: To Seth was born a son, and he called him Enosh. That's it! his singular accomplishment insofar as we know.



But to his parents, Seth awakened a new hope. Eve remembered the promise about the seed of the woman bruising the head of the serpent; but with Abel dead and Cain in exile, how could that promise be fulfilled? The future, in a word, lay with Seth. And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son, and called him Seth.



Seth's obscurity is a reminder of our own obscurity. When I read a story from out of the past, I have a way of saying to myself, Well, if I were in this story, which one would I be? In this story, I can see myself only as Seth. Oh sure, I have known anger, but never to the point of murder; and I have occasionally had a flash or two of goodness, never too long-sustained, mind you. But I never have been so devout or so obedient or so exceptionally committed as to arouse the jealousy of someone else. In short, if I am like anyone in this story, I am most like Seth.



There is a striving for greatness that gives rise to legitimate ambition; but there is also a striving for greatness that gives rise to an irrational passion for that which can never be. Let's face it: most of us are destined to be children of Seth. There are lots of singers in Indiana, but how many are really known? Does that mean that all the rest should go to bed tossing with envy, jealousy and discontent? There are thousands of philosophy professors in America teaching eager students; but the philosophers you can name, you can count on one hand. What about the others? Are they to sulk in resentful obscurity? Only a few economists get invited up to Washington to dust of their crystal ball and tell what's coming up. Does that mean that all the rest should feel sorry for themselves?



Hundreds of actors and actresses are in the country, but most people, were you to ask them, could name but a few. There must be 300,000 nurses earnestly and compassionately at work in our time, but if you ask for the name of a nurse, Florence Nightingale is the name you are going to get.



And so it is with Seth, who comes upon the scene, marries, sires, and dies. And that's pretty much the way it is for most of us as well. Most of us are never going to make it into Who's Who. But the real question is whether or not this fact, indisputable and largely unchangeable, is going to make us permanently discontent with our lot in life. Or, to put it in more positive terms, one of the things I'm hoping today is that we will come to trust our own sample of life you know, the part that we ourselves experience. We are led by advertisers to believe that real life is going on somewhere else somewhere other than right here. It isn't, you know; so trust your own sample of life.



Let me tell you a little story about a fellow named Harry, who just had returned from a pleasant week at Atlantic City. One of his friends said, Missed you, Harry; where have you been?



Oh, Harry replied, I was just over to Atlantic City for a little vacation . . .



Atlantic City, comes the reply; Did you get to Charlie's Fish House? Everyone who goes to Atlantic City goes to Charlie's. Why if you didn't go to Charlie's Fish House, you just haven't been to Atlantic City! And Harry replies, No, I must have missed that.

And another friend comes along: Hi, Harry where you been Oh, I just got back from Atlantic City. Atlantic City! You went to one of the big shows on the boardwalk, didn't you? Why, everybody who goes to Atlantic City goes to one of the big shows on the boardwalk. If you haven't done that, you just haven't been to Atlantic City!No, replies Harry; I didn't do that either.



Well, then, you rented a bicycle and rode out on the beach at dawn, didn't you? Everybody who goes to Atlantic City rides out on the beach to greet the dawn. Why, if you didn't do that, you just haven't been to Atlantic City . . .

No, says Harry; you see, I was only there for a week . . .



And another friend chimes in,Bet you dropped a few dollars in one of the casinos, huh, Harry? Everybody who goes to Atlantic City goes to the casinos. Why, if you didn't go to the casinos, you just haven't been to Atlantic City!

And Harry says,No, I didn't go to the casinos. . .

And a few minutes later another friend comes along and says, Hi, Harry! Missed you; where you been?



And Harry says,I ain't been nowhere, and I ain't done nothing! Surely you see what I'm getting at. Harry didn't have sense enough to trust his own slice of life. I'm afraid that's true for more of us than just Harry.



The truth is that the best parts of any of our stories never get written down at all family life, patient service, quiet endurance, the training up of our children, resistance to evil. Shakespeare knew this when he penned:

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

I, all alone, beweep my outcast fate

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries

And look upon myself and curse my fate;

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising

Haply I think on thee and then my soul

Like as to lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate.

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

[Sonnet XXIX]



And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son and named him Seth.

Seth is a reminder of the importance of ordinary people in the plan of God. You see, Seth provided the continuity. As a youngster you may not believe this, but it is true I had to learn what some folks call the church line from Adam right on down the list: Adam, Seth, Enosh, Kenan, Mahalalel, Jared, Lamech . . . all the way down through Noah to Abraham. Looking back, it seems like the Sunday school teacher was a little short of material that morning, but anyway in that line Seth is a link. He was a carrier of the promise without which, humanly speaking, the covenant would not have come to be. After the murder, God started over with Seth. God always seems to be doing that sort of thing.



There is a strange perversity with this God, who chooses the unspectacular Seth and an assortment of ragtag nomads to be a servant people. Every prophet in the Old Testament is an unlikely choice: they're either too old or too young, not articulate, from the wrong class or tribe, unwilling to go, or unpromising for some other reason. And in the New Testament God chooses a stable instead of a palace as the birthplace for the king of kings. Jesus chooses a cross rather than a throne as the climax for his earthly ministry. And as for the Church, well, as our Call to Worship this morning clearly states: Not many wise, not many powerful, not many of noble birth were called. [1Corinthians 1:26-31]



One of our problems may be that we are caught up in the star system, you know, looking for some big personality to come bail us out. When we think back through history, our eyes alight on various prominent figures, and we think, Where are such folk when we really need them? I mean, when I scan the political horizon, I'm hardly inspired to sing the Doxology!



Well, maybe God has given our age over to Seth. Maybe God is withholding that star from us to make us go deep down within ourselves to develop our own capacities.



How many university presidents can you name? How many preachers? How many heads of corporations? Used to be, even within the last generation, you could have named a whole list in any one of those fields! We instinctively have looked to illustrious leaders for our deliverance. But this is the age of Seth! God has committed the ordering of life to ordinary people ordinary like you, ordinary like me.



Some time not during this sermon some other time, look through the hymnal and see all the hymns attributed to anonymous: O Come, All Ye Faithful; The First Noel; Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee; Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts. Seth wrote them all!



To paraphrase Lincoln: God must have loved Seth to have made so many of him . . . so many of her.



So, who is Seth? Seth is the one who is always there, but seldom noticed. His views on life are never sought.



She will read the news, not make it.



Seth pays his bills on time and stays out of trouble with the law.



She is the next-door neighbor who minds her own business but who always has a friendly smile for you.



His life passes like the most regular of verbs: punctually at work five days a week; reliably home each evening, save for his bowling night; keenly interested in his children, and unfashionably faithful to his wife.



She is the woman in the aisle across from you who could count on one hand the number of Sundays she has missed. She is seldom swept away by a politician, but she always votes.



Seth seldom rides in an airplane. He would be lost at a really fancy restaurant, but can get excited about the idea of taking the kids and the missus to the lake for a picnic. His clothes are undistinguished, and his travels are few, but when somebody is sick or out of work, he always pitches in a couple of bucks to help out.



Who is Seth? Seth is the almost anonymous one.



Her demands on life are few, but her joy runs deep.



And when he passes from this world, few will notice. But when he enters on the other side, it will be to the sound of trumpets and the singing of the heavenly host. For to such belongs the realm of God. Amen.

HOMETOWN HERO
Spanish Lakes January 27, 2019 Luke 4:14-30

It would be hard to preach in your home town. It would be hard to speak the word of the Lord to folks who had rocked you in the church nursery and suffered with your parents through the tribulations of adolescence.

I have a friend whose home church is looking for a minister. That church is one of the great congregations in its denomination. My friend loves that church. It gave him his faith; it shaped his life; it nudged him into ministry. It is a congregation with depth and integrity, a church that stands for something, the kind of congregation most ministers would dearly love to have.

But he experienced deep internal conflict when the search committee called him and asked if he would be interested in candidating for the position. He described his dilemma to me in this way: My heart says, Yes; but my head wonders if it would be a mistake. There are people in that congregation that know me! Some of them baby-sat for me when I was a toddler. Three people in that congregation taught me in Sunday school during my elementary years. The chair of the board two years ago was one of my good friends in high school!
And, of course, my friend is right. It would be hard to preach to folks in you home town.

This is not a new problem. It was hard for Jesus, too.

Is'nt that Mary and Joseph's boy?

Jesus returns to his hometown of Nazareth, the small town in the hills of Galilee where he has grown up. The good people of Nazareth have known him as a boy. They have watched him mature; they've taught him, trained him up. He has been a part of their lives, as they've been part of his.

But it is not the same Jesus they knew who returns to Galilee and goes to his home synagogue on that particular Sabbath. He has left home. He has met John at the River Jordan, heard him preach, been baptized by him, and sensed himself touched by the very Spirit of God. From the river, Jesus has gone out into the wilderness to fast and to pray. For forty days he has come face to face with the temptation to abuse the gifts of God and to instead seek his own glory.

So, when Jesus returns to Galilee, it is not as the carpenter's son, but as a preacher and teacher. He taught in their synagogues, says Luke, and all the people sang his praises. He spends some time in Capernaum, a little fishing village on the north side of the Sea of Galilee, a strange little place where Jew and gentile live side by side. There he teaches and heals.

His reputation grows, and word of his ministry precedes him back to Nazareth, his home town. But it is not the same Jesus that they had known who returns. When he comes back home, he is, Luke tells us, filled with the power of the Holy Spirit.

He's going to need it.

He goes to the synagogue on the Sabbath and is asked to read the appointed text from the prophet Isaiah:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me. He has sent me to
announce good news to the poor, release to the captive,
recovery of sight to the blind.

Words of hope; words of promise; words which stir the hearts of Jews weary of the heavy-handed rule of Imperial Rome. Words which look to God's new day, when fortunes are reversed, and God's people are again free.

And while those potent words still hang heavy in the air, Jesus the hometown boy rolls up the scroll, hands it to the attendant, and says, Today, this text which you have just heard has come true.
Please note this: according to Luke, the very first recorded word of Jesus public ministry is today. Today this text has come true. Today the realm of God is present. Today God's promises are fulfilled. Not tomorrow, not some day. The word for the Nazareth congregation (and perhaps for our own, as well,) is today.;

Well, as we might expect, the response to this startling announcement is mixed. Some murmur approval, excited perhaps by the declaration that God's activity in the human arena is not merely a memory, not just a historical record of what God has done in some bygone era, but instead is the living story of our family, a story that shapes us and identifies us and confirms our experiences of God in the midst of even today.

Today the Lord is my shepherd. Today God gives rest to the weary and heavy-laden. Today the gentle of spirit are blessed; today the merciful receive mercy; today the pure in heart see God. Not yesterday not some day today!

I understand that murmur of approval, born when the congregation in Jesus hometown hear the announcement: Today this promise has come true in your midst. But it is not universal, nor is it long-lived. Some of us, it seems, always are ready to keep our hopes unrealized, always ready to ensure that the promises of God go unfulfilled.

In the midst of the murmurs of approval, someone expresses surprise that this young man should speak with such authority and grace. The word of caution is sounded. The word of wariness and hesitation is aired: Isn't this Mary and Joseph's boy?

And so, the word of grace is held up to the light of skeptical caution because, in the first place, its source is too familiar.

Granted the message itself was startling. It is one thing to say that in God's future age the broken will be healed and the prisoners will be set free. It is quite another thing to say that this day has arrived, that the promise is fulfilled, and the hope of Israel sits in our very midst.

But the Nazareth congregation does not question the message. No, the misgivings are focused on the messenger. Isn't this Mary and Joseph's boy? Don't we know him? Didn't we teach him in school? Just who does he think he is?

It's easy to discount the familiar. We know his family. He grew up here. He is one of us. How can God do something special with someone we know?

In short order the conversation takes a nasty turn. Jesus suggests that Nazareth deserves no special consideration that God's concern reaches to the Sidonians and Syrians as well as to the Jews. What's wrong with Sidonians and Syrians? They're Gentiles going not us! He even tells them stories from their own scripture which describes God's mercy extending to persons far beyond the family of Israel to Syrian lepers and Sidonian widows. This, of course, will never do; so, the citizens of Nazareth rise up with a single voice and run him out of town.

But the first ripple of discontent is sounded for a simpler reason: they know this preacher too well. Isn't this Mary and Joseph's boy?
In the days and weeks to come, Jesus would be discounted for other reasons: he is a country boy; he speaks with the accent of a Galilean. The urbane sophisticates in Jerusalem just could not see his hometown as the kind of place that produces either prophets or preachers, asking, Can anything good come out of Nazareth?

His choice of companions would provide ample cause for some to ignore him. (He eats with tax-collectors and with sinners.) His disregard for the religious customs of his day caused others to dismiss him. (Why don't your disciples wash their hands before they eat? And finally, the manner of his death would cause many to look elsewhere for a sign of God's presence. (The cross is a stumbling block to Jews and Gentiles alike, reminds Paul.)

In our day we do not so much oppose Jesus as dismiss him. I do not know of a single person who would claim to be against Jesus. We would not stone him or crucify him or push him off a cliff. No, we are far more dangerous – far more subtle. We simply ignore him.

After all, he is a bit unrealistic with his, “Go and sell all that you have and give it to the poor and then come and follow me. And he's too much the idealist, don't you think: If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn the other to him. If someone compels you to go one mile, go two. If someone demands your cloak from you, give him your tunic, as well. I mean, Jesus may be the son of God, but he sure doesn't know how the real world works around here.

Isn't that Mary and Joseph's boy?

The people of Nazareth, his friends and neighbors, are the first to discount Jesus, but certainly not the last. His family does the same. So will the religious establishment of his day. His Church still does it. We know him just well enough to disregard him. We have listened to him just long enough to know when not to listen anymore. How can God come to us in someone we know so well?


When Jesus came to Golgotha, we hanged Him on a tree.
We drave great nails in His hands and made a Calvary.
We crowned Him with a crown of thorns;
red were His wounds, and deep;
But, those were crude and cruel days
when human flesh was cheap.


When Jesus came to Spanish Lakes, we simply passed Him by.
We never hurt a hair on Him. We simply let Him die.
For we had grown more sensitive,
and would not cause Him pain.
So, we just passed on down the street and left Him in the rain.




Still, Jesus cried, Forgive for they know not what they do!
And, still it rained that icy rain
that drenched Him through and through.
The crowd dispersed and all went home without a soul to see.
And Jesus crouched against a wall . . .
. . . and cried for Calvary.

Who is he, Nazareth? Is it possible that the boy next door is the Son of David, the Savior, the Liberator, the Dawn of God's new day? Who is he Nazareth?

Who is he, Spanish Lakes, we who know him so well? Isn't that Mary and Joseph's boy? I think I went to school with him.

It's just that . . . I don't remember those wounds in his hands, and his feet, and his side. Let the church say, ‘Amen.’

MEANWHILE

Spanish Lakes 12-09-18 Matthew 24:36-44



You see them along the roadside as you are headed down I-75 and throughout the south the signs proclaiming, JESUS IS COMING SOON!



Now, in all likelihood these signs have done some good over the course of the years. I can imagine a driver at some time, absentmindedly cruising the curves and passing time thinking about this and that, has noticed these signs. And that might cause him to do some more thinking. A sign which declares Jesus is coming soon! might will cause him to pause and to consider what this reminder means. The well-tutored Christian who dismisses such a sign as tacky or irrelevant is well on the way to being too cynical to perceive the way God sometimes works in this odd, old world of ours.



Their primary message is clear: JESUS IS COMING SOON! So, be ready. You don't know the hour or the day. This is urgent. This is important stuff! Get ready!



But these signs give a secondary message, as well one which is subtle and contradictory. Because, most of these signs are supported by steel, and many on the back roads are made out of stone. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to move one of them. They intentionally are built to last for a long time . . . which is the problem. The say, NOW, but their very construction suggests, NOT NOW.I mean, if Jesus is coming soon, why not use a sign made of cardboard, or plywood, or even newsprint?



As I was pondering this morning's gospel reading, the disciples are discussing Jesus second coming with Him. They are uneasy, even fearful, about his news that soon he will be leaving them. But, in the midst of their apprehension, they are upheld by Jesus promise solemn promise that He will return and bring with Him the Kingdom of God. But what the disciples want to know is: When? When is this going to happen, Jesus? When are you coming back?



They are not alone. It's our question, too. When will you be back? We are your close friends and followers; we deserve to know this. When is the Apocalypse going to happen the Eschaton that moment when God will roll up the sky like they used to roll up the scroll of the Torah at the end of the service in the synagogue or Temple (that's where the word, Eschaton, come from; that's what they call the rolling up of the scroll.)



And Judaism and Christianity are not the only religions that have these concerns. ISIS is trying to precipitate the end times in Muslim reckoning by establishing a Caliphate in the Middle East. That is what the war in Syria has been about all the last many years. When will this happen, and can we help history along sort of have a hand in forcing it to happen,they are asking?



But, back to our own question: WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK, JESUS? That is the question for Christians and for his disciples. And, quite honestly, Jesus disappoints us here. He tells neither his disciples nor us precisely what we want to know. He does say very carefully that He WILL come again, but it will be when God is ready for Him to come and that it will be suddenly and without warning.



Jesus uses a parallel from a familiar Bible story the story of Noah. And the disciples (and we along with them) remember how, deep in history, the people were living lives with little regard for the things of God. They were eating and drinking and giving in marriage and celebrating that is to say pretty much conducting the affairs of life as usual when, suddenly, in the midst of those days, the rains came. Only Noah and his family were wise enough to heed God's warning and save themselves. And Jesus tells his followers that when He comes again it will be like that. Life will be going on pretty much as usual, people engaged in their normal routines, buying and selling, working in the fields to produce crops, grinding wheat into flour, up top fixing the roof just doing ordinary things and suddenly, without warning, the Lord Jesus will return.



And furthermore, says Jesus, some will be ready, and some will not. Some will have recalled His words about the Kingdom and about how to live in readiness for it to be fulfilled. But, some will not remember other things will have gotten in the way, will have become more important to them. And, those people, says Jesus, those who have forgotten or disbelieved or neglected, will be disappointed on that day.



So, with this warning, Jesus takes his disciples worries and questions, and turns them in a new direction. The disciples question has been about when all this is going to happen. And, Jesus lets them know they are asking the wrong question. The question should not be about when Jesus is coming again, whether late or soon. Their question, Jesus makes clear, should be about what they are going to do in the meantime.



And Jesus uses an imaginative analogy: If the homeowner had known when the thief was going to come, all he would have had to do would have been to fortify his house and stay awake for the big moment! But, the homeowner doesn't know when the thief is going to break in. Which is why the wise homeowner secures his house as best he can, and remains watchful all the time. That's the only way he can make his house safe. Everybody, buy stock in Ring Doorbell!Therefore, you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.



Jesus here takes the worries of the disciples and tells them to just give them up their worries, their apprehensions, their concerns about when God will send Jesus too be among us again and has replaced all that curiosity and anxiety with concern about their quality of living in the world in the meantime.



As a teenager, I would occasionally go with Donnie Webb to his church on Sunday night. And the Black Church experience was so different from what I was used to. There was a good bit of call and response between the preacher and the congregation: M-y-y-y-y-y, and W-e-l-l-l-l, and Say It! By comparison my home church was the frozen chosen. At Donnie's church, as the preacher got wound up, so did Donnie, and he would whoop and holler and really get into it. Yes Sir! You know that's right!



And his sweet mama, who strategically sat a row behind us where she could get hold of an ear if she needed to, would lean up and gently rest a hand on his shoulder and say: Now, Child, remember; it ain't how high you jump that matters. It's the good you do when you come down.



That's what Jesus wants to know from his disciples and from us, as well what good are you going to do when you come down?



No wonder we call this season Advent from the Latin ad veno te, which translates I come to you. No wonder that we take these four Sundays and the days in between that lead up to the coming of the Christ at Christmastime. And, instead of concentrating on the Nativity story and singing all those wonderful carols we're all just itching to sing, instead we soberly concentrate on our faith claim that Jesus is going to come again. And, looking at that part of Jesus revelation to us, the part about His coming again, we focus in Advent on waiting waiting patiently and well and on the quality of our living out of God's will in the meantime.



When I was the Associate Minister at Valparaiso, Indiana, back in the mid 80s, the Methodist Bishop, Ralph Steele, retired and moved to our small university town south and east of Chicago. I think it was partly because of the universitys good library. Anyway, he was a neat guy, and he began attending our monthly ecumenical clergy meetings.



As we got to know him better, he said that he and his wife, Shirley, had taken care of two things when they first moved to town. They had bought a one-story house, so they could live out the rest of their days without climbing stairs; and they had bought two plots in the local cemetery. Having thus settled themselves in and made themselves comfortable for their retirement years, they hung a shingle on the post that supported their mailbox a shingle with the name for their house on it.



The shingle read: MEANWHILE.



Come Advent, I will always think of Ralph and Shirley. And I will remember the wisdom of the name they chose for their home, the name they had nerve enough to set out for everybody to see.



For, truth be told, each of us lives in a house named:

MEANWHILE.



Let the Church say: Amen.

…GOOD NEWS TO THE OPPRESSED
Spanish Lakes 12-23-18 Isaiah 61:1-11

What would good news sound like to you? I recently read a story about a couple who won two major lottery games on the same day. The odds of their good fortune compute out to something like 24 trillion to one. Their total winnings were in the neighborhood of 16 million dollars! Please understand that I am not a fan of state-sponsored gaming. It is a regressive tax which penalizes the poor. But, if you live paycheck to paycheck, 16 million dollars would sound like pretty good news.

Or, the test comes back: There is no cancer. Good news. Or, the high school senior opens the long envelope: I am happy to inform you that you have been accepted . . . Good news! Or, the interview ends: We would like you to come to work with us. Good news!

A few weeks back, I saw a woman I hadn't seen for a couple of years. She has a son from a church awhile back, and he lives pretty lose to the edge. Where's David now? I asked. I have no idea; if you see him, would you give me a call? I know what good news would sound like to her.

Needing to hear good news means that something is not the way it is supposed to be. We would have no need for good news if we felt no pain, no fear. Who would long to hear good news if we experienced no struggle, no doubt, no anxiety, no hunger of body or soul?

Scholars tell us that this portion of the book of Isaiah is the work of a prophet who speaks to the people of Israel as they return from exile in Babylon. They are going home. But, as may be true for some of us as well, while going home is a blessing, it is decidedly a mixed blessing.

The good news is that they are no longer captives in a strange land. No longer do they have to wonder if God has abandoned them. Home they are going home! Spend some time with someone who has been a prisoner of war; spend some time with someone who has been imprisoned unjustly. Ask them what the word home means to them. To the captive people of Israel, the news of their freedom is the best of all possible news. It was good news, when the prophet said [Isaiah 61:1]:
The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord
has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news
to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to
proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the
prisoners . . .

Good news. To people held captive for three generations, words like liberty and release sound like good news. They are going home.

But it was true then, just as it is true now, that going home is a mixed blessing. Going home did not make everything right. Fields they left behind decades ago now belonged to someone else. Cities were in ruin. The Temple, the very heart of their life as a people, was reduced to a pile of rubble. Home, yet not home; free, yet not free. What would good news sound like to people who found they could not simply recapture the past, they could not just go back to life as it had been before? They were home, but it sure didn't feel like home. The prophet said that what God had in mind was a totally new future:
Strangers shall stand and feed your flocks.
Foreigners shall till your land and dress your vines.
But, you shall be called priests of the Lord.
You shall be named ministers of our God;
You shall enjoy the wealth of the nations,
and in their riches you shall glory. [61:5-6]

Hope is an act of the imagination. It is the ability to see the world the way God intends it to be. We all know how things are too much hunger, too many people living in fear, too much destruction and hurt, too much indifference, too much disease. Remember the story of the teacher at Columbine High School, who stayed in the building to help others escape when he, himself could have escaped? He stayed behind with a colleague who was fatally wounded. He died of cancer just a couple of years after his heroic act. Forty-four years old. I need to hear a little good news.

Can you imagine a world being any other way? Can you imagine a world in which no one is lonely, no one is hungry, no one is afraid? Can you imagine a world in which everyone is valued, everyone is respected, everyone is loved? Can you imagine a world in which the strong care for the weak, the rich share with the poor? Can you imagine a world in which nations create (and this is not my phrase, but Lordy, how I wish it was) weapons of mass salvation instead of weapons of mass destruction? Weapons of mass salvation in which the resources of our good earth are directed towards curing and healing, rather than maiming and killing. I'm not talking about blind, naïve optimism here. I'm talking about hope that is born of faith. And faith is not a nice, fuzzy feeling we enjoy when everything is going along swimmingly; no, faith is a conviction that staggers to its feet when things are at their very worst.

I think this is true: people who cannot imagine such a world can never really understand the Bible. People who cannot muster up any holy imagination will never understand the Church or the Christian faith. And, a church that cannot imagine such a world will never have any good news to share.

You see, the enemy of hope is resignation, that deep-down conviction that things will always be the way they are now nothing will ever change; nothing will ever be any different. If God has an enemy, this is what the enemy says: I have no good news.

Why would we ever believe that things will ever be other than as they are? Some will laugh at us; the sophisticated will call us romantic and idealistic. They are wrong. No one knows more about the hard, painful realities of life than the Church. What makes us different is that we have caught just a glimpse of something different. The curtain has been drawn back just an inch or two, and we have seen what can be . . . what will be. We see it most clearly in the life of one person. That's why we follow him and celebrate his birth. Forgiveness, justice, mercy, compassion it's little wonder that Luke remembers that the first sermon Jesus ever preaches begins this way:
The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has
anointed me; He has sent me to bring good news to the
oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim
liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners . . .

It's little wonder that John says that Jesus coming into the world is like the appearance of light: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. [John 1:5] It's like creation is happening all over again.

We can imagine a world that is different because we have seen it we have tasted it. We know what kind of world God wants. We know what kind of world God wills. And because God wants it and wills it, we know what kind of a world will be. Good news!

The truth is, we see signs of that world all around us: acts of mercy, people forgiving those who have harmed them, people working for justice -and not just for themselves alone, but for others people living in peace, praying for peace, working for peace.

We imagine a world that we cannot see on our own or by ourselves. That's what the Church means when we say Christ must come again. We need God-with-us to heal the world. But, what we can do, here and now, is to be a sign of God's new day a light in the darkness, the presence of Christ in a world that longs for a little good news.

No one in our time has done this more powerfully and with more conviction that Oscar Romero, now St. Oscar Romero, martyred bishop of El Salvador, who writes:
It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long
view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts; it
is even beyond our vision. We accomplish in our life-
time only a fraction of the magnificent enterprise that
is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of
saying that the Kingdom lies beyond us. No statement
says all that could be said. No prayer fully expresses
our faith. No confession brings perfection. No pastoral
visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the
Church's mission. No set of goals and objectives includes
everything.
This is what we are about: one person plants a seed
in the soil; another waters it. We plant seeds that one
day will grow. We water seeds already planted, know-
ing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations
that will need further development. We provide yeast
that produces effects beyond our capabilities. We can-
not do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in
realizing that. This enables us to do something and to
do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a begin-
ning, a step along the way, an opportunity for God's
grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the
difference between the Master Builder and the worker:
we are the workers, not the master builder, ministers,
not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.

Heres good news for the Church. We do not have to heal the world. We just have to begin. Plant a seed. Water a seed someone else has planted. And here's the good news for the world: God will . . . in God's good time . . . heal us all.
Amen

I AM A VOICE
Spanish Lakes 12-16-18 John 1:6-8;19-28

We all know what it feels like to lose your voice. One morning you wake up with that little tickle at the back of your throat. Somehow, that cup of hot tea or the sip of water or the Hall’s cough drop during the day just doesn’t take care of it. You find yourself clearing your throat and giving that little cough now and then, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you’re in for it. Maybe it will just be the sniffles; but that persistent tickle tells you that your throat is in trouble at best, and at worst you are going to lose your voice.

Now, losing your voice is a least an inconvenience, and it forces us to fully appreciate the most basic form of communication, maybe the most ancient of gifts that makes a cultured humanity possible. But for a preacher, losing your voice is the ultimate nightmare. After all, a preacher’s role is one of giving voice, of making the connection between scripture text, prayer, and the present moment in which we find ourselves.

For anyone, being unable to speak – unable to give voice to our understandings, intuitions, and deepest longings – is devastating at the deepest level. We feel we have lost something fundamental to living and maintaining relationships. We feel the tension of struggling to communicate our experiences, and if the silence lasts long enough, we experience an urgency for the inner word to break forth and be heard.

I want you to hold onto this thought as we reflect on the Gospel reading for this morning and as we think about this enigmatic figure, John the Baptist. To us he seems to be a very strange character. He must be important, though, because John the Gospel writer has chosen to begin his Gospel with his story – not with angels or shepherds or wise men, but with the straightforward declarative sentence: There was a man sent from God who name was John.

The religious authorities were curious about him, as well. We find a group of priests and Levites questioning him, trying to get a handle on his identity. “Who are you, John? You have come out into the desert preaching the coming judgment of God and baptizing those who receive your message as a sign of repentance. You look, act and sound like one of the prophets of old. We are looking for Messiah; perhaps you are he. Or, perhaps you are Elijah, or the prophet who will come before the messianic age begins. Just who are you?” they ask. And we, curious as well, stand on tiptoe and lean in so that we might overhear their conversation.

But, John disclaims these specific, traditional roles. He does not reject the prophetic process and, in fact, identifies himself with the prophetic voice of Isaiah, one crying in the wilderness. John simply declared, “I am a voice!”

John is the voice who heralds or announces the coming of God’s Chosen One, who the Gospel will go on to reveal is Jesus of Nazareth. Out of his love for God, his deep prayer life and reflection in the desert, John has found a word welling up deep up from within himself. In the manner of the prophets of old, John has recognized in it all the movements of God. He intuits God’s purpose in the present moment that will affect the future of the lives of the people, and that intuition just has to be spoken. He becomes the voice that gives urgency, that attracts, and, for some who hear, transforms.

Does purpose change? Do you think that the function of being the voice ended with this man John? No; Jesus not only took up the message of the arrival of the kingdom, but He is the one to whom John gave witness. Should that voice be silent in the wilderness that is our world? Of course not! God intends for the proclamation to continue in all times and in all places. An, my dear Christian friends, that is precisely why we are here.

The gathered Christian community is intended to be the continuing voice, the herald of Christ. By our baptism we are each called to be a witness to the light of the Christ, who has come into our lives. We gather each Sunday as witnesses to it; but do we realize that God has called each one of us to answer, along with John, I am a voice!


Even as we have apprehended that as Christians we are called to be a voice, all too often we develop spiritual laryngitis. What is it that blocks us? What keeps us from claiming our role?

Well, one thing is passivity. We gather for worship; we come to church to get something, forgetting that whatever worship give to us is meant to enable us to act once we get outside these walls. All too often we find that we have exchanges that stirring hymn, Lead on, O King Eternal, for the old show biz song, Let Me Entertain You.

Second, we can’t imagine that it is us ordinary people whom God has chosen to announce the kingdom to a waiting world. Surely God has the wrong person! Surely this must be for the professionals with the formal roles, not for little, old me! To be sure, this is not a new problem. Everyone in the Scriptures whom God chooses is recorded as regarding him/herself as unworthy tor and unequal to the task. From Moses saying, “Who am I that I should go before Pharaoh?” to Isaiah crying out, “Woe is me, for I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people with unclean lips,” to Mary exclaiming, “Why has Thou regarded the lowly estate of Thy handmaiden?” to Peter moaning, “Lord, depart from me, for I am an evil man,” to St. Paul complaining, “I am the most unworthy of all to be considered an apostle,” and overwhelming sense of unsuitability for the task seems to almost be a prerequisite for being used by God! If you feel inadequate, you are in good company! Don’t you ever forget it!

Fear is a third component in our spiritual laryngitis. We are afraid to trust our intuitions of the presence, goodness, and providence of God that comes to us throughout our daily lives as we say our prayers and live as best we know how. We dismiss as insignificant the witness to the light of Christ that we ourselves have experienced. Either we feel that it is too little, or that everyone else has had that same kind of experience. Jesus isn’t asking you to be a million-Watt lighthouse, just a lamp on a lampstand. But, if you put fifty of us lamps together, we can make a pretty bright light!

The final component of our laryngitis is our forgetfulness. We forget that the work of salvation continues to be God’s work – that we are called to point to it, and to walk in it – but that God alone is the One who accomplishes it. Sometimes I think we confuse being the messenger with being the message. Sorry, that job is already filled.

To help flesh this out for us, let me read a note I got from a friend in upstate New York this week:
First the grim, then the noble.
Four firefighters stood in the dark on a 14-degree morning, our truck lighted up and diverting traffic around an accident scene on a county road. The context was grim: a young man ended His Saturday night bender by crashing into a utility pole, knocking out power for the area and sending him on an unsuccessful flight though a swamp.
Four hours later he was in custody, the pole had been repaired, and twenty-some volunteer firefighters and rescue workers returned to the station.
The context two days earlier was equally grim: a mid-70s man living alone, off his meds, agitated and shouting at a county sheriff while three ambulance crew members waited to rescue the sheriff or help the patient, whichever way it went.
In the end, an expert sheriff talked him “off the ledge,” as it were, and our lead medic de-escalated the confrontation. The patient accepted medical help.
Two days before that, an inebriated hunter broke his lower leg, stumbled in the dark, and lay alongside railroad tracks while his friends went for help.
These are the headlines in action: mounting drug use, especially among young males; lonely seniors living in isolated homes, often in squalor, with no one looking out for them; lifelong heavy drinkers draining their bodies of resiliency.
Here are other headlines we need to read:
Community worked. Ten firefighters blocked key roads, one truck went to the scene of lines down, and one EMS crew stood by to assist. All were volunteers, ranging in age from 22 to 76, and now they were working in bitter cold to help a neighbor.
While law officers hunted for the fleeing driver, a neighbor stopped to say she had seen an apparently disturbed young man leaning against a mailbox. We alerted the state police.
Another driver asked if we would like some coffee. When she returned from Dunkin donuts, she asked about how our volunteer service worked, said she had been an EMT in Massachusetts, and offered to sign up.
No one beefed about cold or hunger. Some had been out the night before helping a nearby town put out a large restaurant fire. Some had just worked a motor vehicle fire on the New York State Thruway. When you sign up to serve, this is what you do.
At the agitated patient scene, I was impressed by the deputy sheriff’s calm courage. He walked right into a confrontation. He kept his cool, and he had the patient’s needs uppermost in his mind.
At the fallen-hunter scene, tow EMTs responded immediately and scoured the area. Directions had been vague. They set off through the woods with flashlights and gear and found the fallen man. They didn’t blink when darkness and unknown terrain faced them.
Firefighters took a Gator down the tracks and, with attention to stabilizing the patient’s spine, carried him back to an ambulance. They were prepared because we spend many hours in drills, including the “hunter-down drill.”
This was just one week in the life of one volunteer fire company. Such scenes are happening every day in a nation that provides emergency care to whomever needs it, either through professionals or volunteers. If you call 9-1-1, you will get help.
The drivers who obeyed our traffic cones were good-natured about the inconvenience. Although self-serving and greed are ascendant at top levels, ordinary folk understand the cliché, “We’re all in this together.”
The camaraderie of helpers is a deeply moving sight. People want to do the right thing. When they do it, the feel better, and they connect with others on a human level. There was joy in the air after our callout this morning. Not joy at the expense of an unfortunate young man, but joy from having worked together to help him.
I come to this conclusion: some truly rotten people have stepped into national and corporate leadership. If all we saw in our nation was their greed, corruption and self-serving, we would lock our doors, climb into bed, pull the covers over our heads, and stay for a year or two. But at the local level, decent people are doing good and righteous things, such as bandaging the wound of their neighbors. People get along. People have perspective on what matters.
The rascals of the world will never prevail. They will be drowned out by decency, perspective, and common sense among people who know that, if a community is going to work for any of us, it has to work for all of us.

Maybe our encounter with John the Baptist this morning will help us to hear God’s call a little more clearly today. And not just to hear it . . . maybe we can go on to answer, along with John, that we, too, are voices crying out the Good News in a world that still desperately needs to hear it, just like my friend doing what he regards as ordinary things in upstate New York. Remember, you are a voice!

And all God’s gathered people said: Amen!

MEANWHILE
Spanish Lakes 12-09-18 Matthew 24:36-44

You see them along the roadside as you are headed down I-75 and throughout the south – the signs proclaiming, “JESUS IS COMING SOON!”

Now, in all likelihood these signs have done some good over the course of the years. I can imagine a driver at some time, absentmindedly cruising the curves and passing time thinking about this and that, has noticed these signs. And that might cause him to do some more thinking. A sign which declares “Jesus is coming soon!” might will cause him to pause and to consider what this reminder means. The well-tutored Christian who dismisses such a sign as tacky or irrelevant is well on the way to being too cynical to perceive the way God sometimes works in this odd, old world of ours.

Their primary message is clear: JESUS IS COMING SOON! So, be ready. You don’t know the hour or the day. This is urgent. This is important stuff! Get ready!

But these signs give a secondary message, as well – one which is subtle and contradictory. Because, most of these signs are supported by steel, and many on the back roads are made out of stone. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to move one of them. They intentionally are built to last for a long time . . . which is the problem. The say, “NOW,” but their very construction suggests, “NOT NOW.” I mean, if Jesus is coming soon, why not use a sign made of cardboard, or plywood, or even newsprint?

As I was pondering this morning’s gospel reading, the disciples are discussing Jesus’ second coming with Him. They are uneasy, even fearful, about his news that soon he will be leaving them. But, in the midst of their apprehension, they are upheld by Jesus’ promise – solemn promise – that He will return and bring with Him the Kingdom of God. But what the disciples want to know is: When? When is this going to happen, Jesus? When are you coming back?

They are not alone. It’s our question, too. When will you be back? We are your close friends and followers; we deserve to know this. When is the Apocalypse going to happen – the Eschaton – that moment when God will roll up the sky like they used to roll up the scroll of the Torah at the end of the service in the synagogue or Temple (that’s where the word, Eschaton, come from; that’s what they call the rolling up of the scroll.)

And Judaism and Christianity are not the only religions that have these concerns. ISIS is trying to precipitate the end times in Muslim reckoning by establishing a Caliphate in the Middle East. That is what the war in Syria has been about all the last many years. “When will this happen, and can we help history along – sort of have a hand in forcing it to happen,” they are asking?

But, back to our own question: WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK, JESUS? That is the question for Christians and for his disciples. And, quite honestly, Jesus disappoints us here. He tells neither his disciples nor us precisely what we want to know. He does say very carefully that He WILL come again, but it will be when God is ready for Him to come – and that it will be suddenly and without warning.

Jesus uses a parallel from a familiar Bible story – the story of Noah. And the disciples (and we along with them) remember how, deep in history, the people were living lives with little regard for the things of God. They were eating and drinking and giving in marriage and celebrating – that is to say pretty much conducting the affairs of life as usual – when, suddenly, in the midst of those days, the rains came. Only Noah and his family were wise enough to heed God’s warning and save themselves. And Jesus tells his followers that when He comes again it will be like that. Life will be going on pretty much as usual, people engaged in their normal routines, buying and selling, working in the fields to produce crops, grinding wheat into flour, up top fixing the roof – just doing ordinary things – and suddenly, without warning, the Lord Jesus will return.

And furthermore, says Jesus, some will be ready, and some will not. Some will have recalled His words about the Kingdom and about how to live in readiness for it to be fulfilled. But, some will not remember – other things will have gotten in the way, will have become more important to them. And, those people, says Jesus, those who have forgotten or disbelieved or neglected, will be disappointed on that day.

So, with this warning, Jesus takes his disciples’ worries and questions, and turns them in a new direction. The disciples’ question has been about when all this is going to happen. And, Jesus lets them know they are asking the wrong question. The question should not be about when Jesus is coming again, whether late or soon. Their question, Jesus makes clear, should be about what they are going to do in the meantime.

And Jesus uses an imaginative analogy: If the homeowner had known when the thief was going to come, all he would have had to do would have been to fortify his house and stay awake for the big moment! But, the homeowner doesn’t know when the thief is going to break in. Which is why the wise homeowner secures his house as best he can, and remains watchful all the time. That’s the only way he can make his house safe. Everybody, buy stock in “Ring Doorbell!” “Therefore, you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

Jesus here takes the worries of the disciples and tells them to just give them up – their worries, their apprehensions, their concerns about when God will send Jesus too be among us again – and has replaced all that curiosity and anxiety with concern about their quality of living in the world in the meantime.

As a teenager, I would occasionally go with Donnie Webb to his church on Sunday night. And the Black Church experience was so different from what I was used to. There was a good bit of call and response between the preacher and the congregation: M-y-y-y-y-y, and W-e-l-l-l-l, and Say It! By comparison my home church was “the frozen chosen.” At Donnie’s church, as the preacher got wound up, so did Donnie, and he would whoop and holler and really get into it. “Yes Sir! You know that’s right!”

And his sweet mama, who strategically sat a row behind us where she could get hold of an ear if she needed to, would lean up and gently rest a hand on his shoulder and say: “Now, Child, remember; it ain’t how high you jump that matters. It’s the good you do when you come down.”

That’s what Jesus wants to know from his disciples – and from us, as well – what good are you going to do when you come down?

No wonder we call this season Advent – from the Latin ad veno te, which translates I come to you. No wonder that we take these four Sundays and the days in between that lead up to the coming of the Christ at Christmastime. And, instead of concentrating on the Nativity story and singing all those wonderful carols we’re all just itching to sing, instead we soberly concentrate on our faith claim that Jesus is going to come again. And, looking at that part of Jesus’ revelation to us, the part about His coming again, we focus in Advent on waiting – waiting patiently and well – and on the quality of our living out of God’s will in the meantime.

When I was the Associate Minister at Valparaiso, Indiana, back in the mid 80s, the Methodist Bishop, Ralph Steele, retired and moved to our small university town south and east of Chicago. I think it was partly because of the university’s good library. Anyway, he was a neat guy, and he began attending our monthly ecumenical clergy meetings.

As we got to know him better, he said that he and his wife, Shirley, had taken care of two things when they first moved to town. They had bought a one-story house, so they could live out the rest of their days without climbing stairs; and they had bought two plots in the local cemetery. Having thus settled themselves in and made themselves comfortable for their retirement years, they hung a shingle on the post that supported their mailbox – a shingle with the name for their house on it.

The shingle read: MEANWHILE.

Come Advent, I will always think of Ralph and Shirley. And I will remember the wisdom of the name they chose for their home, the name they had nerve enough to set out for everybody to see.

For, truth be told, each of us lives in a house named:
MEANWHILE.

Let the Church say: Amen.

ADVENT IN EXILE
Spanish Lakes 12-02-18 Isaiah 64:1-9

What biblical places do you associate with Advent or Christmas? Nazareth, perhaps. Jerusalem and Bethlehem, to be sure. But what about Babylon? Does anyone think about Babylon – present day Iraq – as an Advent/Christmas kind of place? I’m guessing not so much.

A bit of Bible history may be in order here. In the year 587 BCE, the Babylonians captured Jerusalem, destroyed the Temple (that originally had been built by David’s son, Solomon), stole its contents, torched the city, tore down its walls, and took the elite of Israel’s population captive into exile – just hauled the off five hundred miles from home – and held them captive for over 50 years.

In the midst of this alarming and depressing circumstance, meet Isaiah the prophet. Contrary to the sentiment of the familiar holiday tune, Isaiah will NOT be home for Christmas. No, Isaiah is spending Advent in exile. Needless to say, this is not a place where one would choose to spend Advent. But that’s where Isaiah is – in exile.

So, what do you think? What would it be like to spend Advent in exile? Not having been to Babylon during the holidays personally, I was about to go digging into some reference books to try and get a feel for what it must have been like. It would have meant spending the season five hundred miles from home, held against my will by the people who had destroyed my city, my church, and my culture. Thankfully, Isaiah spared me all that research by allowing me to listen in to overhear the tone and content of his prayers, one of which forms this morning’s text.
Let’s just go back and read some of the words Isaiah uses in his prayers in the chapters leading up to this morning’s Scripture reading, and maybe we’ll get a glimpse of what Exile is all about: affliction, poor, broken-hearted, captive, bound ashes, mourning, faint spirit, ruined. According to Isaiah, that’s what it’s like to be in exile during Advent.

Which means, of course, that Isaiah is talking about something that you and I can’t identify with. Am I right? I say that because, whereas all is clearly not well in Isaiah’s life, everything with us is fine. Just ask us. As we gather for worship, we greet each other with a familiar litany:
How are you?

Fine, and you?

Fine. And how’s the family?

Fine. Yours?

Fine.

Things at work?

Fine; how about with you?

Fine.

It’s an extraordinary thing, I tell you, how fine things are among Christian folk as we gather together on the Lord’s day! I would wager that on any given Sunday one of the highest quotients of fineness in the world is to be found in church among church folk. Which is why I know we cannot identify with what the prophet Isaiah is going through. For, in contrast to all of us, things are not fine in Isaiah’s world – he’s spending Advent in exile.

I’m just wondering, though, if maybe you know someone who is able to identify with Isaiah. By chance do you know someone who is spending these weeks leading up to Christmas in exile? Do you know anybody who finds him/herself this Advent in circumstances they never would have chosen to be facing right now? Life for them is five hundred miles away from where they ever dreamed they would be. Do any of Isaiah’s words bring anyone to mind: afflicted, poor, broken-hearted, bound, ashes, mourning, faint spirit, ruined? We’re all fine, I know, but I’m just wondering if maybe you know someone who has been uprooted from their beloved Jerusalem and is spending Advent in exile.

I dare say Isaiah is not alone in exile, now, is he? Let’s come clean. Despite what we say in polite company, everything is not fine after all, now, is it? The fact is: there are some things in our lives and in the lives of those that we love that are not fine. Some of those things we have shared openly with each other. Others have been entrusted only to special friends, or to our Deacons, or to our prayer chain partners. Sometimes they are known; sometimes they are anonymous. We lift up names and situations every Sunday for our prayer time. In another context, some of you have shared with me at a table with a Kleenex-box centerpiece how things really are. And as any newspaper bears witness, things in our world are not fine. Far from it. No, Isaiah is not alone in exile this Advent. He’s got plenty of company. Everything with us and our world is not fine after all.

But mark my words: Advent is supposed to begin in exile. That’s right. Christmas does not properly begin in the shopping mall, nor in the basement or attic rummaging around for the boxes marked ‘Christmas,’ nor in thumbing through mail-order catalogues, but in exile. For, you see, by definition the word Advent means coming. Coming as in the coming of the Lord – the coming of the Lord to people who are in exile, people for whom things are not all fine. Coming, as in “coming for to carry me home . . .”

But since coming means on the way, but not yet here, coming means waiting. And if what you are waiting for is your deliverance from circumstances from which you cannot extricate yourself on your own, then that waiting takes the form of fervent, aching hoping for someone else to come and deliver you. Which is precisely the kind of hope Isaiah gives voice to, when he says: From of old, no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides Thee, who works for those who wait for Him. [64:4]

Christmas always begins in suffering and oppression, you see. The Nativity story makes no sense otherwise. The light shone, Isaiah said, precisely because “the people lived in a land of deep darkness.” It was a time of shadows, of arrogant empire, of people trampling on each other. It was a time when the few had enormous power, and the many were compelled to serve them. It was a time when wealth flowed to the few and little of it trickled down to ordinary people. It was a time when even religion had been corrupted by greed and compromise, and the clever few derailed human hopes with ‘solemn assemblies’ and fashionable legalism.

For Christians, the starting point for Advent always is Mary and Joseph trudging to Bethlehem at Caesar’s bidding. These weren’t cheerful, young professionals starting a family; they were frightened teenagers, driven away from their home in the ninth month or Mary’s pregnancy.

Christmas starts in dislocation and need; that is why our throats catch and our eyes tear up during this season. It is our story; and we dare to lift our aching hearts up to God. All of which is to say: Advent is supposed to begin in Exile, for it is about people hoping with all their hearts for a Savior to come, who will deliver them and lead them home.

Listen . . . don’t pity the person of faith, who is in exile for Advent. For they are looking forward to Christmas in a way we can’t even imagine! Why, in chapters 61 and 64, Isaiah’s Christmas list appears – and it’s a doozy!

What do you want for Christmas, Isaiah?

I want to hear some good news for the poor.
I want the broken-hearted to be healed.
I want those in bondage to be set free.
I want those who mourn to be comforted.
I want people who taste only ashes to be doused with
the oil of gladness.
I want God to rend the heavens and come down.
I want the mountains to quake at his presence.
I want God’s Spirit to kindle a fire in the hearts of every man,
woman, and child, so that the communities and nations of this
old world might straighten up.

Don’t you dare pity the man! He may be in exile, but he has hopes that are fierce in a God he trusts and the expectation of a Savior who will come in time to set things right. I tell you Isaiah is looking forward to Christmas – looking forward to a Savior’s coming with a passion that is awe-inspiring!

Spending a little with Isaiah this week has caused me to change my Christmas list, I’ll have you know. I had wanted a couple of new neckties, a gift card to Barnes and Noble, and maybe a box or two of those fancy coffees for the Keurig. Now, I just want to take my place alongside Isaiah and the other exiles. I want to participate in the art of passionate waiting for the Savior who is to come. Forget the neckties, the books, and the coffees. I’m going to wait it out with Isaiah in exile!

You can join us. We’re waiting for God to come in saving power, and we won’t be satisfied with anything less. Accept no substitutes! Advent, you see, begins in exile among people for whom things are not fine, whose lives are a long way off from Zion, whose only hope is for God to send a Savior.

Is that too strong a thing to want for Christmas – a Savior? Of course not! That is Christmas! – its very essence. And our sitting together in exile on this early December morning, hoping, longing, yearning for God to send One is what Advent really is all about.

We sang it in our opening hymn this morning:

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lowly exile here, until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

Come, Lord Jesus; come to us.

O, that You would rend the heavens and come down! [64:1]

And all God’s gathered people said: Amen.

A TRIP TO THE IMAGINARIUM
Spanish Lakes 11-25-18 Colossians 1:11-20

Today is Christ the King Sunday. This day marks the end of the church year, the last Sunday before Advent begins. It is a day in the liturgical year when we give special emphasis to Jesus Christ as King of Kings and Lord of Lords, to borrow a phrase from the Revelation of John. [Revelation 19:16]

More and more I appreciate the liturgical calendar, mostly because it helps us to remember whose time we live in. It isn’t the government’s time, although our schedules are marked by Federal holidays and tax deadlines. It isn’t the economy’s time, even though bills and paychecks arrive at regularly scheduled intervals. Sometimes we forget whose time it really is – God’s time – and we forget that the seasons come and go, not by human hands, but by the divine hands that hold the planets in their orbits, that sustain the ages-old rhythm of seedtime and harvest.

As a people of faith, we affirm that time itself is part of God’s creation, a gift from the Holy One, who has been in charge since the beginning. So, let us order our lives in conformity with this faith- time. And that particular calendar declares that this is a day to honor Christ the King.

The epistle reading for today comes from Colossians. As I began to study this passage, I had some misgivings. The language is so grand, so mythical and mystical as to almost be out of touch with the kind of things I usually preach about. Listen again to a few of the phrases as Paul writes and describes who Jesus is:

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation;
for in him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible
and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or
authorities – all things were created through him and for him.
He is before all things, and in him do all things hold together.

That’s quite a mouthful, isn’t it?! It sounds wonderful – but what does it mean, for heaven’s sake!? To take just the first phrase of that passage, what does it mean to say that Jesus is the image of the invisible God? How can someone or something be an image of someone who is invisible? And then what does it mean to say that Jesus is the first-born of all creation? What on earth is Paul talking about?

Part of the answer is that Paul is not describing earthly things, but heavenly things, and that is why words seem to fail him. How can Paul or anyone else talk about things that are divine and have it make sense to us? How can a preacher speak to a congregation about such things?

As I struggle with such questions, I remember a course I took in seminary called, Ears to Hear, Eyes to See: Insights into the Religious Imagination. One of the things we noted in that class is the importance of imagination for people of faith.

We began our study by noting that imagination gets pretty short shrift in today’s world. Oh, it’s fine for artists and children, but real adults want empirical data, “Just the facts, ma’am,” as Joe Friday used to say on the old television show, Dragnet. If you describe someone as having a vivid imagination, it’s a mild criticism, the implication being that their word may not be entirely trustworthy. When you say of yourself, “I must have imagined it,” you mean that for a moment you were out of touch with reality. Imagination tends to be suspect in our day and age.

Even the Bible has leanings in that direction. The Noah story in Genesis begins with these words: the Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. [Genesis 6:5]

In Luke’s gospel when Mary receives word that she will bear a son whose realm will never end, she sings a song, part of which goes: he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. [Luke 1:51]

So in the Biblical world as well as our world today, the word imagination has some negative connotations. Does that mean there is no room for imagination in the Christian faith?

I hope not. In fact, there is a sense in which faith isn’t possible without imagination. The writer of Hebrews says that “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” [Hebrews 11:1] Such faith isn’t possible for us without imagination. There are some things we cannot see or hear or touch, but can only intuit to bring to life – imagining them into being, if you will. As an example, you can remember clearly people you have known but who have stepped out of this life and into the next. You can get a clear image in your mind. That is the power of imagination at work, and it is a gift from God.

Here is another way you use your imagination. Think of a good friend or relative you haven’t seen for awhile. Now, imagine your next meeting. Picture what he or she will look like when you meet. Imagination resides not only in our memory of the past, but is in our anticipation of what is to come. It’s not that imagination isn’t real; it’s that imagination gives us a way to talk about the reality of things that cannot be measured scientifically.

I like what Paul Wilson has to say about what he calls the imagination of the heart:
Imagination of the heart takes our experience of the world
and shows us new possibilities. It opens up mystery to us.
It gives us the ability to both see the world as it is, with
Christ in the midst of our brokenness, and to imagine a
world different from our own, a world already transfig-
ured by Christ’s love.

Imagination made it possible for the writer in Genesis to describe the incredible mystery of creation, how God called all things into being. Genesis isn’t a scientific paper on particle physics or geology or a biology text. It is a magnificent and imaginative faith statement about how this planet we live in came to be. And it’s not so much about how as it is about who.

The Bible is filled with imagination. Without it, in fact, Christians could not communicate anything about their hopes, their fears, or their faith.

So, when we read Paul’s words in Colossians about Jesus, we see at once that he has resorted to the language of imagination. He is trying to describe a paradox, a great mystery – that the same Jesus who had no wealth, no prestige, no earthly power in his lifetime, is also the risen Jesus who is King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

For us 21st Century Americans, those grand images are troubling. After all, we fought a revolution to get rid of a king over 200 years ago. The trappings of royalty make us a little edgy. We live in a democracy and are drawn to leaders who have the common touch.

So, should we change our metaphor? How about instead of Christ the King we have Christ the President? No, that doesn’t quite work, does it? He is not one among equals. He is not someone we choose; he is the One who chooses us. No, Paul has it right when he says, “God has delivered us from the dominion of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved son.” In human affairs, a democracy is a great idea. But in the spiritual realm, only a God who rules over all will do. And so, we sing “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” and “Joy to the World, the Lord had Come; Let Earth Receive Her King” at the top of our lungs.

Besides, the real question is not whether there is dominion or kingship over our lives, but rather is who exercises it? Who or what rules our lives – and how?

How do you answer that question for yourself? Who, or what, has dominion over your life? Is it your job? Is it financial security? Is it a fear or a desire? Or is it Christ the King – is he preeminent? The promise of the Christian Gospel is that when in our baptism we acknowledge Christ to be our King, the other priorities in our life fall into their proper perspective. This doesn’t just happen – it’s not without some struggle.
Every morning we flip on the news or read the paper and find postings from would-be monarchs. A general in Pakistan, Islamic fundamentalists ascending, dictators made rich by petroleum, quasi-modernists in China, new regimes chosen by voters, and our own political aspirants – all asserting, with word or sword, “I am the one. I am the one fit to be your leader.”

Some are bald opportunists, others play a more deft public hand. Each claims to be serving the public good. But we don’t need to endure too many elections, wars, bureaucratic intrigues, or office disputes to realize that not a one would hesitate to save himself or herself at our expense.

That’s the way worldly leaders behave. In a democracy, we decide whose self-serving nature seems most closely aligned with our own, but we don’t expect leaders to suddenly care deeply about our welfare.

It was no surprise, therefore, when the soldiers and religious leaders, mocking Jesus, challenged him to save himself: “He saved others; let him save himself, if he is the Christ of God” If he was like any other king, he would use his power to survive, to win, to extend his rule. Their words were a taunt, but they expressed the world they knew and the one we know only too well.

How confusing it must have been when Jesus remained on the cross, when he refrained from using his manifest power to perform a miracle of escape. Why would a man who clearly could heal the sick and raise the dead choose to remain in agony?

In his silent submission, Jesus framed a new question, one that echoes loudly today as we make our decisions about life and faith. Will we seek one who is like us, or gaze upon one who is different? Will we seek a ruler who plays the self-serving game that we know, or a king whose reign is unique, unlike anything we would fashion on our own, a reign grounded in humble submission, self-denial and radical love?

This never is an easy question for us to answer. During our communion with the Holy, we might declare our desire – a heartfelt desire, I think – to make our faith-life different from our world-life. But it is no easier for us to get out of our own way than it is for politicians and rulers to stifle their urge for kingship.

We, too, want to win, you see. We want to assert our will. We want our opinions to prevail and our wisdom to be vindicated. We are more likely to pray for some form of victory or escape than we are to ask God for the courage to keep on suffering.

It takes an enormous leap of faith to make a decision that seems to compromise our self-interest.

A friend of mine has a woman in his congregation who has run afoul of the law. She provided transportation for people who, as she discovered later, are in this country illegally. As a result, immigration authorities have confiscated her car. She has just one question: have I broken God’s law? She knew she could get into trouble reaching out to the folks in her community, and she didn’t want to break the law of the land in providing such help as she was able, but is she also breaking God’s law? “Doesn’t God want us to help the hungry and the homeless,” she asks? “How can I turn them away when they are so desperate for help?”

How would you answer her? As I ponder what I might say, I remember how the church frequently has stood against the state – how our Pilgrim ancestors lost their jobs and their houses because they wanted to obey only Christ as king. And as I try to formulate an answer to her questions, it strikes me that this woman is living out her heritage, and her actions comprise a powerful sermon more than a sermon illustration. While I might answer her hard questions with words, she already has made an answer with her life.

Sometimes we have to answer, or at least ask, the hard question: “Who rules my life?” When the state has a law that conflicts with God’s law, which do we follow? It’s easy for me to say, “Follow God,” when it doesn’t cost me anything. What do I say when the stakes are raised?

As I wrestle with these questions, I hear Jesus saying, “When the Son of Man comes as king, he will sit on his royal throne.” There it is, the image of Christ the King. And he will gather the nations together and will divide them as the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will remind the sheep that when he was hungry they fed him; and when he was thirsty they gave him a drink; and when he was a stranger they welcomed him into their homes. And when they ask when it was they did all this, he will say, “As you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it unto me.” [Matthew 25:40]

And as I ponder this in the imagination of my heart, I realize that the king in the story doesn’t ask whether or not the ones being cared for have a green card. It doesn’t matter in the least to the king, because he is lord over all the world; to him there are no illegals. All are the king’s children, which makes them brothers and sisters to one another -- and to us.

So today, my sisters and brothers, I ask you to ponder the same question I am asking myself: Is Christ the king of my life? Amen.





NO THANK YOU
THANKSGIVING SUNDAY
SPANISH LAKES 11/18/18 LUKE 17:11-19

AND NOT A WORD OF THANKS -- THINK OF IT! LUKE TELLS THIS REMARKABLE STORY. AS JESUS MAKES HIS WAY THROUGH THE COUNTRYSIDE, TEN LEPERS APPROACH HIM, CRYING OUT FOR MERCY. JESUS TELLS ALL TEN OF THEM TO GO SHOW THEMSELVES TO THE PRIESTS TO VERIFY THEIR HEALING. AND ON THE WAY THEY ARE HEALED. JUST IMAGINE THEIR ENORMOUS RELIEF AND JOY. YET ONLY ONE OF THE TEN -- AND AN OUTSIDER, A SAMARITAN AT THAT -- RETURNS TO KNEEL WITH THANKSGIVING BEFORE JESUS FOR THIS MIRACULOUS CURE.

SUCH INGRATITUDE STUNS US, NO MATTER HOW LONG WE HAVE KNOWN THIS STORY OR HOW OFTEN WE HAVE HEARD IT. HOW CAN IT BE THAT ONLY ONE IN TEN WOULD TAKE THE TIME TO SAY "THANK YOU?" THE WORDS DON'T COST ANYTHING; THE TIME INVOLVED IS NEGLIGIBLE. WHAT HARM COULD COME FROM A BRIEF EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE? AND WHAT ARE WE TO MAKE OF THE SILENCE OF THE NINE?

THE NINE WHO DISAPPEAR INTO THE BACKWATER OF HISTORY WITHOUT A TRACE SHOULD NOT SURPRISE US. THEIR COUNTERPARTS LIVE ALL AROUND US – AND, TRUTH BE TOLD, PERHAPS EVEN WITHIN US FROM TIME TO TIME. SEVERAL YEARS AGO I VISITED WASHINGTON, D.C. WITH A GROUP OF HIGH SCHOOL SENIORS. SOMEONE ASKED THE STUDENTS IF THERE WAS A PARTICULAR TEACHER WHO THEY REMEMBERED FONDLY, WHO HAD INFLUENCED THEIR LIVES. THEY ALL RAISED THEIR HANDS. THEN THEY WERE ASKED WHETHER THEY HAD BOTHERED TO TELL THAT TEACHER. NOT A SINGLE HAND WENT UP.

PARENTS WHO FIND THEIR CHILDREN'S FAULTS WITHOUT NUMBER SELDOM FIND THE TIME TO EXPRESS THEIR GRATITUDE FOR THE GRACE THEY EXPERIENCE THROUGH THOSE SAME CHILDREN. AND THOSE GROWN CHILDREN WHO KNOW THE SHORTCOMINGS OF THEIR PARENTS' NURTURING HAVE A HARD TIME ARTICULATING WORDS OF THANKS FOR THE LOVE THAT MAY NOT HAVE BEEN VERBALIZED BUT WAS NEVERTHELESS FELT.

BACK IN KENTUCKY A FRIEND OF MINE WHO WAS A PASTOR RESIGNED FROM THE CHURCH SHE HAD SERVED FOR SEVERAL YEARS. THE CONGREGATION WAS ASTONISHED, AND, FACED WITH HER IMMINENT DEPARTURE, THEY POURED OUT THEIR GRATITUDE FOR HER GOOD WORK AMONG THEM AND THE GOOD WORK SHE HAD HELPED THAM TO DO. WHAT THEY NEVER KNEW WAS THAT SHE RESIGNED BECAUSE SHE WAS CONVINCED THAT SHE WAS NO LONGER EFFECTIVELY MINISTERING AMONG THEM; SHE FELT SHE HAD EXHAUSTED HER POLITICAL CAPITAL WITH THEM. HAD WORDS -- HOWEVER INADEQUATE OR FUMBLING -- EXPRESSED THAT GRATITUDE EARLIER, THAT PASTORAL RELATIONSHIP MIGHT HAVE HAD A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COURSE.

HUSBANDS AND WIVES, COLLEAGUES IN THE WORKPLACE, LAY LEADERS IN CONGREGATIONS, VOLUNTEERS IN AN ENDLESS ARRAY OF ORGANIZATIONS -- THESE ARE BUT A FEW OF THE MANY FROM WHOM WE WITHHOLD OUR WORDS OF THANKSGIVING.

WHAT DO WE HAVE AT STAKE IN OUR SILENCE? ARE WE SIMPLY IMPOLITE, NEEDING ANN LANDERS OR MISS MANNERS TO REMIND US OF THE IMPORTANCE OF THOSE LITTLE MAGIC WORDS, "THANK YOU?"

NO, THE SILENCE OF THE NINE LEPERS (OR PERHAPS I SHOULD SAY FORMER LEPERS) HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH OUR NOTIONS OF MIDDLE CLASS CIVILITY. INSTEAD, THE SILENCE OF THE NINE, AND OUR SILENCE, REFLECTS OUR FUNDAMENTAL INABILITY TO ADMIT THAT WE HAVE RECEIVED SOMETHING FROM THE GENEROSITY OF SOMEONE ELSE. TO SAY THANK YOU, WE HAVE TO ADMIT THAT WE HAVE BEEN NEEDY; WE ARE IN SOME WAY BEHOLDEN TO THAT PERSON. THIS PRICKS OUR BUBBLE OF SELF-SUFFICIENCEY, ONE OF OUR MOST DEEPLY CHERISHED MYTHS, ONE ON WHICH WE 21ST -CENTURY AMERICANS HAVE BEEN WEANED.

TO EXPRESS GRATITUDE TO A PASTOR OR A TEACHER IS TO INDICATE THAT WE NEEDED INSTRUCTION OR CARE OR ASSISTANCE. TO THANK MEMBERS OF OUR FAMILY IS TO ACKNOWLEDGE HOW DEEPLY WE ARE CONNECTED TO THEM. TO RECOGNIZE THE LABOR OF OTHERS IN OUR CHURCHES, ASSOCIATIONS AND BUSINESSES IS TO CONCEDE THAT WE CANNOT DO IT ALL BY OURSELVES.

THIS DOES NOT PLAY WELL IN MODERN LIFE. WE FORGET TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WE STAND ON THE SHOULDERS OF THOSE WHO HAVE COME BEFORE US. WE HAVE BELIEVED OUR OWN PRESS RELEASES. WE HAVE COME TO BELIEVE THAT WE ARE SELF-MADE PEOPLE, AND WE WORSHIP OUR CREATOR.

THIS SUBTLE IDOLATRY IS NOT A NEW PROBLEM. ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE BOOK OF DEUTERO-NOMY [Deut. 8:11ff], AS MOSES IS GETTING READY TO SEND HIS PEOPLE ACROSS THE JORDAN TO POSSESS THE PROMISED LAND, HE CALLS THEM TOGETHER. HE REMINDS THEM OF WHAT THEY HAVE ENDURED TOGETHER: THEIR FREEDOM AT THE RED SEA, MEETING GOD ON THE HOLY MOUNTAIN AT HOREB, BEING SUSTAINED BY GOD'S HAND DURING THEIR WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS WITH WATER FROM THE ROCK AND MANNA AND QUAIL EACH MORNING, DISPLACING WARRING PEOPLES AS THEY SOJOURNED IN THEIR LANDS.

AND THEN MOSES SAYS THAT THEIR MOST SEVERE TEST IS YET TO COME. THEY HAVE SURVIVED ADVERSITY. NOW, MOSES WONDERS ALOUD, WILL THEY BE ABLE TO SURVIVE PROSPERITY? AND HE ISSUES A SOLEMN WARNING: "TAKE CARE, LEST WHEN YOU HAVE PROSPERED YOU FORGET THE LORD YOUR GOD AND SAY, `I HAVE GOTTEN ALL THIS WITH THE MIGHT OF MY OWN HAND.'"

AH, YES, “… WITH THE MIGHT OF MY OWN HAND.” THIS REMINDER IS NOT JUST FOR THE PEOPLE OF HIS DAY, BUT FOR US AS WELL. AND IT IS AS UNWELCOME AS IT IS MUCH-NEEDED.

DURING THIS TIME THAT WE CALL THANKS-GIVING, I WONDER HOW MANY OF US WILL ACTUALLY PAUSE TO GIVE THANKS TO THE ONE WHO HAS CREATED US AND PROVIDED FOR US. OR WILL WE CASUALLY ASSUME THAT WE DESERVE THESE BLESSINGS BECAUSE "WE HAVE WORKED SO HARD FOR THEM?"

AND WHEN I THINK ON THIS, I AM FORCED TO RECONSIDER WHETHER I SHALL PAUSE AND GIVE THANKS LIKE THE ONE WHO RETURNED, OR WILL I BE LIKE THE NINE WHO TOOK THEIR BLESSINGS FOR GRANTED?





THERE IS NO DEATH

Spanish Lakes 11-04-18 John 11:1-45



My late wife died in 2004, so, I have been doing quite a bit of thinking about resurrection over the course of the past several years. As a result, when this mornings lectionary reading came along, it gave me an opportunity to try to articulate some of my mental ramblings. Bear with me as I try to sort this out.



We shall start by noting that here on Earth we live in the presence of some things for which there is no death. Three times three equals nine there is no death for that. From everlasting to everlasting, always and everywhere, that will live on. Of course, the counters on which we figure it and the ways in which we apply it will change and pass away, but three times three equals nine, moves in another realm, one which is invisible, intangible, immutable, eternal.



This is the reason why many great mathematicians commonly are reverent and religious. They do not live in a fugitive and transient world where you can sum up life by saying, as in the old hymn, Change and decay in all around I see . . They live, instead, in a world where one might more naturally say, O thou who changest not, abide with me [from the hymn, Abide with Me, stanza 2]. Nothing is more awe-inspiring to the intellect than the vista which higher mathematics opens up into the infinite: even ordinary folks like us can sense in it the possibility of living, here and now, in an eternal world.



But why should the experience of the eternal be limited to that realm alone? If we are capable of living, here and now, in an imperishable realm, why should we suppose that a capacity so profound and so meaningful is restricted to just one area of our lives? All humankind has asked such questions, especially since the time of Plato. And the message of Jesus Christ comes this morning in answer: For some things there is no death. They do not belong in the realm where death can move. Death cannot get a hold on them, can do nothing against them; death is as irrelevant to them as if one were to try with a sword to slay the truth of a mathematical formula.



So, as the fourth gospel reports it, Jesus said to Martha, as her brother Lazarus lay dead, Whosoever lives and believes in me that is to say, whoever enters into and shares my quality of life shall never die that is, death has nothing it can do to that. And then Jesus asks, Do you believe this?



Note at once that to say, You shall never die, is not the way we usually refer to immortality. As the matter commonly stands in our imaginations, death is inescapable. We are mortal, and we all die so runs the tale and the question is: After death has thus done its ruinous work, can we hope for restoration to life again? Go through this congregation this morning and note how many of us would phrase the question in exactly that way, postponing eternal life until after death.



But that's not the way the New Testament conceives of the matter. Here and now, it says, we are in the presence of the eternal. Here and now we can enter into and experience the world of the invisible, the intangible, the imperishable. Here and now we need not be merely fugitive and transitory creatures, but can have within ourselves eternal life. For that there is no death. In the story of that, what we call death is only an incident. That never dies! Deep and difficult though this is for our earth-bound imaginations to comprehend, if we can make real to ourselves this truth today, it will be a resurrection experience for us all.



Consider in the first place that this way of putting it provides the only reasonable starting point for believing in immortality at all. If our world is altogether transient and fugitive, what possible reason is there to suppose that after death we suddenly can be ushered into a life that is eternal? Such an account sounds like a fairy tale because it is a fairy tale. Little wonder that intelligent people can't swallow it!

But that picture does not represent the fact of the matter. Here and now, from mathematics up and down, we deal with invisible and imperishable things that the tooth of time cannot gnaw nor the scythe of death mow down. What we are believing in this morning is not the restoration to life of something that is transient, but rather is the continuation of something that always has been, by its very nature, eternal.



This, of course, is what the New Testament means by eternal life. Always in the New Testament, eternal life is a present possession, here and now. Indeed, it is so urgent a present possession that one might well say that in the New Testament eternal life is a matter of now or never. Whatever hope of the future we have depends upon whether now we have in our lives such an eternal quality. Transient things are transient. But, eternal things are eternal, here and everywhere; they cannot help but last. Thus, the New Testament calls us to a quality of living that is eternal now. Whoever hears my words and has faith in the One who sent me has eternal life (John 5:24); we know that we have crossed over from death to life because we have love; (1 John 3: 14); whoever has the Son has life (1 John 5:12); this is eternal life -- to know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent (John 17:3). So, always in the present tense! Eternal life is not some vague, postponed affair, but rather is an immediate, urgent quality, a kind of living that death cannot touch.



This way of approaching the matter, as you see, brings the difficult question of immortality within the factual realm. I mean that, as a matter of actual fact, we live simultaneously in two worlds the one visible, tangible, and temporal; and the other invisible, intangible, and with a sense of timelessness in it.The things which are seen are temporal (2 Corinthians 4:18), says the apostle Paul. Granted! But that does not comprise all our lives, or even the most real portion of them. What about that other world we live in here and now the world of things that are not seen?

Every one of us, at some time or other, has heard someone deriding faith in God because God is invisible, impalpable, and therefore unreal. The New Testament, they say with a touch of scorn, is right on at least on count the part where it says, No one has seen God at any time. (1 John4:12a) Maybe I'm just a little slow, but I've never seen the weight behind that argument. No one has ever seen a thought at any time, yet thoughts are immensely creative forces in our lives. No one has ever seen love at any time, yet love is the maker and builder of the city of God here on earth. No one has ever seen faith or courage or the interior fellowship of the soul with the over-soul. Indeed, we have never even seen ourselves oh yes, in the mirror we see the bodies we inhabit, these essentially transient things, but never our true selves our self-conscious personalities, with the powers of intelligence, purposefulness, and goodwill. No one has ever seen that! So, in two worlds we live at the same time, with one of which time, visibility, and death have everything to do; but in the other of which there is a sense of timelessness, as though truth and love and beauty and character might go on expanding forever.



My friends, we iron our lives down too much, making them flat and simple. That is why we have trouble believing in great things. But our lives are far more mysterious than we commonly allow. A little girl back in my first church, worried about her ability to learn in the face of so much knowledge, asked, When will I know as much as I don't know? Ah, my dear child, that is the mystery. We never know as much as we don't know. Always the realm of knowledge encompasses us, infinite, unfathomable, inexhaustible, eternal. And this is the grandest mystery of all that we already live in such realms, the things seen, temporal; and the things not seen, eternal.



We are not saying that this proves life after death, but this way of putting the matter opens wide the doors to it. If we live even now in eternal realms, why should that part of us, the most important part, stop for death? We are not saying that death takes transient lives and makes them imperishable. What we are saying is that what is eternal is indeed eternal; and for that, there is no death. Do you believe this?



Do you feel that this mystery is too great for your imagination? I sympathize with you entirely. This is, indeed, a mysterious universe. But, I do beg you to get the mystery in the right place. It is not so much the survival of spiritual life that is the mystery; it is the arrival of such life in the first place. And the arrival of such spiritual life has taken place. That is here in souls whom we have known and loved. There is the mystery! the arrival of a quality of living that is essentially timeless and eternal. Would it not be a mystery if, having arrived, it did not survive?



When I visited in India back as a senior in college, I saw fakirs sitting beside pools of water with piles of colored dust beside them. So skillfully do they drop the dust upon the surface of the pool that they make recognizable portraits of distinguished figures. Then a breeze ruffles the pool, and the picture disappears. Is that the business God is in? Does God take colored dust and drop it on lifes waters, and lo! Plato, or Isaiah, or Christ himself, or nearer souls whom we have known and loved? And then does the breeze disturb the waters, and they disappear? That would seem a strange business for God to be in. If such quality of life is not to survive, how did it ever happen to arrive in the first place? Its destruction would be the real mystery.



No, to one who has entered into eternal life, there is no death. I have a good friend who, while a soldier in Vietnam, saw his best buddy blown to pieces by a shell; and, after standing silent for a moment, said, It will take more than that to stop you.



So Christendom addresses Christ this morning. The nails that pierced his hands and feet could not pierce his truth. The spear they thrust into his side could not reach his faith. The final convulsions of his body could not reach his soul.



There at Calvary his own words came true, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do (Matthew 10:28a). Ah, yes; no more that they can do! because death deals only with the transient, not with the eternal. Do you believe this?



Let's get it out of the theoretical and into the practical. When Jane and I visited Portugal for spring break back in 2000, we went to the little town of Sagres, the southwestern most point of land on the continent of Europe. Here land ends. This is where Prince Henry the Navigator had his famous sailing school. We climbed up inside the old lighthouse and looked out into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean that place where on ancient maps they used top print,Beyond here there be dragons.



So confident were they of their assessment that they had placed boulders in the side of the cliff to make gigantic letters which you could read from a passing ship, letters which spelled out, Ne Plus Ultra No More Beyond.

But there was more beyond. And when word reached them of Columbus safe return, even though they had not seen this new world with their own eyes, they raced to the cliff and tore out the boulders for the word, Ne,so that now the legend read Plus Ultra -- More Beyond.



That is the thrust of my message for you this morning, my friends: There is more beyond! And while we have not yet seen it with our own eyes, it is as real as any new world. Do you believe this?

Amen.

WHEN IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE Psalm 14
Spanish Lakes 10/28/18 Mark 9:14-27

It just stuck in my craw, todays psalter reading where the psalmist writes: The fool says in his heart, There is no God. While I suppose there are some types of atheism which are intolerant and dogmatic and which, frankly, deserve the indignation of the 14th psalm, today we more commonly see another kind of attitude altogether. We find lots of folks who are puzzled wistfully wishing that there might be a God, but finding it difficult to believe there really is one. And, having found myself in that position more than once or twice, it is difficult to be indignant about that. Any of us would find ourself living in a glass house, were we to throw a stone at that particular sentiment.

This is borne out of personal experience, having buried a spouse and survived a stroke in the same year in 2004. So, for someone going through such a rough patch with God, the appropriate text is not the 14th psalm, but rather is the kindly, understanding attitude of Jesus towards the man who cried out his puzzlement about it all: Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!

So, today's sermon is not an attack on atheism, nor is it even an argument in favor of God, as though in the few moments we have together here we could marshal our reason like a football team and march it down the field to a victorious proof. No, my aim this morning is a bit more modest -- a sympathetic endeavor to suggest to someone who might be finding it hard to believe in God a few considerations that may make the problem a little simpler and your life seem a little less perilous.

First off, we have to note that no one believes in all of God. No one can. All of God is too big for anybody's faith to comprehend. We can't even believe in all the physical universe; it is simply too great. But, as was said of Mrs. Einstein, while she did not understand Einsteins theory of relativity, what was more important to her was she understood Einstein! Who among us hasn't felt like that, at least from time to time? We cannot take in all the cosmos, but some of it we can; and often what is most important to us is what we can take in and believe.

Now, if this is true of our physical universe, how much more true must it be of God! Many people lose faith in God because we are not willing to take God (I can't believe I actually am saying this) on the installment plan, believing in as much of God as we can. Rather, we approach the matter with an all-or-nothing attitude, and finding we cannot believe in all of God, give up on the whole business altogether. But when we are dealing with the idea of God, the most profound reality we ever can think about, an all-or-nothing attitude is preposter-ous! No! Believe in as much of God as you can! Surely that is the first good advice for anyone who is finding it hard to believe in God at all.

You catch a glimpse of how prevalent this all-or-nothing attitude is in the questions ministers get from folks asking for a definition of God as though somehow God could be defined! I once asked one of my Sunday school students how she was able to draw such pretty pictures. She studied for a minute and then announced, First I think; then I draw a line around my think. That's a pretty good explanation from a four-year-old! But if we sit down to have a think about God, and then try to draw a line around our think, we have to admit that the God whose judgments are unsearchable and whose ways are past tracing out [Romans 11:33], to borrow the apostle Pauls fine phrase, has eluded us. More modestly, we must simply believe in as much of God as we can.

Now, I can feel some of you here squirming a bit at what I am saying, supposing it to be some vague, evasive modernism feeling that it lacks the clear, precisely outlined idea of God that our ancestors used to have. This only shows how little we know about the religious ideas of our forbears at their best.
Who was it that said, At present, all we see are baffling reflections in a mirror? That was the apostle Paul in his letter to the Corinthian church. (1 Corinthians 13: 12)
Who was it that said, All that can be said concerning God is not God, but only certain smallest fragments which fall from his table? That was St. Catherine of Genoa in the 15th Century (b. 1447).
Who was it that said, His essence, indeed, is incomprehensible, utterly transcending all human thought That was none other than our old friend John Calvin (1509-1564).
Who said, Our safest eloquence concerning him is our silence, when we confess without confession that his glory is inexplicable, his greatness above our capacity and reach. He is above and we upon earth. Therefore, it behoveth our words to be wary and few? That is Calvins contemporary, Richard Hooker in his Laws of Ecclesiastical Politie. (16th C.)

So, as you can plainly see, our ancestors at their best did not have the neatly outlined caricature of God we commonly hear presented from contemporary American pulpits. Instead they had a great God, one before whom they knelt in humble awe, and, acknowledging that they could not comprehend this God altogether, believed in as much of God as they could.

Frankly, this approach is what has gotten me through the toughest spots in my life, the ones where I had to dig down deep and remember that I am not called on to believe in all of God. And that is a good thing, because I cannot. All of God is too great. But as for disbelieving all that the word God stands for, I can't do that either not even on my most pessimistic days!

Here and now we live in two worlds at the same time ; one visible, tangible, physical; the other invisible, intangible, and spiritual. The rocks we touch and the stars we see are no more real to us than the love of goodness or beauty or truth. The visitation of the divine is no stranger to us! There are hours when we are conscious that the most real forces in the world are spiritual forces.

God, says the New Testament, is love. [1 John 4:8b] So there is always some of God that we can get at and believe in. So, do at least this much: don't say, I disbelieve, putting all the weight on the negative side. Say, instead, I will believe in as much of the divine as I can. For then you join that great company of souls upon whom the master has looked with understanding as they cried out, I believe; help my unbelief!

In the second place, we might say to someone having a hard time believing in God that, while philosophically we may deny God, psychologically we always must have one. One of the most mysterious things about human nature is that we never can content ourselves with things beneath or things around us alone; we always must have something above to which we give ourselves and to which we feel we belong.

Reverence [ehrfreucht] according to Goethe, is the one thing on which all else depends for making man in every point a man. Or to re-phrase him, we are not fully human without reverence. Each of us instinctively is a worshipper; we have to give ourselves to something, making of it a god and serving it, or there is scant meaning or direction in our life. So even when we think we have gotten rid of God philosophically, we have not gotten rid of God psychologically. The simple truth is that we require a transcendent object of devotion (which is the late George Herbert Palmers argument).

This explains in part why, when so many have given up on God philosophically, there has been so luxuriant a crop of substitutes for God psychologically. From Uncle Sam to Alma Mater, we find figures to whom we can be devoted, to whom we can belong, to whom we can give ourselves. Tons of people have given up on God philosophically, but feel the need for one psychologically, which is a pretty tough spot to be in your philosophy pushing you one way and your psychology pulling you the other; feeling a deep desire for an object of devotion in a world where you think there's nothing worth being loyal to!

H.G. Wells was far from being an orthodox believer, but he was talking about his most profound spiritual experience when he wrote:
At times in the silence of the night and in rare lonely
moments, I come upon a sort of communion of myself
with something great that is not myself. It is perhaps
poverty of mind and language which obliges met to say
that this universal scheme take on the effect of a sym-
pathetic person and my communion a quality of
fearless worship. These moments happen, and they are
the supreme fact of my religious life to me; they are the
crown of my religious experience.
(H.G. Wells Confession of Faith in Atlantic Monthly:
vol.103, p.559)

There you have it: many folk unable to call it God, yet who psychologically find their deepest experiences involving God -- on the one side holding inward communion with what seems like God, and on the other side living in a universe where they are tempted to say there is none. As a blog by a self-described atheist asked within the past month: Why won't this God I don't believe in leave me alone?

So, if you are tempted to think you don't believe in God, or if you are finding it difficult while, like the rest of us, you are having experiences that keep suggesting God to you, I say, Trust the deepest in yourself. If you cannot trust what is deepest in your own life, what can you trust in this old world?

An old friend once summered on the coast of Maine where he discovered on an island a group of children who were receiving no religious training. So, he rowed out on Sunday mornings to hold Sunday school with them. On the first day, wanting to start out with something close at hand and familiar to them, he asked for those who had seen the Atlantic Ocean to raise their hands. Not a single hand went up. At first, he thought they were just being shy, so he asked again. But, no; they were serious they never had seen the Atlantic Ocean. All their lives they had lived in it; their boats had sailed on it; its waters had sung their lullabies at night when they were babes; the rhythmic beating of its waves on the shore had wakened them each morning; but they did not realize it was the Atlantic Ocean.

We are a lot like that concerning God. All that is deepest in our spiritual life is merely the near end of God. All that is best in us is God in us. We cannot run away. As soon as we deny God, we simply call God by another name and make a substitute. So, as long as we have to have a god, why not go ahead and have a great one?! Do not say, I disbelieve. Say, instead, I believe; help my unbelief.

Also, if you are finding it hard to believe in God, please acknowledge that there also are towering difficulties in the way of disbelief as well. Of course, it is difficult to believe in God. Great faith always has carried with it the burden of doubt. Yes, the psalmist wrote: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want [Psalm 23], but we commonly forget about the time he wrote: My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me? Why dost thou hide thy face from me? [Psalm 22]

Who can look at the vast, unmeasured cosmos and automatically find a kindly presence there? Who can regard the strange history of our own planet with its volcanic furies, its huge, useless beasts, its cruel parasitic life forms, its strange evolving mysteries, and not find it hard to fit God in? Who can look upon our chaotic world, or even endure its monstrous cruelty and glibly say, Our Father, who art in heaven . . .? If you think it is easy to believe in God, you have yet to come to terms with what believing in God really is.

So, it may be hard to believe in God. But if it is, far from being discouraged about your religious life, I say if you handle it right, you may yet join the succession of great believers, for the great believers are those who, finding it hard to believe in God, found it harder still to disbelieve. Just look at the recently-discovered letters from Blessed Mother Teresa where she talks about long stretches of feeling Gods absence. [Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light by Doubleday, 2007].
They say that a Russian woman under the old regime took a government examination and, after it was over, feared she might have failed. In particular she was worried about one question: What is the inscription on the Sarmian Wall? She had written down what she thought the answer was: Religion is the opiate of the masses. But after she was through with the exam, she walked the seven miles from Leningrad to the Sarmian Wall just to be sure. And there it was just as she had written: Religion is the opiate of the masses. And, falling to her knees, she crossed herself and said, Thank God!

Hard to believe in God? Indeed, it is. God is so great, and the problem is so vast and deep. But it is harder yet to disbelieve. Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.

Finally, if you find it hard to believe in God, ask yourself whether you would not like to have this be a world where your children would find it easier to believe than you have found it. You see, friends, faith is not just a theoretical matter; it is practical as well. Most folks who don't believe feel that way because they are discouraged about life. Some say that we who do believe have succumbed to wishful thinking. Well, there is comfort, there is security, there is sustenance in believing that even if the horse is running away, there are hands stronger than our own on the reins.
Listen as Bishop Quayle, Episcopal Bishop of Vermont, puts it in his own picturesque way: I was lying awake one night worrying myself to distraction about a problem I could do nothing about until I seemed to hear God speak to me. And God said, Quayle, you go on to bed. I'll sit up the rest of the night with this one. I'm going to be up anyway. Now the atheist would call such an experience a fantasy, but even it is, you have to admit that it is keeping millions of people off psychiatrists couches! And what if it's true? What if stronger hands than ours are on the reins? What if there is an enduring power, not ourselves, which makes for righteous-ness? (Matthew Arnold, 1894)

So, if you are having trouble believing in God, say at least this much to yourself: I can make a difference. I can make my life an argument for God; I can make this world the kind of place where my children and grandchildren find it easier to believe than I have found it. And I can do that, each day, by the way I live. For God is not simply an idea to have faith in. No, God is a living presence, a worker, lifting up an ensign for the people and calling us to follow it for justice, for equality, for unity, for peace.

And you must not deny that God; you cannot say, No, to that God. For the sake of your soul for the sake of the world you must not say, No, to that God.

Say instead, I believe; help my unbelief. Amen.

STAND UP STRAIGHT!

Spanish Lakes 10-21-18 Luke 13:10-17



One Sabbath day in a synagogue in an unnamed Palestinian village, a woman came to worship. She had what the culture of her day understood to be a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. This ailment, that had caused her to be bent over and unable to stand up straight, had been a persistent, crippling burden for so long that it probably was hard for her to remember a time when she had been able to look into other people's faces rather than at their feet.



Now, Jesus happened to be teaching in the synagogue that Sabbath morning. He looked and saw her, and without any request or petition on her part called to her and said, Woman, you are freed from your ailment. And after laying hands on her, she stood up straight and began praising God. We only can imagine the awed response of the crowd as they saw their neighbor, who had been so conspicuous for so long, stand up straight and rejoice. Luke says the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things he was doing.



Well, almost the entire crowd. You see, against the backdrop stood one of the rulers of the synagogue who was indignant because the cure had happened on the Sabbath. It technically infringed on what it meant to keep the Sabbath holy because he regarded this saving miracle as work. He regarded it as a grievous infraction of Sabbath observance; never mind what he must have thought about the exuberance of the crowd's response. I can almost picture him clapping his hands and loudly calling out, No talking! like a frustrated teacher at a grade school assembly.



It seems like some folks in Jesus day expected worship to be ordered and reverent and austere and rigid. I know it's a stretch, but try to imagine . . .



If we were to go around the sanctuary this morning and hear one another's stories, no doubt we would hear lots of different ways the fourth commandment, the one to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy, got interpreted in times past. For lots of us, it read: thou shalt not work on Sunday; neither shalt thou have any fun! So we remember not being allowed to go to the store, if indeed any were open, nor cutting the grass, nor going fishing, nor doing much of anything but going to church and getting together with the family.



And while that wasn't all bad, we simply were living out a latter day form of the same trends at work in Jesus day. A few centuries before his time, the synagogue movement had grown up when the temple no longer was the center of Israel's corporate life. So God's presence with the people was experienced by diligently keeping the law --- specifically rules concerning the Sabbath, setting it apart as holy:

only certain foods were allowed, and you had to prepare them in advance (no work on the Sabbath, remember) and you had to prepare them in just a certain way;



you could walk a prescribed distance --- about a mile, but no farther (which is why we find those curious little references about a place being a Sabbath days journey away; temple scholars actually sat down and calculated how far one could walk without it being considered work!)



an ox or a donkey could be led to water, but you could not lift a bucket to its mouth. In other words, you literally could lead your horse to water, but you could not make him drink!



This sort of preoccupation with ritual Sabbath observance permeated Jesus, life and time, and as a result was an issue for the early Christian community for which Luke is writing. The church was in the early stages of disengaging itself from the synagogue, so the chiding response of the synagogue leader reflects a real concern in the life of the church of Luke's day. And this isn't just ancient history; we might well want to ask the question, How are we supposed to observe the Sabbath? In the midst of all the traditions and practices and legalisms surrounding it, what is it, really, that makes the Sabbath holy?

Jesus ministry already was challenging the established religious and cultural norms and institutions of his day. Already he had come into conflict with this very issue as to whether or not one could heal on the Sabbath. Already he was initiating a new realm of life in which the redemptive power of God's new age was breaking into the world and overcoming the forces of evil. And that is what was at heart of what happened in the synagogue that glorious Sabbath morning as a woman whom Satan had bound, was set free from her bondage. To be about the astounding works of God is at the heart of what Sabbath law and indeed all forms of the law were supposed to be about.



So, Jesus responded to the ruler's indirect confrontation with a more pointed assessment of his own: You hypocrites! he cried, broadening his remarks to those who were sympathetic to the leader's point of view. And then he proceeded to make an argument within the context of Sabbath law itself: If Sabbath law permits the loosing of animals, should not this daughter of Abraham be allowed to be loosed as well?! Surely she should expect to be treated at least as well as an animal! Jesus is not advocating rebellion against the holiness of the Sabbath, but rather is defining it in a new and deeper way.

Recall with me that Jesus regularly observed the Sabbath. Luke takes pains to point that out repeatedly --- He went up to the synagogue, as was his custom . . . So Jesus. challenge to some of the particulars of Sabbath law does not make a case for casual or indifferent observance of the Sabbath. God knows we don't need any more encouragement in that direction these days! Not only are the, blue laws, that forbade shops to open on Sunday, a distant memory, but we live in an era where the church calendar has to be set around Sunday sports events as well. I don't know about here in Nokomis, but back in Kentucky and Indiana, we are running into Sunday morning soccer practice and soccer games.



No, what Jesus proposed --- indeed, what he embodied in his life and his teaching --- was the observance of the true spirit of the Sabbath, which is reflected in what happened in the story: for on a Sabbath day, in the synagogue, at the very heart of the people's corporate worship life, a daughter of Abraham was liberated from the bondage which had held her so long, bring-ing a glimpse of the realm of God to everyone who was there; and those who saw it responded with wonder and rejoicing.



There is that wonderful, dramatic moment in the story when Jesus lays his hands on the woman and immediately she stands up straight and begins praising God! Her response is a reminder that the observance of the law, the keeping of the Sabbath, the conduct of our life of faith, all have as their reason for being this simple purpose of praising and glorifying God.



We all have heard the rationale espoused by folks who consistently find things to do on Sunday morning other than come to worship: I can worship God by myself at the lake or in my own back yard. And my immediate unspoken interior reply always is, Yes, you can, indeed; but do you! And in the background of my mind, I hear Ogden Nash little couplet running:

Every time I see a church, I stop in for a visit,

So when I get to heaven's gate the Lord won't ask, Who is it?





To remember the Sabbath and thus keep it holy means to do those things that connect us with the redemptive power of God which breaks into our weary, old world and makes new life for us and for all of creation! And, friends, that is not a solitary phenomenon. We experience it when we come together in the presence of Jesus Christ in Word and Sacrament. We experience it when we come together to praise and glorify God. We experience it as we gather around the table and see the face of Christ in one another's faces.



It takes something more than a slavish observance to rules to make the Sabbath holy. Going through the motions with a stiff upper lip doesn't much seem like abundant living to me, nor does it bring us any closer to God's realm of love and power.



Jesus saw plenty of room in his circle that day in the synagogue, plenty of bread to go around, plenty of opportunities to serve, plenty of needs requiring response, plenty of wealth to be shared. His opponents saw scarcity. If one untouchable got too close, sanctity was lost. One deed on a Sabbath, one variation from the Law, one new idea, one act of kindness toward an enemy and the house would fall.



Scarcity arises when some want more than their share. God's desire was that Israel be a beacon to the nations. But the religious establishment saw scarcity, expressed as the purity of a chosen people. The beacon was doused, and an inward-looking culture was doomed.



That day in the synagogue, the religious establishment saw the vast field of eternity and God's ancient commandments, whereas Jesus just saw a woman who needed healing. The religious establishment worried that a violation of Sabbath rules would undo centuries of ritual; Jesus knew that healing a crippled woman wasn't going to offend God.



The synagogue leader had tradition on his side; Jesus had the power to make one life better. If we look at our world through the lens of vastness, we can easily be overwhelmed. If human suffering is an ocean whose drops cannot be counted, what does a single healing accomplish? Through that lens lies despair. But through the lens that Jesus used lie hope and meaning: believing that one voice does matter. One healing is worth doing. One loving parent can form a child. One touch of mercy can save a partner from despair. One act of kindness can ennoble a village. God, you see, can make something out of our small expressions of faith and courage. God can do little with a tradition jealously defended; but God saves one life and then many lives when we dare to offer up what little we have.



What makes the Sabbath truly holy is our communal attention toward giving rest to the weary, release to the captive, comfort to those who are in pain, and hope to those in despair. When people of faith act in this way, a space is opened up that allows the same kind of miraculous events to happen that we see in today's text.



I can close my eyes and see people across the years who I was privileged to join in worship, some of whom were bent over by the burdens they were carrying: a couple who just a week earlier had buried a daughter for whom they had cared through years of a debilitating illness; a revered matriarch whose arthritic and gnarled fingers had been committed to caring for her children and her friends and anyone else who crossed her path for more years than any of us could count; an old, veteran pastor whose frame was bent by a stroke which had rendered him unable to stand or walk without assistance.



But, when time came to gather at the Lord's Table, we stood to sing a hymn. And I took another look: the grieving couple straining forward for a taste of new life; the matriarch whose hands grasped the bread of life and cup of salvation offered to her there; the veteran pastor who reared back his head and sang that hymn with the triumphant voice of conqueror.



And as I look back on such moments with the eyes of faith, I begin to see what really was happening in our very midst. And how could I have missed it?! For, before my very eyes, just like the crippled woman in the story, they all stood up straight and began praising God. Amen.

NO THANK YOU
THANKSGIVING SUNDAY
SPANISH LAKES 11/18/18 LUKE 17:11-19

AND NOT A WORD OF THANKS -- THINK OF IT! LUKE TELLS THIS REMARKABLE STORY. AS JESUS MAKES HIS WAY THROUGH THE COUNTRYSIDE, TEN LEPERS APPROACH HIM, CRYING OUT FOR MERCY. JESUS TELLS ALL TEN OF THEM TO GO SHOW THEMSELVES TO THE PRIESTS TO VERIFY THEIR HEALING. AND ON THE WAY THEY ARE HEALED. JUST IMAGINE THEIR ENORMOUS RELIEF AND JOY. YET ONLY ONE OF THE TEN -- AND AN OUTSIDER, A SAMARITAN AT THAT -- RETURNS TO KNEEL WITH THANKSGIVING BEFORE JESUS FOR THIS MIRACULOUS CURE.

SUCH INGRATITUDE STUNS US, NO MATTER HOW LONG WE HAVE KNOWN THIS STORY OR HOW OFTEN WE HAVE HEARD IT. HOW CAN IT BE THAT ONLY ONE IN TEN WOULD TAKE THE TIME TO SAY "THANK YOU?" THE WORDS DON'T COST ANYTHING; THE TIME INVOLVED IS NEGLIGIBLE. WHAT HARM COULD COME FROM A BRIEF EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE? AND WHAT ARE WE TO MAKE OF THE SILENCE OF THE NINE?

THE NINE WHO DISAPPEAR INTO THE BACKWATER OF HISTORY WITHOUT A TRACE SHOULD NOT SURPRISE US. THEIR COUNTERPARTS LIVE ALL AROUND US – AND, TRUTH BE TOLD, PERHAPS EVEN WITHIN US FROM TIME TO TIME. SEVERAL YEARS AGO I VISITED WASHINGTON, D.C. WITH A GROUP OF HIGH SCHOOL SENIORS. SOMEONE ASKED THE STUDENTS IF THERE WAS A PARTICULAR TEACHER WHO THEY REMEMBERED FONDLY, WHO HAD INFLUENCED THEIR LIVES. THEY ALL RAISED THEIR HANDS. THEN THEY WERE ASKED WHETHER THEY HAD BOTHERED TO TELL THAT TEACHER. NOT A SINGLE HAND WENT UP.

PARENTS WHO FIND THEIR CHILDREN'S FAULTS WITHOUT NUMBER SELDOM FIND THE TIME TO EXPRESS THEIR GRATITUDE FOR THE GRACE THEY EXPERIENCE THROUGH THOSE SAME CHILDREN. AND THOSE GROWN CHILDREN WHO KNOW THE SHORTCOMINGS OF THEIR PARENTS' NURTURING HAVE A HARD TIME ARTICULATING WORDS OF THANKS FOR THE LOVE THAT MAY NOT HAVE BEEN VERBALIZED BUT WAS NEVERTHELESS FELT.

BACK IN KENTUCKY A FRIEND OF MINE WHO WAS A PASTOR RESIGNED FROM THE CHURCH SHE HAD SERVED FOR SEVERAL YEARS. THE CONGREGATION WAS ASTONISHED, AND, FACED WITH HER IMMINENT DEPARTURE, THEY POURED OUT THEIR GRATITUDE FOR HER GOOD WORK AMONG THEM AND THE GOOD WORK SHE HAD HELPED THAM TO DO. WHAT THEY NEVER KNEW WAS THAT SHE RESIGNED BECAUSE SHE WAS CONVINCED THAT SHE WAS NO LONGER EFFECTIVELY MINISTERING AMONG THEM; SHE FELT SHE HAD EXHAUSTED HER POLITICAL CAPITAL WITH THEM. HAD WORDS -- HOWEVER INADEQUATE OR FUMBLING -- EXPRESSED THAT GRATITUDE EARLIER, THAT PASTORAL RELATIONSHIP MIGHT HAVE HAD A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COURSE.

HUSBANDS AND WIVES, COLLEAGUES IN THE WORKPLACE, LAY LEADERS IN CONGREGATIONS, VOLUNTEERS IN AN ENDLESS ARRAY OF ORGANIZATIONS -- THESE ARE BUT A FEW OF THE MANY FROM WHOM WE WITHHOLD OUR WORDS OF THANKSGIVING.

WHAT DO WE HAVE AT STAKE IN OUR SILENCE? ARE WE SIMPLY IMPOLITE, NEEDING ANN LANDERS OR MISS MANNERS TO REMIND US OF THE IMPORTANCE OF THOSE LITTLE MAGIC WORDS, "THANK YOU?"

NO, THE SILENCE OF THE NINE LEPERS (OR PERHAPS I SHOULD SAY FORMER LEPERS) HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH OUR NOTIONS OF MIDDLE CLASS CIVILITY. INSTEAD, THE SILENCE OF THE NINE, AND OUR SILENCE, REFLECTS OUR FUNDAMENTAL INABILITY TO ADMIT THAT WE HAVE RECEIVED SOMETHING FROM THE GENEROSITY OF SOMEONE ELSE. TO SAY THANK YOU, WE HAVE TO ADMIT THAT WE HAVE BEEN NEEDY; WE ARE IN SOME WAY BEHOLDEN TO THAT PERSON. THIS PRICKS OUR BUBBLE OF SELF-SUFFICIENCEY, ONE OF OUR MOST DEEPLY CHERISHED MYTHS, ONE ON WHICH WE 21ST -CENTURY AMERICANS HAVE BEEN WEANED.

TO EXPRESS GRATITUDE TO A PASTOR OR A TEACHER IS TO INDICATE THAT WE NEEDED INSTRUCTION OR CARE OR ASSISTANCE. TO THANK MEMBERS OF OUR FAMILY IS TO ACKNOWLEDGE HOW DEEPLY WE ARE CONNECTED TO THEM. TO RECOGNIZE THE LABOR OF OTHERS IN OUR CHURCHES, ASSOCIATIONS AND BUSINESSES IS TO CONCEDE THAT WE CANNOT DO IT ALL BY OURSELVES.

THIS DOES NOT PLAY WELL IN MODERN LIFE. WE FORGET TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WE STAND ON THE SHOULDERS OF THOSE WHO HAVE COME BEFORE US. WE HAVE BELIEVED OUR OWN PRESS RELEASES. WE HAVE COME TO BELIEVE THAT WE ARE SELF-MADE PEOPLE, AND WE WORSHIP OUR CREATOR.

THIS SUBTLE IDOLATRY IS NOT A NEW PROBLEM. ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE BOOK OF DEUTERO-NOMY [Deut. 8:11ff], AS MOSES IS GETTING READY TO SEND HIS PEOPLE ACROSS THE JORDAN TO POSSESS THE PROMISED LAND, HE CALLS THEM TOGETHER. HE REMINDS THEM OF WHAT THEY HAVE ENDURED TOGETHER: THEIR FREEDOM AT THE RED SEA, MEETING GOD ON THE HOLY MOUNTAIN AT HOREB, BEING SUSTAINED BY GOD'S HAND DURING THEIR WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS WITH WATER FROM THE ROCK AND MANNA AND QUAIL EACH MORNING, DISPLACING WARRING PEOPLES AS THEY SOJOURNED IN THEIR LANDS.

AND THEN MOSES SAYS THAT THEIR MOST SEVERE TEST IS YET TO COME. THEY HAVE SURVIVED ADVERSITY. NOW, MOSES WONDERS ALOUD, WILL THEY BE ABLE TO SURVIVE PROSPERITY? AND HE ISSUES A SOLEMN WARNING: "TAKE CARE, LEST WHEN YOU HAVE PROSPERED YOU FORGET THE LORD YOUR GOD AND SAY, `I HAVE GOTTEN ALL THIS WITH THE MIGHT OF MY OWN HAND.'"

AH, YES, “… WITH THE MIGHT OF MY OWN HAND.” THIS REMINDER IS NOT JUST FOR THE PEOPLE OF HIS DAY, BUT FOR US AS WELL. AND IT IS AS UNWELCOME AS IT IS MUCH-NEEDED.

DURING THIS TIME THAT WE CALL THANKS-GIVING, I WONDER HOW MANY OF US WILL ACTUALLY PAUSE TO GIVE THANKS TO THE ONE WHO HAS CREATED US AND PROVIDED FOR US. OR WILL WE CASUALLY ASSUME THAT WE DESERVE THESE BLESSINGS BECAUSE "WE HAVE WORKED SO HARD FOR THEM?"

AND WHEN I THINK ON THIS, I AM FORCED TO RECONSIDER WHETHER I SHALL PAUSE AND GIVE THANKS LIKE THE ONE WHO RETURNED, OR WILL I BE LIKE THE NINE WHO TOOK THEIR BLESSINGS FOR GRANTED?




THE PERIL OF WORSHIPING JESUS

Spanish Lakes October 7, 2018 Matt. 7:21-29



Let's just say it at the outset: the world has tried in two ways to get rid of Jesus, first by crucifying him, and second by worshiping him. The first way didn't work. It took more than a cross to stop him. Like an airplane taking off against the wind and using the very force of the opposing air to rise, so Jesus took off on his amazing flight. No, the cross did not crush him; it instead lifted him.



Foiled in its first attempt to be rid of Jesus by crucifying him, the world turned to the second, far more subtle and fatal way of disposing of its great spiritual leaders, it worshiped him. Throughout history, it has been true that when a spiritual leader has been too powerful to be crushed by opposition, there has been another way to escape his moral insights and ethical demands and that has been to worship him, to dress him up in elaborate metaphysical creeds, hide his too-piercing eyes behind the smoke of sacramental adoration, build beautiful sanctuaries where his challenging social ideals fade off into a kind of vague mysticism, get him off somewhere above a high altar, pray to him, sing to him, do anything for him except let him back to where he started again, walking in the common way of women and men and telling us how to live. That always has been the most successful way to get rid of Jesus.



If at first this seems like an odd thing to say, recall that Jesus himself said it. He did not fear being opposed. He instinctively knew, as did Tertullian centuries later, that, The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church. In his gospel, John even records Jesus as saying, concerning his own cross: if I be lifted up, will draw all people unto me. [12:32] No, Jesus did not fear being opposed, but he did fear being worshiped.

Why? Well, for one thing he saw his own contemporaries getting rid of the prophets by exactly this same method. First, their ancestors had hated the prophets, opposed them, stoned them, sawed them asunder. Then, when the prophets proved to be too powerful and their message turned out to be too influential to be disposed of so easily, the ever-available second method had been used. Listen to Jesus describe it:

Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you build

the sepulchers of the prophets and garnish the tombs of the

righteous, and say, Had we lived in the days of our ancestors,

we would not have partaken with them in the blood of the

prophets. By which you witness to yourselves that you are the

very children of them that slew the prophets. [Matthew 23:27ff]



Jesus saw that stoning the prophets on the one hand, and decorating their tombs on the other, different as the two things appear at first, amount to precisely the same thing: they are two ways of getting rid of the prophets, of escaping what the prophets really stood for, of dodging their moral message. The ancestors who murdered the prophets and the children who decorate their tombs belong to precisely the same race and are up to the same, old, tired game, they are evading the spirit of the prophets!



Even during his lifetime, Jesus feared being evaded in this way. How else do you explain his stern rebuke to the sentimental woman who cried out: Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that gave you suck! [Luke 11:27] Jesus came thundering back at her, No! Blessed are you when you hear the word of God and do it! It's almost as though you can hear him saying to himself, See, they are already starting it; they are trying to evade my message by adoring me; they will get rid of me yet, just as they have gotten rid of the prophets, by idolizing me.



Or how else do we explain his swift retort to the man who came bowing and calling him good teacher? [Mark 10:17ff] Said Jesus, No one is good, save God alone. You can fairly read his thoughts as though he were saying to the man: Beware your worshipful deference to me; come, come, stop this bowing and this good teacher bit. What about your attitude toward the kind of living I am asking you to stand for?



And once, as though to leave no doubt that his fear of being worshiped was ever before him, he cried out: Not everyone who says to me, Lord, Lord shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does the will of my Father, who is in heaven O, Jesus, how supremely wise you were, for you saw with a prophetic eye the way people down through the centuries would try to evade you! For all the years since, cherishing evils your spirit would have spurned, all Christendom has been calling to you from countless altars, Lord, Lord!



It's an amazing thing, is it not, that the historic Church, which so unanimously has worshiped Jesus, so seldom has stopped to ask what Jesus himself would have thought about it all. Most of us take for granted that he would want to be talked about in high, exalted terms and enshrined on the high altars of the Church. We suspect that he would feel grieved, hurt, rejected, maybe a little jealous were he not so adored. This, however, is just a reflection of our own littleness. Little people like extravagant praise, flattery, and adoration. Little people push their egos to the forefront. But great personalities are never like that. When a great soul appears, standing for something that he cares for so much that he dies for it on Calvary, you can't flatter him. He has identified with something greater than himself. Jesus doesn't want his ego idolized; he wants his cause supported!



Consider this truth in an arena quite apart from religion, and look at Abraham Lincoln, who, if you use the word, worship in its conventional sense, came as close to being worshiped as any American ever has. But, surely you know, all that began when he died. Prior to that, people tried to crush him by opposing him, but he was too strong for that. But once he died, they began using that other method of disposing of him; they adored him; they garnished his sepulcher. Nothing too marvelous could be said about him. Yet at the same time Congress adopted policies that denied everything Lincoln ever stood for or wanted. They praised his name and scuttled his policies. His flattered his memory and denied his magnanimity. They alike adored him and refused to follow him, making Reconstruc-tion a horror in our history.



What would Lincoln have said about all this? We know exactly what he would have said: Stop idolizing me!! What do I care about your praising of my ego?! I want you to support my cause! Of course, that is what Lincoln would have said, because he was a large soul, not a small one.



No doubt you recall the fellow who said he could take care of his enemies himself, but prayed that God would deliver him from his friends. Jesus might well have said that. Some of the most disastrous events in the history of his movement have come, not from his enemies, but from his worshipers crying, Lord, Lord!



You see what we have done with Christ, don't you? We have kept his name on the label but changed the contents of the bottle. It's as though we have taken out all the medicine and replaced it with a placebo. That is an accurate summary of much of Christian history the name on the bottle says, Christ, but the contents are something else altogether.



We wince as we recall the Crusades, or the Inquisition, or the Salem witch trials, but we cannot suppose, can we, that all this suddenly has changed in our own time? To the contrary, churches in this land are full of folk who are busy worshiping Christ, but who have no more idea what he thinks about war, or race relations, or the money standards of our day, or the profit motive in industry, than Constantine would have had about Christ's attitude towards his bloody imperialism, or the Duke of Alva would have had about Christ's concern for the victims of his torture chambers during the Inquisition!



This seems to me to be the very nub of the problem in Christianity today. The crucial matter is not theological; oh, there are some real problems there, but they are not the crux of the matter. No, the crux is moral. Any Christianity that worships Jesus emotionally but refuses to follow him morally is a sham; and too much of what passes for Christianity today does precisely that! Let us say it to ourselves in our beautiful churches, amid the loveliness of our architecture, lest we ever should be tempted to substitute aesthetics for ethics or formal worship for plain, old-fashioned righteousness: Jesus cares more about our attitude towards war or racism than he cares about all our processionals, however stately, or all our many prayers, however fine; for obviously, above all else, Jesus intends to be taken in earnest morally.



So, friends, we dare not attempt to leave our text in history. It comes down through the centuries, accumulating weight with every year, until at last it knocks at our door: Not everyone who says to me, Lord, Lord.



I recently read an article in a magazine that wad just begging for a response. The author was reveling in the fact that Jesus had conquered Europe. Very conceivable that Jesus should appeal to Asia, but what a marvel that he should conquer practical, hard-headed, militant Europe. What ever does he mean, Jesus conquering Europe? Which Jesus? A conventionalized and sanitized Jesus, as unlike the real one as the pattern on a wallpaper is unlike the flowers of the field! A Jesus who was called by the most resplendent metaphysical titles in history, but who was assumed to support bloody imperialism, bless bloody persecution, give his benediction to economic exploitation, put his cross on the banners of the most slaughterous Crusades in history, insist on the damnation of unbaptized infants to Hell, and who declared that slavery was ordained of God. That caricature of Jesus, as a matter of plain fact, too largely conquered not only Europe, but the entire Western world.



But the Jesus of the Good Samaritan, the Jesus of the prodigal son, the Jesus who used a little child as a symbol for the reign of God, the Jesus who said, You cannot serve both God and money,and Our life does not consist in the abundance of our possessions,the Jesus who reverenced every human personality and died on the cross so that there might come a reign of God and human unity on earth, that Jesus has yet to conquer Europe, or America, for that matter!



To be sure, I know that Christianity is more than ethical effort. But, if we take the word, worship in its original meaning, worth-ship, the recognition of worth, then there are few things we ever do that are more important. And particularly do we frantic gadget-laden moderns need to grow quiet, like pools at eventide, in the presence of the best we know in Christ, so that at least a tiny part of his beauty may be reflected in us. If that is what we mean by worship, then, yes, by all means, we should worship him with all our hearts!



But, at a minimum, we need to imagine what would happen if we somehow could release him from all the brocaded velvets and praise choruses of our too-conventional and scripted adoration, and instead hear him just speak to us again in his own voice. How little he would care for anything that did not involve personal character and social righteousness! How little he would care if we idolized his ego, if only we possessed his Spirit! What a company of women and men he would claim as his own all races and colors and creeds and religions some who had worshiped him, and some who had not, but all in whom he found his Spirit!! For he supremely would care that what he stood for should go throughout all the earth!



Not everyone not anyone who merely says, Lord, Lord, but whoever does the will of my Father in heaven. Amen.