Christmas meditation by Carrie Eikler
Colossians 3:12-17
By a show of hands, who got what they wanted for Christmas?
Now--and I don’t mean to get anybody in trouble here--raise your hand if you got what you really wanted for Christmas. Not as many, huh? Maybe you didn’t raise you hand because that’s a trickier question than it sounds. Maybe you had to pause and ask what do I really want?
Maybe, you did want that iPhone you got, but what you really want is your mother to be free of her cancer. Maybe you did want that WVU Sunggie under the tree, but what you really want is to feel happy again. Maybe your child did want that Zhu-zhu pet or Nintendo Wii, but maybe what they really wanted was your understanding. Or maybe you did want to hear from all your family and acquaintances through their family Christmas letters, but what you really wanted was to trade your 142 Facebook friends in for one true friend who you could really confide in.
So, did you get what you really wanted for Christmas?
On Christmas morning it is easy to get what we want under the tree. At least, it’s easy to be satisfied with what someone has guessed we wanted. It is not so easy to wrap up those things that our hearts really yearn for. And there’s the difference: the difference between our wants and our yearnings. Our yearnings seem to take a lot more attention than our simple wants. They seem to come from a different place within us than where our materialistic desires come from.
What do you truly yearn for? Is it to be relieved of your deepest fear? [cloud] Is it to get rid of everything that distracts you from a full and faithful life? [sun] Is it to finally come into balance with God, and God’s deepest yearning for you? [world] Or, as we would have explored last Sunday had the weather not been so bad, is your deepest yearning some illumination of a new path? [star] What is the breaking in and busting out you long for?
I think if we explored those yearnings we’d see they occupy a different level of desire than our wants. We might see a common theme running through our yearnings and the yearnings of others. We’d see a yearning for relationships, for healing, for friendship, for faith, for happiness without all the trappings of the wrappings. Our yearnings come from our soul. If we try to address our yearnings, and the yearnings of this broken and blessed world, we discover that it takes work.
Today, the work of Christmas begins. The anthem today emphasizes this point. Jim Strathdee wrote the song the choir sang, in response to a Christmas poem by Howard Thurman, a civil rights leader and theologian. In case you didn’t catch all the words of this anthem, hear them again: “When the song of the angels is stilled, When the star in the sky is gone, When the kings and the shepherds have found their way home, the work of Christmas is begun.” [1]
And according to the Thurman, the work of Christmas looks something like this, as the song suggests: “to find the lost and lonely one, To heal the broken soul with love, To feed the hungry children with warmth and good food, to feel the earth below, the sky above! To free the prisn’er from all chains, To make the powerful care, To rebuild the nations With strength of good will, To see God’s children every where! To bring hope to every task you do, To dance at a baby’s new birth, To make music in an old person’s heart, and sing to the colors of the earth.”
Paul, in his letter to the Colossians knew about this work, too. Christmas as we understand it and celebrate it certainly didn’t exist in his time. But if he had words for us, in these days following Christmas 2009, he would likely encourage us to return those sweaters from LL Bean, or those pants from Banana Republic, or pajamas from Target. Trade them in for work clothes, work clothes that help us meet some of those yearnings of our hearts, and the world: clothe yourself with the work clothes of compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Strap on a pair of work boots, that prepare you to jump into the dirty work of forgiving those who have hurt you, and for asking for forgiveness yourself. Wrap yourselves in the Snuggie that is big enough for more than just you, and wrap others up in it, in love and warmth.
Today the work of Christmas begins--The work to address the yearnings of our lives and the world, not simply the wants. And it’s not just God’s work. It’s God’s gift to us to be a part of this work. Christ came to the earth, through a lot of hard work, to show us the ways, the tools, the clothes to put on so we can begin to fulfill those deepest yearnings.
The anthem this morning began with that promise: “I am the light of the world! You people come and follow me! If you follow and love You’ll learn the mystery Of what you were meant to do and be.”
What a gift that is. Now, the work of Christmas is begun.
[1] “I am the Light of the World” words and music by Jim Strathdee, in response to a Christmas poem by Howard Thurman entitled “The Work of Christmas”
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
What Should We Do?
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Luke 3:7-18, Zephaniah 3:14-20
Advent 3
Two doors down from our house are our neighbors, Steve and Sally. Some of you know Steve from the construction work he has done for the church. He drives a grey pickup truck that has the remnants of his construction jobs in the back bed. Sally has an old beige car. Nothing too impressive. But soon after we moved onto Center Street, I noticed Sally had an unassuming looking bumper sticker on her car. It is so small you almost have to be right on her bumper to read it. It states, simply, “I poke badgers with spoons.”
For the longest time, I didn’t quite get this bumper sticker. I found out Sally, like myself, was from Illinois, so I thought maybe it was some reference to a University of Illinois allegiance. Our neighbors to the north, the University of Wisconsin are the UW Badgers, so maybe she was making some comment about sports rivalries. When I finally got up the courage to express my ignorance, I asked Steve one day as he was tinkering in his yard: “Sorry Steve, but what does ‘I poke badgers with spoons’ mean?.” To which he replied:
“Well, you know about badgers right?” I said, “No not really. Aside from the University of Wisconsin, I know nothing about badgers.” “Well,” he explained “Badgers are the meanest animals in the world. They’ll bite your face off. So if you poke badgers with spoons, you are pretty darn mean yourself.”
Supposedly that explanation was enough. Sally, who I found to be a fairly pleasant person, was expressing to those driving around her…not to mess with her? That she’d bite your face off because she was so mean she could torment badgers with silverware? All in all I thought it pretty funny, though a bit bizarre.
But recently I discovered that the phrase “I poke badgers with spoons” is actually a line from Eddie Izzard, a stand up comic. Eddie grew up in the church and from an early age he apparently heard his fair share of the doctrine of original sin. He didn’t quite get it though. After all, those words together, original sin, are not mentioned anywhere in the Bible. He assumed it meant that priests were bored with the same old confessions, and they just wished someone would confess something interesting, some original sin. So he came up with something he bet no one ever confessed before: Bless me Father for I have sinned, “I poke badgers with spoons.” [1]
It’s true, there’s probably not much original sin out there anymore, the way Eddie interpreted. But lack of originality does not mean that we are each free of our own unique sinfulness. Those dark deeds, or tendencies, or actions that slowly but surely separate us from God and those we love, even separate us from our own selves. We are unique in how destructive forces affect each us. And John the Baptist confronts us with this.
For John, preparing the way for Jesus means getting in our faces and telling us to shape up. For those who gathered around him, he confronts them with names, calling them children of snakes, a brood of vipers. We might question the divine choice to send John as an ambassador, inviting people to join Jesus. But, he had their attention, they gathered around him, being baptized—purified. And then those baptized--and maybe even those who weren’t quite sure they were ready to wade into those waters--they ask the $10,000 question of any terrified, new convert: “What should we do?”
Three times it is asked in this scripture. And John refuses to give a one-size-fits-all prescription for salvation. No simple-in-words, but vague-in-application “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself.” Nothing like our contemporary endorsement to have a “personal relationship with Jesus Christ.” John is not big here on generalities. He is intent on specifics.
To the tax collectors, he tells them “Collect no more than the amount due to you.” To the soldiers, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusations and be satisfied with your wages.” Even when he addresses the entire crowd, he is specific: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”
We might shrug John the Baptist off. After all he’s not Jesus. He’s just a wild and wooly prophet. He’s not “the way,” right? But Luke makes it clear that he is here to prepare the way, to get people ready to receive what Jesus would bring. I wonder if the people hearing him were ready to receive it. After all this time, I wonder if we are. We certainly aren’t ready to hear someone like John point out each of our sins, calling us to turn around, to repent.
But then, the real things that point us to the sins in our lives are no less scary than this red-faced preacher. In fact, maybe they are scarier because we are confronted with the consequences in a real way. Broken communication and taken-for-granted attitudes threaten marriages. Addictions point to deeply broken parts of people’s lives. Separating our bodies from activity, good food, and loving attention has brought on a myriad of health issues that our human species has never had to deal with. We fight wars so we may have luxuries that we’re convinced are necessities, leading us to believe the gospel of the Prince of Peace… is nothing but a hoax.
All this points to something broken, something amiss, something that needs repentance. And it’s scary—wild- and-wooly, red-faced-preacher, John the Baptist-type scary. While it’s easy to ignore people on the TV, or in the ancient Bible stories, or on their soapboxes outside the Mountain Lair on University Avenue telling us to repent, it’s not so easy to ignore the “fruits of our brokenness.”
And as we hold a bushel barrel of all those fruits, we shake our head ask, “What should we do?”
***
This week the eyes of the world have turned to the cold and snowy Scandinavian countries for two monumental occasions. The first occasion, the granting of the Nobel Prizes for which our own war-time President accepted the Nobel Prize for Peace. And the second occasion, the gathering of the world’s most powerful politicians in Cophenhagen, at the UN Climate Change Conference, where nations seek to reach a comprehensive climate agreement.
There are many voices represented at this Conference. Some will not want climate change policy to affect nations’ right to produce and therefore, pollute. Some think it won’t do much to really address the problem. But the world has quickly been made aware that the earth is warming, and humanity’s behaviors has had something to do with it.
Copenhagen stands as a decisive moment for international cooperation. which prompted Prince Charles, the Prince of Wales, to write an article in the most recent Newsweek magazine. I never would have guessed the future king of England to be an environmentalist, but apparently Prince Charles has taken seriously the threat of tropical deforestation, and its contribution to climate change.
Regarding the cooperation that we see in Copenhagen, Prince Charles writes: “While initiatives like this will need to be a part of the solution, they are not, I believe, the whole answer. In some ways the climate [challenge] is not first and foremost due to an absence of sound policy ideas or technology, but more a crisis of perception. As we have become progressively more separate from Nature…we have become less able to see our predicament for what it really is—namely as being utterly out of balance, having lost any sense of harmony with the earth’s natural rhythms, cycles, and finite systems.” [2]
I think Prince Charles, as strange as it may seem, has a good understanding of John the Baptist’s call. Maybe sin is being utterly out of balance with God’s intention. Have you become separated from God’s hope for you? Where is our sense of harmony with the divine desire to move us through the rhythms, cycles, and systems of incarnational love? How are we to repent, to turn from sin? Can we regain balance and unity with God? What should we do?
Well, I can give you the easy to say, hard to apply answer: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your strength, all your mind, and you neighbor as yourself.” But I bet if John the Baptist was here, he’d pop up behind me, pointing over my shoulder at each of you…and at me, saying “You, Carrie, do this.” “You, Mike, do that” “You, Sue, this is what you’ve got to do,” poking us with spoons, the volatile, holiday-weary, uniquely sinful badgers that we are.
The call to attend to each of our own out-of-balance relationships with God--our sinfulness--is terrifying. Artist Jan Richardson reflects “Forget fire, forget winnowing forks, forget threshing floors: amid our daily lives, is there anything more unsettling than receiving a clear word about what it is that we’re meant to do in this world? Is there anything that risks taking us deeper into our insecurities, into our fears, into the dark unknown / than when someone who sees and recognizes and knows us…challenges us to be the person whom God has created and called us to be? And is there anything more full of wonder and hope?”[3]
John the Baptist brings hope in the midst of terror…a reason to rejoice. As Richardson says “This, finally, is what John the Baptist, this preparer of the way, is offering to his hearers: wonders. Possibilities. The invitation to be [welcomed] into a relationship with God’s own incarnate self. As ever, John in his fierce fashion is pointing to—making the way for—the One who comes. And this One comes not for the purpose of terrifying us but of loving us.”
Rejoice. Repent. Today we light the pink Advent Candle, reminding us to rejoice, Christ’s coming is near, the way is being prepared for us.
So what is it in your life that is out of balance, out of harmony? How is sin manifesting itself in your broken relationships, broken health, broken environment of home and church? And take a clue from John the Baptist. Being vague doesn’t help us get to the heart of our brokenness. Take a spoon and poke that very real, very angry badger that is the sin that most affects you this day.
Use the cut out of the Earth to dwell on the balance that you need to bring you’re your life, the sins you need to turn from. Feel free to write them down on the Earth or leave them blank--take them with you, or leave them for our Cosmic Collage. Settle in now, and begin poking.
Prayer
God, bring us back to you. Help us find the harmony you intend for us. Reconnect us with your hope and your intention for our lives. We repent. We rejoice. And we bring these prayers to you, in the words that your son Jesus taught us: Our Father...
[1] Ortberg, John. “Living by the Word,” Christian Century. December 15, 2009
[2] “Green Alert” Newsweek. December 14, 2009.
[3] Jan Richardson, “The Advent Door” www.theadventdoor.com
Luke 3:7-18, Zephaniah 3:14-20
Advent 3
Two doors down from our house are our neighbors, Steve and Sally. Some of you know Steve from the construction work he has done for the church. He drives a grey pickup truck that has the remnants of his construction jobs in the back bed. Sally has an old beige car. Nothing too impressive. But soon after we moved onto Center Street, I noticed Sally had an unassuming looking bumper sticker on her car. It is so small you almost have to be right on her bumper to read it. It states, simply, “I poke badgers with spoons.”
For the longest time, I didn’t quite get this bumper sticker. I found out Sally, like myself, was from Illinois, so I thought maybe it was some reference to a University of Illinois allegiance. Our neighbors to the north, the University of Wisconsin are the UW Badgers, so maybe she was making some comment about sports rivalries. When I finally got up the courage to express my ignorance, I asked Steve one day as he was tinkering in his yard: “Sorry Steve, but what does ‘I poke badgers with spoons’ mean?.” To which he replied:
“Well, you know about badgers right?” I said, “No not really. Aside from the University of Wisconsin, I know nothing about badgers.” “Well,” he explained “Badgers are the meanest animals in the world. They’ll bite your face off. So if you poke badgers with spoons, you are pretty darn mean yourself.”
Supposedly that explanation was enough. Sally, who I found to be a fairly pleasant person, was expressing to those driving around her…not to mess with her? That she’d bite your face off because she was so mean she could torment badgers with silverware? All in all I thought it pretty funny, though a bit bizarre.
But recently I discovered that the phrase “I poke badgers with spoons” is actually a line from Eddie Izzard, a stand up comic. Eddie grew up in the church and from an early age he apparently heard his fair share of the doctrine of original sin. He didn’t quite get it though. After all, those words together, original sin, are not mentioned anywhere in the Bible. He assumed it meant that priests were bored with the same old confessions, and they just wished someone would confess something interesting, some original sin. So he came up with something he bet no one ever confessed before: Bless me Father for I have sinned, “I poke badgers with spoons.” [1]
It’s true, there’s probably not much original sin out there anymore, the way Eddie interpreted. But lack of originality does not mean that we are each free of our own unique sinfulness. Those dark deeds, or tendencies, or actions that slowly but surely separate us from God and those we love, even separate us from our own selves. We are unique in how destructive forces affect each us. And John the Baptist confronts us with this.
For John, preparing the way for Jesus means getting in our faces and telling us to shape up. For those who gathered around him, he confronts them with names, calling them children of snakes, a brood of vipers. We might question the divine choice to send John as an ambassador, inviting people to join Jesus. But, he had their attention, they gathered around him, being baptized—purified. And then those baptized--and maybe even those who weren’t quite sure they were ready to wade into those waters--they ask the $10,000 question of any terrified, new convert: “What should we do?”
Three times it is asked in this scripture. And John refuses to give a one-size-fits-all prescription for salvation. No simple-in-words, but vague-in-application “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself.” Nothing like our contemporary endorsement to have a “personal relationship with Jesus Christ.” John is not big here on generalities. He is intent on specifics.
To the tax collectors, he tells them “Collect no more than the amount due to you.” To the soldiers, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusations and be satisfied with your wages.” Even when he addresses the entire crowd, he is specific: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”
We might shrug John the Baptist off. After all he’s not Jesus. He’s just a wild and wooly prophet. He’s not “the way,” right? But Luke makes it clear that he is here to prepare the way, to get people ready to receive what Jesus would bring. I wonder if the people hearing him were ready to receive it. After all this time, I wonder if we are. We certainly aren’t ready to hear someone like John point out each of our sins, calling us to turn around, to repent.
But then, the real things that point us to the sins in our lives are no less scary than this red-faced preacher. In fact, maybe they are scarier because we are confronted with the consequences in a real way. Broken communication and taken-for-granted attitudes threaten marriages. Addictions point to deeply broken parts of people’s lives. Separating our bodies from activity, good food, and loving attention has brought on a myriad of health issues that our human species has never had to deal with. We fight wars so we may have luxuries that we’re convinced are necessities, leading us to believe the gospel of the Prince of Peace… is nothing but a hoax.
All this points to something broken, something amiss, something that needs repentance. And it’s scary—wild- and-wooly, red-faced-preacher, John the Baptist-type scary. While it’s easy to ignore people on the TV, or in the ancient Bible stories, or on their soapboxes outside the Mountain Lair on University Avenue telling us to repent, it’s not so easy to ignore the “fruits of our brokenness.”
And as we hold a bushel barrel of all those fruits, we shake our head ask, “What should we do?”
***
This week the eyes of the world have turned to the cold and snowy Scandinavian countries for two monumental occasions. The first occasion, the granting of the Nobel Prizes for which our own war-time President accepted the Nobel Prize for Peace. And the second occasion, the gathering of the world’s most powerful politicians in Cophenhagen, at the UN Climate Change Conference, where nations seek to reach a comprehensive climate agreement.
There are many voices represented at this Conference. Some will not want climate change policy to affect nations’ right to produce and therefore, pollute. Some think it won’t do much to really address the problem. But the world has quickly been made aware that the earth is warming, and humanity’s behaviors has had something to do with it.
Copenhagen stands as a decisive moment for international cooperation. which prompted Prince Charles, the Prince of Wales, to write an article in the most recent Newsweek magazine. I never would have guessed the future king of England to be an environmentalist, but apparently Prince Charles has taken seriously the threat of tropical deforestation, and its contribution to climate change.
Regarding the cooperation that we see in Copenhagen, Prince Charles writes: “While initiatives like this will need to be a part of the solution, they are not, I believe, the whole answer. In some ways the climate [challenge] is not first and foremost due to an absence of sound policy ideas or technology, but more a crisis of perception. As we have become progressively more separate from Nature…we have become less able to see our predicament for what it really is—namely as being utterly out of balance, having lost any sense of harmony with the earth’s natural rhythms, cycles, and finite systems.” [2]
I think Prince Charles, as strange as it may seem, has a good understanding of John the Baptist’s call. Maybe sin is being utterly out of balance with God’s intention. Have you become separated from God’s hope for you? Where is our sense of harmony with the divine desire to move us through the rhythms, cycles, and systems of incarnational love? How are we to repent, to turn from sin? Can we regain balance and unity with God? What should we do?
Well, I can give you the easy to say, hard to apply answer: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your strength, all your mind, and you neighbor as yourself.” But I bet if John the Baptist was here, he’d pop up behind me, pointing over my shoulder at each of you…and at me, saying “You, Carrie, do this.” “You, Mike, do that” “You, Sue, this is what you’ve got to do,” poking us with spoons, the volatile, holiday-weary, uniquely sinful badgers that we are.
The call to attend to each of our own out-of-balance relationships with God--our sinfulness--is terrifying. Artist Jan Richardson reflects “Forget fire, forget winnowing forks, forget threshing floors: amid our daily lives, is there anything more unsettling than receiving a clear word about what it is that we’re meant to do in this world? Is there anything that risks taking us deeper into our insecurities, into our fears, into the dark unknown / than when someone who sees and recognizes and knows us…challenges us to be the person whom God has created and called us to be? And is there anything more full of wonder and hope?”[3]
John the Baptist brings hope in the midst of terror…a reason to rejoice. As Richardson says “This, finally, is what John the Baptist, this preparer of the way, is offering to his hearers: wonders. Possibilities. The invitation to be [welcomed] into a relationship with God’s own incarnate self. As ever, John in his fierce fashion is pointing to—making the way for—the One who comes. And this One comes not for the purpose of terrifying us but of loving us.”
Rejoice. Repent. Today we light the pink Advent Candle, reminding us to rejoice, Christ’s coming is near, the way is being prepared for us.
So what is it in your life that is out of balance, out of harmony? How is sin manifesting itself in your broken relationships, broken health, broken environment of home and church? And take a clue from John the Baptist. Being vague doesn’t help us get to the heart of our brokenness. Take a spoon and poke that very real, very angry badger that is the sin that most affects you this day.
Use the cut out of the Earth to dwell on the balance that you need to bring you’re your life, the sins you need to turn from. Feel free to write them down on the Earth or leave them blank--take them with you, or leave them for our Cosmic Collage. Settle in now, and begin poking.
Prayer
God, bring us back to you. Help us find the harmony you intend for us. Reconnect us with your hope and your intention for our lives. We repent. We rejoice. And we bring these prayers to you, in the words that your son Jesus taught us: Our Father...
[1] Ortberg, John. “Living by the Word,” Christian Century. December 15, 2009
[2] “Green Alert” Newsweek. December 14, 2009.
[3] Jan Richardson, “The Advent Door” www.theadventdoor.com
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Prepare
sermon by Torin Eikler
Second Sunday in Advent
Malachi 3:1-4 Luke 1:68-79
It’s the dark of night, and a brilliant terrorist of sorts exults as the moment he has been planning for draws near. He has maneuvered all the right people into place, and the items he has been searching for are almost in his grasp. Years of work and preparation are coming to a head, promising to bring him the power to plunge the United States and, indeed, the whole world into chaos. Soon … very soon, his masterpiece will be complete, and he will become the greatest warrior in the battle between light and dark. An apocalypse is coming, and he will be the one to tip the balance toward evil and destruction.
I suppose that summary could depict any number of recent movies or books – and, sadly, even some events in real life today. But, what I am actually describing is the overall setting of the newest thriller to come from the pen of Dan Brown, the author of The Da Vinci Code. I’m not talking, here, about Angels and Demons – the movie that recently came out on DVD (though I am excited to see that). I am referring to The Lost Symbol. It is the eagerly awaited third installment of the adventures of symbologist Robert Langdon which came out in book stores about a month and a half ago. It is, as you might expect if you’re familiar with Brown’s writing, a bit of a cliff-hanger filled with mysterious writings, clever plot twists based on misinterpretation, and good deal of mystical symbolism.
But, while all those little details are what makes the story engaging and fun to read, the truth is that the deeper theme of the book is one of preparation … preparation for an apocalypse, or if you prefer, a revelation. There is, as seems to be a running theme in our world, a sea change coming – a time when a profound truth will be revealed and humanity will be transformed. In what amounts to a moment on the timeline of history, we will come to understand ourselves and our world in a new light, and a new age of light – a golden age – will come on earth.
Does that sound at all familiar? It should. Not only is that the theme of the book of Revelation, it is also embedded, as Dan Brown points out (can you feel the irony here), in the teachings of Jesus as recorded in all four of the gospels. But even more to the point, the words of both prophets this morning envision just such a time coming – Malachi at some unspecified time in the future and Zechariah at the very specific moment of Christ’s birth. And the implication is, in the words of Isaiah and John the Baptist, that we need to “prepare the way of the Lord.” We need to make straight the crooked paths of the wilderness, fill in the valleys, clear away the hills and mountains, and smooth the rough patches so that the way is clear for the Word – the truth and power of God – to burst into our world.
It has always seemed strange to me – that prophetic call to prepare. There’s really no way that we can do what’s asked of us. We can’t really knock down the all mountains or fill in the valleys, though humanity has done a lot of that over the years. And even if we could smooth out the rough patches and prepare a nice straight path in the wilderness, there is very little chance that we could find the right wilderness. And besides all that, the power of God is more than enough to change the face of reality on its own. Clearly, all the imagery is a metaphor for something else – something we can prepare.
As it is advent, this seems like an appropriate time to share one particular story of preparation. Less than a year ago now, Carrie and I were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our second son. We had been through nine months – well really eight months, I suppose – of waiting with all the excitement of pre-natal visits that slowly reveal the wonder of a new life through the sound of a heart beat and, eventually, the vision of a small person moving around on a green and black screen. We knew that the tell-tale signs of Alistair’s arrival would be coming any day, and though we knew that some pretty important things needed to be done before we left for the hospital, we resisted the urge to pack things up in readiness.
With Sebastian it had been very different. After months of readiness classes, we arrived at the time we had been told to get everything packed up in preparation. So, we packed up two bags: one filled with clothes, tooth brushes and other necessities and one with all sorts of balls, candles, and other things to help with focus and comfort during labor. We got the baby seat properly installed in the car. We spent hours preparing a play list on our laptop so that Carrie would have just the right mix of energetic and relaxing music in the background. We even packed a couple of our favorite DVDs just in case there was a bit of down time in the progression of labor.
Then, we waited… and waited… and waited. (pause) Five weeks later, we called the doctor to report fairly regular contractions (this was the second time we called), and he told us to go on in to the hospital. We stayed there even though things were not all that far along because we were only a couple of days from the point where we’d have to have labor induced anyway, and about 23 hours later, Sebastian was born. In all that time, we had only used one of the things we packed – the music.
So, as the time of Alistair’s birth drew closer, we both kind of felt like with one son already demanding our attention, we didn’t really want to have a whole lot of energy tied up in anxious waiting. We knew what to expect, after all, and there was still lots of time to pack up and get ready.
Oh yes, we knew what to expect, and we were completely caught off guard when Alistair decided to come nearly a week early! Over-confidence and the distractions of life left us with nothing packed. No labor helps ready. No music cued up. And, the car seat was still in the attic. But there are times when we are in control and times when events control us. So, while I threw a few things in a bag for Carrie, my mother helped get her into the car. Just two hours later it was all over … it had just begun.
In hind sight, I suppose we had everything we needed. We had pre-registered at the hospital. Our parents were coming turns to help with the time of adjustment and recovery. In any case, there wouldn’t have been time to use any of the things we might have brought anyway. And, we had the most important thing ready at the drop of a hat – a space in our hearts and minds for the new baby that was about to burst into our lives.
And, of course, that’s the key to the prophesies as well. There is no need for us to pour over books trying to figure out where to lay a highway. There is no need for us to change anything around us. What is asked of us is that we look inside ourselves and prepare the way for God to burst into our hearts and our souls – to lay wipe away the things that stand in the way and bridge the chasms that divide us from the One who brings the light of salvation to “those who sit in darkness” and new life to those who dwell “in the shadow of death.”
But all this is nothing new. We already know the true meaning of the Baptist’s call. If we’ve been paying attention, we’ve heard about it every Advent since we can remember, and even if we haven’t, it’s not all that hard to figure out with just a bit of curiosity and thought. And, my guess is that our familiarity with these words is one of the biggest mountains standing in our way.
Yes, we all know that we are meant to prepare ourselves for the coming of Christ into our lives. And, I’d venture to say that we even know what that means. If not, we were reminded by Zechariah this morning that we need to remember the promise of salvation, repent, and be forgiven of our sins. What that means for each of us is different, and we each have our own ways of getting our souls ready. But, every year as we prepare for the coming of the baby in the manger, we hear this reminder and it rolls right past us. We know what to expect and there isn’t any urgency. There will be four Sundays of Advent with the appropriate candles and our favorite Christmas hymns. There will be a Christmas dinner with a play staged by the children – with some help. The longest night will come and go, and we’ll gather for Christmas Eve to honor the coming of Christ. Then, Christmas will come and go, and it will all happen again next year. It’s important to us, but so are other things.
So, we let ourselves be distracted by all the other parts of life. We get our Christmas tree ready. We get ready to bake all the special things that are traditional for us. We make our plans for the time we will spend with family and the parties we’ll go to with our friends. We make space for the end of the semester push and the special activities that go along with it. We buzz around shopping for presents. Sometimes, we feel like we should be doing things a little differently, that we should focus on something more spiritual. But, we think we’ll find time for that in the midst of everything else that really must be done if we are to stick to the schedule.
And yes I know that all this is nothing new either. This picture of the business of life crowding out the presence of Christ is common fodder from the pulpit, and we are all (Carrie and I included) used to hearing (or saying) it and going right on with our lives.
But, here’s the thing – and I hope we’ll all still our minds enough to hear it this time. What we are celebrating at Christmas is amazing. God came down to earth, not clouded in glory or shining with power, but as a human baby. God became human – lived and died along with us so that the world could be made new through the power and faith of each one who believes. And that such a thing would happen surprised everyone … even those who had been preparing the way. Even John the Baptist who was born to testify to the coming of the Messiah sent his disciples to ask if Jesus was the One because things were not going as expected.
The voice of the prophets, the voice of the one crying in the wilderness, the voice of Jesus, the voice of the Spirit speaking in our inner ear. Some shout. Some whisper. But they all come to disrupt our lives, to break into the routines and traditions that numb our perceptions as they carry us along. They surprise us – ask us to stop for a moment and look at our lives and ourselves and see that this is not all that we are meant for. They call us to prepare the way. This time around, let’s listen.
We’ve already started. Last week Carrie helped us clear away some of the brush that clogs the way when she invited us to write down the fears that hold us back on storm clouds so that they could be swept away by the breath of the Spirit. In your bulletins this week, you’ll find a sun symbolizing the light from on high breaking into our lives. I invite you to use this as a focus for prayer during our time of waiting worship. Write on them if you wish … or not. Feed into the light the heavy mountains and the dark valleys that keep you from God. Offer them up for the power of its heat to burn away everything unworthy. The promise we have is that the work will be done for us, that God will make straight the path if we will just take the first step.
Let us keep silence together as we open ourselves to the refiner’s fire and be made pure so that we are ready – ready for the Prince of Peace to burst in on us and lead us down to path to what we are meant to be.
Second Sunday in Advent
Malachi 3:1-4 Luke 1:68-79
It’s the dark of night, and a brilliant terrorist of sorts exults as the moment he has been planning for draws near. He has maneuvered all the right people into place, and the items he has been searching for are almost in his grasp. Years of work and preparation are coming to a head, promising to bring him the power to plunge the United States and, indeed, the whole world into chaos. Soon … very soon, his masterpiece will be complete, and he will become the greatest warrior in the battle between light and dark. An apocalypse is coming, and he will be the one to tip the balance toward evil and destruction.
I suppose that summary could depict any number of recent movies or books – and, sadly, even some events in real life today. But, what I am actually describing is the overall setting of the newest thriller to come from the pen of Dan Brown, the author of The Da Vinci Code. I’m not talking, here, about Angels and Demons – the movie that recently came out on DVD (though I am excited to see that). I am referring to The Lost Symbol. It is the eagerly awaited third installment of the adventures of symbologist Robert Langdon which came out in book stores about a month and a half ago. It is, as you might expect if you’re familiar with Brown’s writing, a bit of a cliff-hanger filled with mysterious writings, clever plot twists based on misinterpretation, and good deal of mystical symbolism.
But, while all those little details are what makes the story engaging and fun to read, the truth is that the deeper theme of the book is one of preparation … preparation for an apocalypse, or if you prefer, a revelation. There is, as seems to be a running theme in our world, a sea change coming – a time when a profound truth will be revealed and humanity will be transformed. In what amounts to a moment on the timeline of history, we will come to understand ourselves and our world in a new light, and a new age of light – a golden age – will come on earth.
Does that sound at all familiar? It should. Not only is that the theme of the book of Revelation, it is also embedded, as Dan Brown points out (can you feel the irony here), in the teachings of Jesus as recorded in all four of the gospels. But even more to the point, the words of both prophets this morning envision just such a time coming – Malachi at some unspecified time in the future and Zechariah at the very specific moment of Christ’s birth. And the implication is, in the words of Isaiah and John the Baptist, that we need to “prepare the way of the Lord.” We need to make straight the crooked paths of the wilderness, fill in the valleys, clear away the hills and mountains, and smooth the rough patches so that the way is clear for the Word – the truth and power of God – to burst into our world.
It has always seemed strange to me – that prophetic call to prepare. There’s really no way that we can do what’s asked of us. We can’t really knock down the all mountains or fill in the valleys, though humanity has done a lot of that over the years. And even if we could smooth out the rough patches and prepare a nice straight path in the wilderness, there is very little chance that we could find the right wilderness. And besides all that, the power of God is more than enough to change the face of reality on its own. Clearly, all the imagery is a metaphor for something else – something we can prepare.
As it is advent, this seems like an appropriate time to share one particular story of preparation. Less than a year ago now, Carrie and I were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our second son. We had been through nine months – well really eight months, I suppose – of waiting with all the excitement of pre-natal visits that slowly reveal the wonder of a new life through the sound of a heart beat and, eventually, the vision of a small person moving around on a green and black screen. We knew that the tell-tale signs of Alistair’s arrival would be coming any day, and though we knew that some pretty important things needed to be done before we left for the hospital, we resisted the urge to pack things up in readiness.
With Sebastian it had been very different. After months of readiness classes, we arrived at the time we had been told to get everything packed up in preparation. So, we packed up two bags: one filled with clothes, tooth brushes and other necessities and one with all sorts of balls, candles, and other things to help with focus and comfort during labor. We got the baby seat properly installed in the car. We spent hours preparing a play list on our laptop so that Carrie would have just the right mix of energetic and relaxing music in the background. We even packed a couple of our favorite DVDs just in case there was a bit of down time in the progression of labor.
Then, we waited… and waited… and waited. (pause) Five weeks later, we called the doctor to report fairly regular contractions (this was the second time we called), and he told us to go on in to the hospital. We stayed there even though things were not all that far along because we were only a couple of days from the point where we’d have to have labor induced anyway, and about 23 hours later, Sebastian was born. In all that time, we had only used one of the things we packed – the music.
So, as the time of Alistair’s birth drew closer, we both kind of felt like with one son already demanding our attention, we didn’t really want to have a whole lot of energy tied up in anxious waiting. We knew what to expect, after all, and there was still lots of time to pack up and get ready.
Oh yes, we knew what to expect, and we were completely caught off guard when Alistair decided to come nearly a week early! Over-confidence and the distractions of life left us with nothing packed. No labor helps ready. No music cued up. And, the car seat was still in the attic. But there are times when we are in control and times when events control us. So, while I threw a few things in a bag for Carrie, my mother helped get her into the car. Just two hours later it was all over … it had just begun.
In hind sight, I suppose we had everything we needed. We had pre-registered at the hospital. Our parents were coming turns to help with the time of adjustment and recovery. In any case, there wouldn’t have been time to use any of the things we might have brought anyway. And, we had the most important thing ready at the drop of a hat – a space in our hearts and minds for the new baby that was about to burst into our lives.
And, of course, that’s the key to the prophesies as well. There is no need for us to pour over books trying to figure out where to lay a highway. There is no need for us to change anything around us. What is asked of us is that we look inside ourselves and prepare the way for God to burst into our hearts and our souls – to lay wipe away the things that stand in the way and bridge the chasms that divide us from the One who brings the light of salvation to “those who sit in darkness” and new life to those who dwell “in the shadow of death.”
But all this is nothing new. We already know the true meaning of the Baptist’s call. If we’ve been paying attention, we’ve heard about it every Advent since we can remember, and even if we haven’t, it’s not all that hard to figure out with just a bit of curiosity and thought. And, my guess is that our familiarity with these words is one of the biggest mountains standing in our way.
Yes, we all know that we are meant to prepare ourselves for the coming of Christ into our lives. And, I’d venture to say that we even know what that means. If not, we were reminded by Zechariah this morning that we need to remember the promise of salvation, repent, and be forgiven of our sins. What that means for each of us is different, and we each have our own ways of getting our souls ready. But, every year as we prepare for the coming of the baby in the manger, we hear this reminder and it rolls right past us. We know what to expect and there isn’t any urgency. There will be four Sundays of Advent with the appropriate candles and our favorite Christmas hymns. There will be a Christmas dinner with a play staged by the children – with some help. The longest night will come and go, and we’ll gather for Christmas Eve to honor the coming of Christ. Then, Christmas will come and go, and it will all happen again next year. It’s important to us, but so are other things.
So, we let ourselves be distracted by all the other parts of life. We get our Christmas tree ready. We get ready to bake all the special things that are traditional for us. We make our plans for the time we will spend with family and the parties we’ll go to with our friends. We make space for the end of the semester push and the special activities that go along with it. We buzz around shopping for presents. Sometimes, we feel like we should be doing things a little differently, that we should focus on something more spiritual. But, we think we’ll find time for that in the midst of everything else that really must be done if we are to stick to the schedule.
And yes I know that all this is nothing new either. This picture of the business of life crowding out the presence of Christ is common fodder from the pulpit, and we are all (Carrie and I included) used to hearing (or saying) it and going right on with our lives.
But, here’s the thing – and I hope we’ll all still our minds enough to hear it this time. What we are celebrating at Christmas is amazing. God came down to earth, not clouded in glory or shining with power, but as a human baby. God became human – lived and died along with us so that the world could be made new through the power and faith of each one who believes. And that such a thing would happen surprised everyone … even those who had been preparing the way. Even John the Baptist who was born to testify to the coming of the Messiah sent his disciples to ask if Jesus was the One because things were not going as expected.
The voice of the prophets, the voice of the one crying in the wilderness, the voice of Jesus, the voice of the Spirit speaking in our inner ear. Some shout. Some whisper. But they all come to disrupt our lives, to break into the routines and traditions that numb our perceptions as they carry us along. They surprise us – ask us to stop for a moment and look at our lives and ourselves and see that this is not all that we are meant for. They call us to prepare the way. This time around, let’s listen.
We’ve already started. Last week Carrie helped us clear away some of the brush that clogs the way when she invited us to write down the fears that hold us back on storm clouds so that they could be swept away by the breath of the Spirit. In your bulletins this week, you’ll find a sun symbolizing the light from on high breaking into our lives. I invite you to use this as a focus for prayer during our time of waiting worship. Write on them if you wish … or not. Feed into the light the heavy mountains and the dark valleys that keep you from God. Offer them up for the power of its heat to burn away everything unworthy. The promise we have is that the work will be done for us, that God will make straight the path if we will just take the first step.
Let us keep silence together as we open ourselves to the refiner’s fire and be made pure so that we are ready – ready for the Prince of Peace to burst in on us and lead us down to path to what we are meant to be.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Fear and Redemption
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Luke 21:25-36, Jeremiah 33:14-16
Advent 1
The end of the world is near... At least, I thought it was. As a child, I was terrified that the end of the world was coming. I don’t know why. I didn’t have parents who spouted on about end time destruction. The “Left Behind” series wouldn’t be out on bookshelves for another 10 years or so. Somehow, this well adjusted, positive child was terrified. I guess I saw a lot of those black and white tabloids in the grocery line: The predictions of Nostradamus pointed to doomsday on January 5 1988…then March 13, 1990…then September 2, 1993. Prepare!
Those were frightening enough. And then I would catch bits and pieces of Christian radio. They would overlay world events on top of Old Testament prophecy and New Testament revelation and tell us again, to prepare. The end is near. Needless to say for me, those bumps in the night weren’t just bumps in the night. It was Jesus. He was coming back.
The only thing that brought me momentary comfort was my mother laying in bed with me and reciting Matthew 24:36: No one knows about the day or the hour. Not even the angels. Not even the Son. Only God. In her estimation, as long as people were predicting a specific end, it wasn’t going to happen. And that helped…for a while.
I don’t think that end of the world anxiety scarred me for life, but I still get nervous when apocalyptic prophecies cross my path. I don’t know if I’m the only one who has been to the theaters lately and squirmed in your seat during the preview for the new apocalyptic thriller 2012. Maybe you’ve plopped down the $10 to go see it. If you don’t know about this movie, or the phenomena surrounding the year 2012, let me break it down. The pre-Columbian Mayan Civilization had a calendar that ends on December 21, 2012. People have attributed many meanings to this, one of which is that this points to the end of the world.
Well, Ronald Emmerich, director of Independence Day, another apocalyptic story (this time alien-induced), saw this as a perfect chance for some major money making and stupefying special effects. It is a movie, essentially about the end of the world. As I sat in my theater seat during the preview, watching tidal waves crush the Capitol Building, the Himalayas Crashing, St. Paul’s Cathedral transformed into a bowling ball as it destroyed the city…I got, in layman’s terms, the heebeegeebees.
The world has seen predictions of end times for ages and ages. Apocalyptic literatures spans time, culture, and religions. But it seems downright depressing to start this season of Advent with Luke’s own 2012 apocalyptic writings.
Now here’s your biblical history lesson for the day: Apocalyptic literature, including that in the Bible, has often come out of communities living in times of crisis, often written by marginalized people. People who had no power, or felt they had no power. Much of the New Testament, including Luke, is a reflection of Jesus’ life, written within the political and religious upheavals of first-century Palestine, definitely a community in crisis. These works were written for at least two main reasons: to show that things as they exist now are not how they are meant to be, and to give hope for those living in difficult times to persevere.
So Luke welcomes us into the season of Advent with frightful images: Signs in the sun, the moon, the stars…distress upon the earth…people fainting from fear…powers of the heaven shaken. But there’s more to this gospel than trying to frighten us. It’s trying to wake us up. Things aren’t the way they should be, things need to change, things will change. And that message shouldn’t fall on deaf ears for us.
As we take our place with those who are fainting and foreboding, it would probably be best if we first wake up to what it is we fear. Because that’s hard to do, isn’t it? It’s not hard to fear, laying in bed wondering if you’ll be left behind, laying in bed wondering if there’s enough in the checking account to pay the bills, or if your fixed income is really fixed, or if your children will have fresh air to breathe in 50 years. Fear comes, uninvited, like a thief in the night. That’s the easy part.
What’s hard to do is to wake ourselves up to those fears: to actually say what those fears are, to name them. What is hard is to take time to look deeply at what is behind our fears, to ask honestly what is at stake. These are questions we avoid asking precisely because we have fears, because we don’t want to think about them. We’d rather faint from all the terror around us and within us than have to look at it in the face.
Then the first light of Advent is lit, and the gospel continues. You may faint, or breakdown, or go on rampages of consumer frenzy or spiraling self-pity or over-scheduling just to stop thinking about it. And then the light shines, and the story continues. In Luke’s words, “now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” The light breaks in, and the fears burst out.
Marthame and Elizabeth Sanders are Presbyterian mission workers in Palestine. They have been ministering with a small Christian population is the occupied West Bank village of Zababdeh. Their lives are lived in the reality of violence that all their neighbors face, be they Palestinian Christians, Arab Muslims, or Israeli Jews.
Now, Orthodox Christians in Palestine celebrate Easter in a particular way. Yes, I know it is strange to tell an Easter story at the beginning of Advent, but as the Rev. Dr. Susan Andrews reflects, the tomb of death and the womb of life are closer than we think in our Advent story… The tradition in the Middle East is that on Holy Saturday (the day before Orthodox Easter), the Greek Orthodox Patriarch enters the tomb of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerualem. After prayer, he emerges with the holy fire, which is passed on. The flame is spread to churches all over Israel and Palestine, with shouts of “Christ is risen!” echoing through the land.
On Easter of 2002, Palestinian communities were facing tighter occupation. Passing through Israeli checkpoints for the Palestinian Christians of Zababdeh was almost impossible, which would impede the holy light from coming to them at Easter. So Marthame, the mission worker, borrowed a car from the Catholics, some lanterns from the Orthodox Christians, and a robe from an Anglican priest. And he went to get the light. Early in his trip he was stopped at a checkpoint. Because he was American he was let through.
He rushed to Jerusalem just in time to receive the holy fire from the Patriarch. Now… the tricky part began, getting the flame back home, through the checkpoints, before the light went out. Again he was stopped, this time with an M-16 in his face, his baggage searched, the gas tank, trunk, and steering wheel taken apart. Finally he was let through. When he arrived home to Zababdeh he was greeted by a large crowd. And at midnight, the people—who had be living in distress, wars, fear and foreboding—stood up, raised their heads and with joy traveled from church to church bringing the light of Christ.
Marthame reflects, “Everyone agreed that the arrival of the Holy Fire this year paled in comparison to the celebrations of brighter days, but it was the biggest event in years. The days are still dark here. The economy is destroyed. The roads are closed. The army comes to town far too frequently. But for a brief moment, the Christians in the northern West Bank were reconnected with the miracle of Christ—the miracle of incarnation, the miracle of hope.” [Rev. Dr. Susan Andrew, "A God's Eye View," Day 1, November 29, 2003]
I think rather than trying to convey a sense of panic and disorder, a 2012-type apocalyptic mayhem, Luke writes about a hard and perhaps obvious reality: things are not how they should be. Not in the world, not in your life, not in my life, not in our church’s life. To live into Christ’s redeeming promise we must admit that. Where is the world broken? Or harder yet, where are we broken? And as we come to terms with what it is that really scares us in the world, the fears we bring into our relationship and resistance to God, we will likely find that crises and fears are not the final world. This is an unfinished world, waiting to be reborn. From tomb to womb to life.
In a book of essays called Small Wonder, author Barbara Kingsolver has a contemporary, and poetic look, at apocalyptic signs around us: wars, natural disasters, political violence. Much of this, she believes, is not caused by the hand of a wrathful God, but encouraged by human greed, over-consumption, and environmental disregard. It is obvious that we are not only victims of darkness and fear, but perpetrators as well.
But Kingsolver encourages her readers. Rather than feeling hopeless, like a screen door banging in a hurricane, she suggests that we should be the ones to bang and bang on the door of hope and refuse to let anyone suggest that no one is home. She writes, “What I can find is this and so it has to be: conquering my own despair by doing what little I can. Stealing thunder, tucking it in my pocket to save for the long drought. Dreaming in the color green, tasting the end of anger.” She concludes: “Small changes, small wonders. These are the currency of my endurance and my life. It is a workable economy.” [Small Wonder. Harper Collins, 2002.]
It might be the fears of those suffering from a sluggish US economy, or the fears of Christians in Palestine rushing through checkpoints to bring the light. It may be the fear that Kingsolver speaks about that affects the global community, or the fear that causes you to lay awake in bed. In spite of our fears, we are the ones to bring Christ’s hope into the world. But first, in this season of Advent, begin by bringing that hope home, into your soul.
I think that’s the moment of redemption that Luke speaks of: when our knees are clacking in fear, when no answers seem to be found, and yet somehow we stand up and raise our heads. Somehow, someone helps you stand. Somehow, you tilt someone’s head up. Somehow, we recognize we are not alone and the son of man is no longer simply in the clouds, but among us, the incarnate one.
"When these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near. "
***
In your bulletin you should have a cut out of a cloud. As we enter into a time of waiting worship, allow this cloud to be a focal piece for you. What is a significant fear you are facing in your life? Let this cloud symbolize that fear. Dwell on how that fear is doing in your life? what is behind that fear? If you desire, you might actually write that fear on the cloud, or you may just look at it. After worship you can take it home with you, or add it to the pictoral cosmos in back we will be creating throughout Advent. Use it as you wish.
What is a significant fear in your life as you enter into this season of Advent? Let us join in silence.
Prayer
God of tribulation and truth,
our lives are filled with fear.
We don’t want to fear.
We’d be happier if we didn’t have fear
Maybe we’d be better Christians if we didn’t, better bearers of your hope.
But we fear.
So we pray
that this fear not consume us
that we find the strength to stand and raise our heads to your promise:
that this world was made good
that God dwells in us
that we are not alone.
Benediction
Go this day, in expectation that Christ will break into your fears, and strength will burst forth from what terrifies you. Your redemption is at hand. Stand, raise your heads and welcome it in. Go in God’s glorious power and peace.
Luke 21:25-36, Jeremiah 33:14-16
Advent 1
The end of the world is near... At least, I thought it was. As a child, I was terrified that the end of the world was coming. I don’t know why. I didn’t have parents who spouted on about end time destruction. The “Left Behind” series wouldn’t be out on bookshelves for another 10 years or so. Somehow, this well adjusted, positive child was terrified. I guess I saw a lot of those black and white tabloids in the grocery line: The predictions of Nostradamus pointed to doomsday on January 5 1988…then March 13, 1990…then September 2, 1993. Prepare!
Those were frightening enough. And then I would catch bits and pieces of Christian radio. They would overlay world events on top of Old Testament prophecy and New Testament revelation and tell us again, to prepare. The end is near. Needless to say for me, those bumps in the night weren’t just bumps in the night. It was Jesus. He was coming back.
The only thing that brought me momentary comfort was my mother laying in bed with me and reciting Matthew 24:36: No one knows about the day or the hour. Not even the angels. Not even the Son. Only God. In her estimation, as long as people were predicting a specific end, it wasn’t going to happen. And that helped…for a while.
I don’t think that end of the world anxiety scarred me for life, but I still get nervous when apocalyptic prophecies cross my path. I don’t know if I’m the only one who has been to the theaters lately and squirmed in your seat during the preview for the new apocalyptic thriller 2012. Maybe you’ve plopped down the $10 to go see it. If you don’t know about this movie, or the phenomena surrounding the year 2012, let me break it down. The pre-Columbian Mayan Civilization had a calendar that ends on December 21, 2012. People have attributed many meanings to this, one of which is that this points to the end of the world.
Well, Ronald Emmerich, director of Independence Day, another apocalyptic story (this time alien-induced), saw this as a perfect chance for some major money making and stupefying special effects. It is a movie, essentially about the end of the world. As I sat in my theater seat during the preview, watching tidal waves crush the Capitol Building, the Himalayas Crashing, St. Paul’s Cathedral transformed into a bowling ball as it destroyed the city…I got, in layman’s terms, the heebeegeebees.
The world has seen predictions of end times for ages and ages. Apocalyptic literatures spans time, culture, and religions. But it seems downright depressing to start this season of Advent with Luke’s own 2012 apocalyptic writings.
Now here’s your biblical history lesson for the day: Apocalyptic literature, including that in the Bible, has often come out of communities living in times of crisis, often written by marginalized people. People who had no power, or felt they had no power. Much of the New Testament, including Luke, is a reflection of Jesus’ life, written within the political and religious upheavals of first-century Palestine, definitely a community in crisis. These works were written for at least two main reasons: to show that things as they exist now are not how they are meant to be, and to give hope for those living in difficult times to persevere.
So Luke welcomes us into the season of Advent with frightful images: Signs in the sun, the moon, the stars…distress upon the earth…people fainting from fear…powers of the heaven shaken. But there’s more to this gospel than trying to frighten us. It’s trying to wake us up. Things aren’t the way they should be, things need to change, things will change. And that message shouldn’t fall on deaf ears for us.
As we take our place with those who are fainting and foreboding, it would probably be best if we first wake up to what it is we fear. Because that’s hard to do, isn’t it? It’s not hard to fear, laying in bed wondering if you’ll be left behind, laying in bed wondering if there’s enough in the checking account to pay the bills, or if your fixed income is really fixed, or if your children will have fresh air to breathe in 50 years. Fear comes, uninvited, like a thief in the night. That’s the easy part.
What’s hard to do is to wake ourselves up to those fears: to actually say what those fears are, to name them. What is hard is to take time to look deeply at what is behind our fears, to ask honestly what is at stake. These are questions we avoid asking precisely because we have fears, because we don’t want to think about them. We’d rather faint from all the terror around us and within us than have to look at it in the face.
Then the first light of Advent is lit, and the gospel continues. You may faint, or breakdown, or go on rampages of consumer frenzy or spiraling self-pity or over-scheduling just to stop thinking about it. And then the light shines, and the story continues. In Luke’s words, “now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” The light breaks in, and the fears burst out.
Marthame and Elizabeth Sanders are Presbyterian mission workers in Palestine. They have been ministering with a small Christian population is the occupied West Bank village of Zababdeh. Their lives are lived in the reality of violence that all their neighbors face, be they Palestinian Christians, Arab Muslims, or Israeli Jews.
Now, Orthodox Christians in Palestine celebrate Easter in a particular way. Yes, I know it is strange to tell an Easter story at the beginning of Advent, but as the Rev. Dr. Susan Andrews reflects, the tomb of death and the womb of life are closer than we think in our Advent story… The tradition in the Middle East is that on Holy Saturday (the day before Orthodox Easter), the Greek Orthodox Patriarch enters the tomb of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerualem. After prayer, he emerges with the holy fire, which is passed on. The flame is spread to churches all over Israel and Palestine, with shouts of “Christ is risen!” echoing through the land.
On Easter of 2002, Palestinian communities were facing tighter occupation. Passing through Israeli checkpoints for the Palestinian Christians of Zababdeh was almost impossible, which would impede the holy light from coming to them at Easter. So Marthame, the mission worker, borrowed a car from the Catholics, some lanterns from the Orthodox Christians, and a robe from an Anglican priest. And he went to get the light. Early in his trip he was stopped at a checkpoint. Because he was American he was let through.
He rushed to Jerusalem just in time to receive the holy fire from the Patriarch. Now… the tricky part began, getting the flame back home, through the checkpoints, before the light went out. Again he was stopped, this time with an M-16 in his face, his baggage searched, the gas tank, trunk, and steering wheel taken apart. Finally he was let through. When he arrived home to Zababdeh he was greeted by a large crowd. And at midnight, the people—who had be living in distress, wars, fear and foreboding—stood up, raised their heads and with joy traveled from church to church bringing the light of Christ.
Marthame reflects, “Everyone agreed that the arrival of the Holy Fire this year paled in comparison to the celebrations of brighter days, but it was the biggest event in years. The days are still dark here. The economy is destroyed. The roads are closed. The army comes to town far too frequently. But for a brief moment, the Christians in the northern West Bank were reconnected with the miracle of Christ—the miracle of incarnation, the miracle of hope.” [Rev. Dr. Susan Andrew, "A God's Eye View," Day 1, November 29, 2003]
I think rather than trying to convey a sense of panic and disorder, a 2012-type apocalyptic mayhem, Luke writes about a hard and perhaps obvious reality: things are not how they should be. Not in the world, not in your life, not in my life, not in our church’s life. To live into Christ’s redeeming promise we must admit that. Where is the world broken? Or harder yet, where are we broken? And as we come to terms with what it is that really scares us in the world, the fears we bring into our relationship and resistance to God, we will likely find that crises and fears are not the final world. This is an unfinished world, waiting to be reborn. From tomb to womb to life.
In a book of essays called Small Wonder, author Barbara Kingsolver has a contemporary, and poetic look, at apocalyptic signs around us: wars, natural disasters, political violence. Much of this, she believes, is not caused by the hand of a wrathful God, but encouraged by human greed, over-consumption, and environmental disregard. It is obvious that we are not only victims of darkness and fear, but perpetrators as well.
But Kingsolver encourages her readers. Rather than feeling hopeless, like a screen door banging in a hurricane, she suggests that we should be the ones to bang and bang on the door of hope and refuse to let anyone suggest that no one is home. She writes, “What I can find is this and so it has to be: conquering my own despair by doing what little I can. Stealing thunder, tucking it in my pocket to save for the long drought. Dreaming in the color green, tasting the end of anger.” She concludes: “Small changes, small wonders. These are the currency of my endurance and my life. It is a workable economy.” [Small Wonder. Harper Collins, 2002.]
It might be the fears of those suffering from a sluggish US economy, or the fears of Christians in Palestine rushing through checkpoints to bring the light. It may be the fear that Kingsolver speaks about that affects the global community, or the fear that causes you to lay awake in bed. In spite of our fears, we are the ones to bring Christ’s hope into the world. But first, in this season of Advent, begin by bringing that hope home, into your soul.
I think that’s the moment of redemption that Luke speaks of: when our knees are clacking in fear, when no answers seem to be found, and yet somehow we stand up and raise our heads. Somehow, someone helps you stand. Somehow, you tilt someone’s head up. Somehow, we recognize we are not alone and the son of man is no longer simply in the clouds, but among us, the incarnate one.
"When these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near. "
***
In your bulletin you should have a cut out of a cloud. As we enter into a time of waiting worship, allow this cloud to be a focal piece for you. What is a significant fear you are facing in your life? Let this cloud symbolize that fear. Dwell on how that fear is doing in your life? what is behind that fear? If you desire, you might actually write that fear on the cloud, or you may just look at it. After worship you can take it home with you, or add it to the pictoral cosmos in back we will be creating throughout Advent. Use it as you wish.
What is a significant fear in your life as you enter into this season of Advent? Let us join in silence.
Prayer
God of tribulation and truth,
our lives are filled with fear.
We don’t want to fear.
We’d be happier if we didn’t have fear
Maybe we’d be better Christians if we didn’t, better bearers of your hope.
But we fear.
So we pray
that this fear not consume us
that we find the strength to stand and raise our heads to your promise:
that this world was made good
that God dwells in us
that we are not alone.
Benediction
Go this day, in expectation that Christ will break into your fears, and strength will burst forth from what terrifies you. Your redemption is at hand. Stand, raise your heads and welcome it in. Go in God’s glorious power and peace.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Truth
sermon by Torin Eikler
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 John 18:33-38
On the cool morning the day after my 36th birthday – which you probably know better as Columbus Day – I found myself walking onto the bustling grounds of temple #58 on the 80-temple pilgrimage that circles the island of Shikoku. Whether you realize it or not, most of you have already heard of this temple. It’s the one that Carrie described last week, and 8:00 in the morning or not, people were certainly interested in it. And, that’s not so surprising since this is one of the most popular temples on the circuit, and is often visited by people like us who are not actually going on pilgrimage.
Two things make it a particular draw. One is the temple building called the Celestial Pagoda which looks surprisingly like some of the cathedrals I have seen in Europe complete with a standing, cruciform Buddha. The other is the dark tunnel Carrie described – the one with the little Buddhas along the middle to help you find your way. There is a big rock filled with holes that nearly blocks the far end of the tunnel, and when the wind blows through it, you are supposedly able to hear the sound of monks chanting. The tunnel interested me, and so I made the trek all the way through in the dark … no chanting monks, sadly, but I did get a pretty good crack on the head for my trouble.
What Carrie didn’t mention was that if you squeeze out the other side of the tunnel and cross the street there, you find yourself at the entrance to a very interesting garden. Clearly most people don’t go there on their visits because the place is quite run down. But, the crumbling statues along the path through the overgrown greenery have their own power and mystery.
At the other end of that path is an interesting golf-ball shaped building filled with all sorts of statues of Buddha that look nothing like anything I have ever seen. Weird faces and strange bodies all stretching out of blocks of wood as if they were struggling to get free. It was definitely one of the spookier experiences of my life, but what really stopped me in my tracks was the statue off to the right side of the building. It was, I think, a Buddha sitting in the lotus position.
Now, take a moment to close your eyes and picture the image of Buddha that you have tucked away in your mind. If your experience has been anything like mine, you are seeing a chubby, little man sitting with his legs crossed and either a smile or a look of concentration on his face. But, this was not that Buddha. This one had his eyes open so wide that they looked like they would pop out of his head. His nostrils were flared, and the look on his face was strained in pain or anger (I couldn’t tell). AND, he was nearly skeletal. That is to say that the artist had carved him with all his ribs showing (and some extras added in for effect) and his tummy caved in to the point that you could almost see his spine showing through. Imagine coming across a statue like that, all of the sudden, and you may be able to understand why I actually had to force myself to walk away at no more than a normal pace. Spooky just doesn’t cover it.
Clearly, the experience of seeing of that particular Buddha is well and truly lodged in my head. And, as I have had time to reflect on it over the past month, I have come to understand something of what it might be trying to convey. That realization came as I remembered a question asked by one of you before we left. Well, it wasn’t as much a question as a request: “Pay attention to statues of Buddha you see in Japan. I’m curious how they envision him.” It was a request that grew out of the experience of seeing Buddha portrayed as a thin, austere man in Sri Lanka where he achieved enlightenment and as a that chubby, jovial fella in much of the rest of the world.
Both of those traditions, I think, are trying to present a piece of the truth about Buddha. The thin Buddha speaks of the work of self-denial that goes along with seeking enlightenment in Buddhist thought. The other image represents the love, compassion, and generosity embodied in the life and after-life of the Buddha himself. I have come to think that the statue that I saw strives to represent in a super-real way the pain and struggle that come from receiving enlightenment and realizing how that changes everything we have ever known. The question that rises in my mind when thinking of this conversation in art is, “What is truth?” – the same question Jesus’ answers gave birth to in Pilate’s heart.
In today’s world, at least in the western world, there seems to be an obsession with truth. Whether we are adherents of the philosophy of science or follower of a more spiritual path, we judge all things based on whether they are “true” or not. Facts – absolutely unquestionable nuggets of information – are the currency of truth in our conversations or our arguments, but we tend to overlook that everything we “know” is filtered through human experience. Just because we see something one way doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t see it otherwise. My 12th grade physics teacher taught me that lesson in class when insisted on looking up whenever he dropped the chalk just in case the theory of gravity was wrong.
So, seekers of Truth, what do we make of the words that come to us from the prophet Daniel on this “Christ is King” Sunday? Given the historic aversion to celebrating special days that is embedded in our tradition, we do not often honor this festival, but the vision we heard from the Old Testament is certainly appropriate to the day. Can you picture it? The image of the mighty, shining Ancient of Days sitting, unconsumed, atop a burning throne with thousands serving him and tens of thousands just waiting for the chance is royalty and power embodied – at least in the language of the second century BC. To this raging God comes one like a human (but not) who is given kingship over all peoples and all nations – a rule that will last for all time and never be destroyed. Christ, the King, “sitting at the right hand of God” as the creed proclaims.
With a few variations here or there, that basically sums up the image of Christ enthroned as portrayed by artists of the West in cathedral windows, chapel ceilings, and illustrated texts for centuries. And, I have to say that just such a Christ sits in my head. But, right beside that one kneels another – a figure that takes his form from the statue that stands at the entrance to Bethany Seminaries Chapel. It is a Christ who, kneeling, washes the feet of his disciples – a Christ who humbly endures his trials and peacefully (though not passively) submits to the cross in service to all humanity.
So…. What is the truth? Which of these is the real, true Christ – the real, true king?
(pause)
Since we’re working with metaphor here, I’m happy to allow that both of these images have at least some truth to them just as different statues speak different truths about Buddha. Still, Jesus said in many ways that the Realm of God is marked by a different type of vision than earthly Kingdoms. “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” And, “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting…. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” So, perhaps there is a bit more “truth” to the servant King – at least according to one version of truth.
And there are so many other images and goals that hold sway in our lives – questionable “truths” that speak into our minds. We, all of us, strive in one way or another, to have more wealth, yet Jesus challenged the rich young ruler to sell all he had in order to follow. Many of us plan for and save for the future, yet Jesus said not to worry about the future but trust in God to take care of it. (Or, in the words of one recent book title, “God doesn’t care about your 401K”). Most of us love and cherish our families, holding them as one of the highest values we have, yet Jesus warned us that we may have to forsake mother, father, brother, sister, and child to follow the way of discipleship.
What do you think? What is truth? Or better yet, what truths hold the power to guide and direct your lives?
(pause)
Even with just a few words, and metaphorical ones at that, Jesus said a whole lot there in that room with Pilate. “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” And, it is the voice of our King – the slave of all – that should be speaking to us over the tumult of the world. My prayer is that we will be true seekers of Truth – that we who belong to the truth will listen for that voice when it comes, ignoring all the others that clamor for our attention - listen and follow our teacher and our guide to the land where the servant king kneels enthroned before the thousands and tens of thousands that he wishes to serve.
May it be so.
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 John 18:33-38
On the cool morning the day after my 36th birthday – which you probably know better as Columbus Day – I found myself walking onto the bustling grounds of temple #58 on the 80-temple pilgrimage that circles the island of Shikoku. Whether you realize it or not, most of you have already heard of this temple. It’s the one that Carrie described last week, and 8:00 in the morning or not, people were certainly interested in it. And, that’s not so surprising since this is one of the most popular temples on the circuit, and is often visited by people like us who are not actually going on pilgrimage.
Two things make it a particular draw. One is the temple building called the Celestial Pagoda which looks surprisingly like some of the cathedrals I have seen in Europe complete with a standing, cruciform Buddha. The other is the dark tunnel Carrie described – the one with the little Buddhas along the middle to help you find your way. There is a big rock filled with holes that nearly blocks the far end of the tunnel, and when the wind blows through it, you are supposedly able to hear the sound of monks chanting. The tunnel interested me, and so I made the trek all the way through in the dark … no chanting monks, sadly, but I did get a pretty good crack on the head for my trouble.
What Carrie didn’t mention was that if you squeeze out the other side of the tunnel and cross the street there, you find yourself at the entrance to a very interesting garden. Clearly most people don’t go there on their visits because the place is quite run down. But, the crumbling statues along the path through the overgrown greenery have their own power and mystery.
At the other end of that path is an interesting golf-ball shaped building filled with all sorts of statues of Buddha that look nothing like anything I have ever seen. Weird faces and strange bodies all stretching out of blocks of wood as if they were struggling to get free. It was definitely one of the spookier experiences of my life, but what really stopped me in my tracks was the statue off to the right side of the building. It was, I think, a Buddha sitting in the lotus position.
Now, take a moment to close your eyes and picture the image of Buddha that you have tucked away in your mind. If your experience has been anything like mine, you are seeing a chubby, little man sitting with his legs crossed and either a smile or a look of concentration on his face. But, this was not that Buddha. This one had his eyes open so wide that they looked like they would pop out of his head. His nostrils were flared, and the look on his face was strained in pain or anger (I couldn’t tell). AND, he was nearly skeletal. That is to say that the artist had carved him with all his ribs showing (and some extras added in for effect) and his tummy caved in to the point that you could almost see his spine showing through. Imagine coming across a statue like that, all of the sudden, and you may be able to understand why I actually had to force myself to walk away at no more than a normal pace. Spooky just doesn’t cover it.
Clearly, the experience of seeing of that particular Buddha is well and truly lodged in my head. And, as I have had time to reflect on it over the past month, I have come to understand something of what it might be trying to convey. That realization came as I remembered a question asked by one of you before we left. Well, it wasn’t as much a question as a request: “Pay attention to statues of Buddha you see in Japan. I’m curious how they envision him.” It was a request that grew out of the experience of seeing Buddha portrayed as a thin, austere man in Sri Lanka where he achieved enlightenment and as a that chubby, jovial fella in much of the rest of the world.
Both of those traditions, I think, are trying to present a piece of the truth about Buddha. The thin Buddha speaks of the work of self-denial that goes along with seeking enlightenment in Buddhist thought. The other image represents the love, compassion, and generosity embodied in the life and after-life of the Buddha himself. I have come to think that the statue that I saw strives to represent in a super-real way the pain and struggle that come from receiving enlightenment and realizing how that changes everything we have ever known. The question that rises in my mind when thinking of this conversation in art is, “What is truth?” – the same question Jesus’ answers gave birth to in Pilate’s heart.
In today’s world, at least in the western world, there seems to be an obsession with truth. Whether we are adherents of the philosophy of science or follower of a more spiritual path, we judge all things based on whether they are “true” or not. Facts – absolutely unquestionable nuggets of information – are the currency of truth in our conversations or our arguments, but we tend to overlook that everything we “know” is filtered through human experience. Just because we see something one way doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t see it otherwise. My 12th grade physics teacher taught me that lesson in class when insisted on looking up whenever he dropped the chalk just in case the theory of gravity was wrong.
So, seekers of Truth, what do we make of the words that come to us from the prophet Daniel on this “Christ is King” Sunday? Given the historic aversion to celebrating special days that is embedded in our tradition, we do not often honor this festival, but the vision we heard from the Old Testament is certainly appropriate to the day. Can you picture it? The image of the mighty, shining Ancient of Days sitting, unconsumed, atop a burning throne with thousands serving him and tens of thousands just waiting for the chance is royalty and power embodied – at least in the language of the second century BC. To this raging God comes one like a human (but not) who is given kingship over all peoples and all nations – a rule that will last for all time and never be destroyed. Christ, the King, “sitting at the right hand of God” as the creed proclaims.
With a few variations here or there, that basically sums up the image of Christ enthroned as portrayed by artists of the West in cathedral windows, chapel ceilings, and illustrated texts for centuries. And, I have to say that just such a Christ sits in my head. But, right beside that one kneels another – a figure that takes his form from the statue that stands at the entrance to Bethany Seminaries Chapel. It is a Christ who, kneeling, washes the feet of his disciples – a Christ who humbly endures his trials and peacefully (though not passively) submits to the cross in service to all humanity.
So…. What is the truth? Which of these is the real, true Christ – the real, true king?
(pause)
Since we’re working with metaphor here, I’m happy to allow that both of these images have at least some truth to them just as different statues speak different truths about Buddha. Still, Jesus said in many ways that the Realm of God is marked by a different type of vision than earthly Kingdoms. “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” And, “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting…. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” So, perhaps there is a bit more “truth” to the servant King – at least according to one version of truth.
And there are so many other images and goals that hold sway in our lives – questionable “truths” that speak into our minds. We, all of us, strive in one way or another, to have more wealth, yet Jesus challenged the rich young ruler to sell all he had in order to follow. Many of us plan for and save for the future, yet Jesus said not to worry about the future but trust in God to take care of it. (Or, in the words of one recent book title, “God doesn’t care about your 401K”). Most of us love and cherish our families, holding them as one of the highest values we have, yet Jesus warned us that we may have to forsake mother, father, brother, sister, and child to follow the way of discipleship.
What do you think? What is truth? Or better yet, what truths hold the power to guide and direct your lives?
(pause)
Even with just a few words, and metaphorical ones at that, Jesus said a whole lot there in that room with Pilate. “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” And, it is the voice of our King – the slave of all – that should be speaking to us over the tumult of the world. My prayer is that we will be true seekers of Truth – that we who belong to the truth will listen for that voice when it comes, ignoring all the others that clamor for our attention - listen and follow our teacher and our guide to the land where the servant king kneels enthroned before the thousands and tens of thousands that he wishes to serve.
May it be so.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The blind Leading the Blind
sermon by Torin Eikler
Jeremiah 31:7-9 Mark 10:35-52
The story of old blind Bart has become one of my favorites over the past several years, and though I didn’t really know where to find it until just a few years ago (I thought it was in Matthew), I first learned it ‘round about age seven when we sang the song “Blind Man” around the fire at camp. And, I think what clenched its place near the top of my list is a different song called “Old Blind Bart” that I first heard sung by a duet from eastern Tennessee during a talent show at the national Young Adult Conference of the Church of the Brethren.
It may seem strange to you that a song can have such a powerful effect, but then again, I suspect we have all had some “aha!” moment when listening to a song that may seem absolutely forgettable to others. What’s strange to me about the whole experience is that I can’t, for the life of me, remember any of the words! All I really remember is watching Chanda and Gwen – two very confident and outgoing women – step out of the crowd, walk to the front of the room, and stand there side by side, holding hands.
Now, you need to know that both of these sisters stood all of 4’2” tall, and their height – if you want to call it that – prompted many people in the back to stand up in order to see better. And, there they stood utterly still and quiet with their eyes closed. Then, with a small sure movement, Chanda shook a shaker egg one time, they opened their mouths (though not their eyes), and out came a huge sound that rolled across the room to several gasps. As the diminutive duo sang with such surprising power, nothing in the room moved except for their mouths and the hand with that shaker marking a steady beat.
I know it’s impossible for you to get the full effect, but it was a moment that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Even as the details of the tableau continue to fade from my mind, the sound of their voices cutting through the last bits of quiet chatter that are always going on during talent shows still echoes in my head. And, one of the reasons that the story of Bar-timaeus sitting by the side of the road sticks with me is that I hear his voice echoing across the years as well.
Here was a man sitting in the dust by the gate to Jericho with nothing more than a bowl, a staff, and a cloak to his name. (And, since he is the only person to be healed in the Gospel of Mark who is given a name, he must have been important at some time in his life and, therefore, able to see.) Day after day, I imagine, he sat there in the dark, remembering life as it had been and begging for a few coins or some food from anyone who would share with him. Hundreds of people would have passed in and out of that gate - traveling on the way to Jerusalem and the Temple, going out to farms, or coming in to the markets, and I imagine he only heard a few coins fall in his bowl all day, only received a few scraps of bread or fruits and vegetables on the edge of spoilage.
It would have been a hard place to be, fallen from grace into the gutter – humiliating and hard for most of us to imagine (though, sadly, there are more and more people each day who find themselves in the same place in this country). With nothing else to do – and because his livelihood depended on it, he would have listened to everything that went on around him … would have recognized with bitterness the voices of friends and acquaintances who now shunned him … hearing bits and pieces of the same boring stories and complaints from different people as they came and went.
Then, out of nowhere, a new story comes floating to him on the breeze, the story of a traveling teacher who healed the sick and cast out demons, a teacher who was upsetting the authorities and the status quo they supported, the status quo that left him behind … eating dust. The more he hears, the more interested he becomes. Not only is this Jesus challenging the powers that be, he is getting away with it. He even seems to know the law better than they do. AND, he is proclaiming a new kind of kingdom where the outcasts are welcome at the banquet table and the proud are turned away. It all sounds so promising….
And one day, Bartimaeus here’s the whisper of excitement flutter around him. A crowd begins to gather along the road, and though they ignore him even more than usual, he doesn’t mind this time because Jesus is coming. And he waits … he waits in silence with his unseeing eyes open … until the moment he hears that Jesus is near. Then he closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and a prayer escapes: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
The crowd around him jumps in surprise. They turn with hearts racing and shush him – this beggar, this man they had known and forgotten all about. But Bart will not be silenced. “He cries out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!” And, his voice cuts through the chatter, ringing silence out of the crowd as Jesus stops and calls him over.
To the sound of encouragement he hasn’t heard for years, Bart comes forward, leaving behind his cloak so that it won’t get in his way. And, Jesus asks him, “What do you want me to do for you?”
Now, I like to imagine that at this point Jesus slides a slow and meaningful glance at James and John. Maybe he even held their gaze as he asked his question and raised a questioning eyebrow when he got the response. This was, after all, not just a time for healing, it was a teachable moment. Those two brothers – disciples who had traveled with Jesus from the beginning … who had gone along with Peter to the mountain and witnessed the transfiguration … who would be called forward to witness Jesus’ prayer in the garden – they had heard it all. They had seen it all. They had been a part of it all. Yet, they didn’t see nearly as much as this blind man by the side of the road.
When Jesus asked them “What is it you want me to do for you?” on the road to Jericho, they asked for power though they needed vision and understanding. They still wanted to Jesus to be the Messiah they envisioned. They wanted him to sit on the earthly throne so that they could sit on his right and left hand in seats of influence and respect. They couldn’t understand the truth and power of the upside down vision that Jesus was proclaiming, but old blind Bart did. And, when Jesus asked him – this man of low stature, of little account, and certainly not leadership material – when Jesus asked him, he gave voice to exactly what he needed … what they all needed ... to see. The blind man leading the Blind toward the Kingdom.
Our world is full of noise – the shout of advertising, the one-way burble of cell phone conversations, the drone of everyday work and conversation, the wheedling whine of rumor and shifted blame, the whisper of fear and embarrassment. Crowds of people are everywhere, and every day we are likely to find ourselves in a crowded gateway, waiting for something or someone to happen or happen by. Some of us are on the edges, calling out for mercy. Some of us are silencing those voices, straining as we are for a chance to see and hear for ourselves. There are times when we are the voices of encouragement, and sometimes we are the quiet ones standing by and taking it all in. We are, all of us, there somewhere in this story, and whatever part we take as it plays out day after day, my hope is that when we find ourselves in the silence and Jesus asks us, “What do you want me to do for you?” we will see our way clear to follow the blind man’s lead and ask for what we all need, saying, “My teacher, let me see again.”
May it be so.
Jeremiah 31:7-9 Mark 10:35-52
The story of old blind Bart has become one of my favorites over the past several years, and though I didn’t really know where to find it until just a few years ago (I thought it was in Matthew), I first learned it ‘round about age seven when we sang the song “Blind Man” around the fire at camp. And, I think what clenched its place near the top of my list is a different song called “Old Blind Bart” that I first heard sung by a duet from eastern Tennessee during a talent show at the national Young Adult Conference of the Church of the Brethren.
It may seem strange to you that a song can have such a powerful effect, but then again, I suspect we have all had some “aha!” moment when listening to a song that may seem absolutely forgettable to others. What’s strange to me about the whole experience is that I can’t, for the life of me, remember any of the words! All I really remember is watching Chanda and Gwen – two very confident and outgoing women – step out of the crowd, walk to the front of the room, and stand there side by side, holding hands.
Now, you need to know that both of these sisters stood all of 4’2” tall, and their height – if you want to call it that – prompted many people in the back to stand up in order to see better. And, there they stood utterly still and quiet with their eyes closed. Then, with a small sure movement, Chanda shook a shaker egg one time, they opened their mouths (though not their eyes), and out came a huge sound that rolled across the room to several gasps. As the diminutive duo sang with such surprising power, nothing in the room moved except for their mouths and the hand with that shaker marking a steady beat.
I know it’s impossible for you to get the full effect, but it was a moment that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Even as the details of the tableau continue to fade from my mind, the sound of their voices cutting through the last bits of quiet chatter that are always going on during talent shows still echoes in my head. And, one of the reasons that the story of Bar-timaeus sitting by the side of the road sticks with me is that I hear his voice echoing across the years as well.
Here was a man sitting in the dust by the gate to Jericho with nothing more than a bowl, a staff, and a cloak to his name. (And, since he is the only person to be healed in the Gospel of Mark who is given a name, he must have been important at some time in his life and, therefore, able to see.) Day after day, I imagine, he sat there in the dark, remembering life as it had been and begging for a few coins or some food from anyone who would share with him. Hundreds of people would have passed in and out of that gate - traveling on the way to Jerusalem and the Temple, going out to farms, or coming in to the markets, and I imagine he only heard a few coins fall in his bowl all day, only received a few scraps of bread or fruits and vegetables on the edge of spoilage.
It would have been a hard place to be, fallen from grace into the gutter – humiliating and hard for most of us to imagine (though, sadly, there are more and more people each day who find themselves in the same place in this country). With nothing else to do – and because his livelihood depended on it, he would have listened to everything that went on around him … would have recognized with bitterness the voices of friends and acquaintances who now shunned him … hearing bits and pieces of the same boring stories and complaints from different people as they came and went.
Then, out of nowhere, a new story comes floating to him on the breeze, the story of a traveling teacher who healed the sick and cast out demons, a teacher who was upsetting the authorities and the status quo they supported, the status quo that left him behind … eating dust. The more he hears, the more interested he becomes. Not only is this Jesus challenging the powers that be, he is getting away with it. He even seems to know the law better than they do. AND, he is proclaiming a new kind of kingdom where the outcasts are welcome at the banquet table and the proud are turned away. It all sounds so promising….
And one day, Bartimaeus here’s the whisper of excitement flutter around him. A crowd begins to gather along the road, and though they ignore him even more than usual, he doesn’t mind this time because Jesus is coming. And he waits … he waits in silence with his unseeing eyes open … until the moment he hears that Jesus is near. Then he closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and a prayer escapes: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
The crowd around him jumps in surprise. They turn with hearts racing and shush him – this beggar, this man they had known and forgotten all about. But Bart will not be silenced. “He cries out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!” And, his voice cuts through the chatter, ringing silence out of the crowd as Jesus stops and calls him over.
To the sound of encouragement he hasn’t heard for years, Bart comes forward, leaving behind his cloak so that it won’t get in his way. And, Jesus asks him, “What do you want me to do for you?”
Now, I like to imagine that at this point Jesus slides a slow and meaningful glance at James and John. Maybe he even held their gaze as he asked his question and raised a questioning eyebrow when he got the response. This was, after all, not just a time for healing, it was a teachable moment. Those two brothers – disciples who had traveled with Jesus from the beginning … who had gone along with Peter to the mountain and witnessed the transfiguration … who would be called forward to witness Jesus’ prayer in the garden – they had heard it all. They had seen it all. They had been a part of it all. Yet, they didn’t see nearly as much as this blind man by the side of the road.
When Jesus asked them “What is it you want me to do for you?” on the road to Jericho, they asked for power though they needed vision and understanding. They still wanted to Jesus to be the Messiah they envisioned. They wanted him to sit on the earthly throne so that they could sit on his right and left hand in seats of influence and respect. They couldn’t understand the truth and power of the upside down vision that Jesus was proclaiming, but old blind Bart did. And, when Jesus asked him – this man of low stature, of little account, and certainly not leadership material – when Jesus asked him, he gave voice to exactly what he needed … what they all needed ... to see. The blind man leading the Blind toward the Kingdom.
Our world is full of noise – the shout of advertising, the one-way burble of cell phone conversations, the drone of everyday work and conversation, the wheedling whine of rumor and shifted blame, the whisper of fear and embarrassment. Crowds of people are everywhere, and every day we are likely to find ourselves in a crowded gateway, waiting for something or someone to happen or happen by. Some of us are on the edges, calling out for mercy. Some of us are silencing those voices, straining as we are for a chance to see and hear for ourselves. There are times when we are the voices of encouragement, and sometimes we are the quiet ones standing by and taking it all in. We are, all of us, there somewhere in this story, and whatever part we take as it plays out day after day, my hope is that when we find ourselves in the silence and Jesus asks us, “What do you want me to do for you?” we will see our way clear to follow the blind man’s lead and ask for what we all need, saying, “My teacher, let me see again.”
May it be so.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The Perfect Family
sermon by Torin Eikler
Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12 Mark 10:2-16
In the past week, there has been another chapter written in the seemingly endless debate between creationism and evolution. Kirk Cameron, who many of us know and love from his role in “Growing Pains,” is making his voice heard on the issue in an unusual way. On November 22nd – the 150th anniversary of the publication of Darwin’s Origin of the Species – Cameron plans to distribute 50,000 copies of that book on university campuses around the country.
As remarkable as that notion is, in and of itself, it gets even more interesting when you discover that he has altered the book as part of his effort not to support evolution but to debunk it. Well, alter is, perhaps, too strong a word. None of the original text has been changed, but there will be a 50 page introduction included in this very special edition. And, that introduction presents a “balanced view of creationism” while seeking to discredit evolution by pointing out: the racism inherent in The Origin of the Species, the undeniable link between Hitler and Darwin’s work, Darwin’s “disdain for women,” and many of the “hoaxes” that support the theory – at least in the opinion of the evangelical Christian community that Cameron supports.
(If you want to hear about in Cameron’s words, you can find an introductory video he posted on UTube. You can find a response from a young woman who takes the other side in a brutal critique there as well.)
Whichever side of the debate you happen to be on – or not on – there is no denying that this is still a hot-button issue for many people in the United States 84 years after the “Scopes Monkey Trial” opened the way for non-creationist theories of the origin of life to be taught in public schools. It’s a discussion (or sometimes a fight) that has given birth to some pretty deep divisions in our society and among Christians, and I think it will continue to do so for quite some time. But, the truth is that there is nothing in the Bible that says God did not use of evolution as a tool in creation and there is nothing in the theory of evolution that precludes the existence of a divine being who set it all in motion. And, while the debate is not exactly a waste of time, there are many other things tied to the natural world of which we are a part that we should probably be more concerned about. After all, the bible does say that God created humanity and gave them dominion over the earth.
The thing is, the sense of the Hebrew that gets translated as dominion is little different than what we usually think of. What it really means is that we have the responsibility of stewards over the earth. It’s our job to care for the creation in which we live, and we have been given the power to do that – a power that lives in our hearts’ compassion and our minds’ creativity. In one sense, all of the created order – land, sky, sea, animals, plants, and humanity – all of it is one large family meant to live together as one. And, we … we are not unlike the oldest children or guardians who are designated to care for the younger ones with less understanding.
“What God has joined together, let no one break asunder.”
Families are interesting things.
In seminary, I took a class in family systems, and some of the things that I learned were surprising. Perhaps the thing that caught me the most off guard was the psychological surety that every family has attachment issues to deal with. Overly distant or enmeshed – tangled up like steel wool – we, none of us, actually find that happy medium where parents and children are self-differentiated yet still in close, loving relationship. It should be possible, but like some many of the other ideals we hold at the center of our striving, it seems to be just out of reach.
In fact, it’s almost as if we are destined to fail, and maybe we even prefer it this way. It’s what we are used to after all. And, if we were all so well adjusted as all that, where would the excitement and the challenge in relationships be? No fights…. No making up…. No rush of adrenaline…. No posturing or competition. Just millions of people living together, understanding and accepting one another – helping each other reach the greatest possible fulfillment of each one’s potential. One big happy family. Hmmm……
Now, I know that it sounds a little idyllic. I even had to practice it a couple of times to make it come out convincing (and I’m not entirely sure I succeeded). Still, there’s a part of me that holds onto that dream – that just won’t (maybe can’t) ever let it go. It has the feel of Thanksgiving dinner on a good year. You know, one of those times when everyone is at the family home or at least together somewhere. We all pitched in to get that great big wonderful feast ready. And when the time came, we sat down together around the table, passed the food without spilling anything, ate so much that we nearly burst, and then sat there for an hour talking. The room was full of wonderful smells. In our hands were warm cups of coffee or tea. And, the ring of laughter punctuated the good natured kidding about things over and done with – OR – smiles and warm excitement spiced the sharing of dreams for the future.
I think, I dream, that that is what the church could be … should be like. The same caring. The same sharing. The same glow of warmth, love, and “at home-ness” that shields us for a time – for an eternal moment – from the hard, cold, indifference that can be the calling card of the world outside.
And why not…? Why can’t we be like that? It’s what Jesus called us to. It’s what God created us to be. It’s the Kingdom vision of the great banquet table surrounded by smiling people who see before them every need fulfilled and see around them everything that they could ever want in the presence of brothers and sisters. Couldn’t we find that eternal moment here … with each other… with those who have become our brothers and sisters in Christ? I know this is one of those ideals that always seem out of reach, but we are people of faith and we say that all things are possible through Christ who saves us. Do we believe it? Are we willing to reach for it in the faith that our Father will lift us up that last, impossible inch so that we can grasp the promise?
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. The Word spoke, and all things that were to be flowed forth as the divine breath moved over the face of the waters bringing life into being out of chaos and darkness. And, it was good. The human family came into being and learned of its own power and began to tear itself apart. People learned to kill – at first one at a time … then on a grand scale as warfare became popular and the thirst for power took hold, consuming all things in its path. Whole nations were destroyed or made slaves, and division was sown where God would have unity.
And the Word became flesh and taught by word and deed as he lived among us: shining light on the path to the Realm of God, opening the door, and inviting us into the banquet table where all can sit down together. Some, there were, who heard and saw and truly followed. Others came along for the promise and hope set before them, and it was good.
And here we stand now, in the midst of a time and a world where the vision of the Realm of God shines faintly and the promise of unity among the nations is far from reality. But, the Word still speaks, saying, “Behold, I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it” among you? I set a table before you that you may eat of the bread of life and drink the cup of salvation. Come and eat. Come and drink, and remember the promise. Be re-membered. Become once again one family, one body perfect in love and unity though you be imperfect in your living and understanding. “Do this in remembrance of me,” and “what God has joined together, let no one of you put asunder.”
Hebrews 1:1-4, 2:5-12 Mark 10:2-16
In the past week, there has been another chapter written in the seemingly endless debate between creationism and evolution. Kirk Cameron, who many of us know and love from his role in “Growing Pains,” is making his voice heard on the issue in an unusual way. On November 22nd – the 150th anniversary of the publication of Darwin’s Origin of the Species – Cameron plans to distribute 50,000 copies of that book on university campuses around the country.
As remarkable as that notion is, in and of itself, it gets even more interesting when you discover that he has altered the book as part of his effort not to support evolution but to debunk it. Well, alter is, perhaps, too strong a word. None of the original text has been changed, but there will be a 50 page introduction included in this very special edition. And, that introduction presents a “balanced view of creationism” while seeking to discredit evolution by pointing out: the racism inherent in The Origin of the Species, the undeniable link between Hitler and Darwin’s work, Darwin’s “disdain for women,” and many of the “hoaxes” that support the theory – at least in the opinion of the evangelical Christian community that Cameron supports.
(If you want to hear about in Cameron’s words, you can find an introductory video he posted on UTube. You can find a response from a young woman who takes the other side in a brutal critique there as well.)
Whichever side of the debate you happen to be on – or not on – there is no denying that this is still a hot-button issue for many people in the United States 84 years after the “Scopes Monkey Trial” opened the way for non-creationist theories of the origin of life to be taught in public schools. It’s a discussion (or sometimes a fight) that has given birth to some pretty deep divisions in our society and among Christians, and I think it will continue to do so for quite some time. But, the truth is that there is nothing in the Bible that says God did not use of evolution as a tool in creation and there is nothing in the theory of evolution that precludes the existence of a divine being who set it all in motion. And, while the debate is not exactly a waste of time, there are many other things tied to the natural world of which we are a part that we should probably be more concerned about. After all, the bible does say that God created humanity and gave them dominion over the earth.
The thing is, the sense of the Hebrew that gets translated as dominion is little different than what we usually think of. What it really means is that we have the responsibility of stewards over the earth. It’s our job to care for the creation in which we live, and we have been given the power to do that – a power that lives in our hearts’ compassion and our minds’ creativity. In one sense, all of the created order – land, sky, sea, animals, plants, and humanity – all of it is one large family meant to live together as one. And, we … we are not unlike the oldest children or guardians who are designated to care for the younger ones with less understanding.
“What God has joined together, let no one break asunder.”
Families are interesting things.
In seminary, I took a class in family systems, and some of the things that I learned were surprising. Perhaps the thing that caught me the most off guard was the psychological surety that every family has attachment issues to deal with. Overly distant or enmeshed – tangled up like steel wool – we, none of us, actually find that happy medium where parents and children are self-differentiated yet still in close, loving relationship. It should be possible, but like some many of the other ideals we hold at the center of our striving, it seems to be just out of reach.
In fact, it’s almost as if we are destined to fail, and maybe we even prefer it this way. It’s what we are used to after all. And, if we were all so well adjusted as all that, where would the excitement and the challenge in relationships be? No fights…. No making up…. No rush of adrenaline…. No posturing or competition. Just millions of people living together, understanding and accepting one another – helping each other reach the greatest possible fulfillment of each one’s potential. One big happy family. Hmmm……
Now, I know that it sounds a little idyllic. I even had to practice it a couple of times to make it come out convincing (and I’m not entirely sure I succeeded). Still, there’s a part of me that holds onto that dream – that just won’t (maybe can’t) ever let it go. It has the feel of Thanksgiving dinner on a good year. You know, one of those times when everyone is at the family home or at least together somewhere. We all pitched in to get that great big wonderful feast ready. And when the time came, we sat down together around the table, passed the food without spilling anything, ate so much that we nearly burst, and then sat there for an hour talking. The room was full of wonderful smells. In our hands were warm cups of coffee or tea. And, the ring of laughter punctuated the good natured kidding about things over and done with – OR – smiles and warm excitement spiced the sharing of dreams for the future.
I think, I dream, that that is what the church could be … should be like. The same caring. The same sharing. The same glow of warmth, love, and “at home-ness” that shields us for a time – for an eternal moment – from the hard, cold, indifference that can be the calling card of the world outside.
And why not…? Why can’t we be like that? It’s what Jesus called us to. It’s what God created us to be. It’s the Kingdom vision of the great banquet table surrounded by smiling people who see before them every need fulfilled and see around them everything that they could ever want in the presence of brothers and sisters. Couldn’t we find that eternal moment here … with each other… with those who have become our brothers and sisters in Christ? I know this is one of those ideals that always seem out of reach, but we are people of faith and we say that all things are possible through Christ who saves us. Do we believe it? Are we willing to reach for it in the faith that our Father will lift us up that last, impossible inch so that we can grasp the promise?
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. The Word spoke, and all things that were to be flowed forth as the divine breath moved over the face of the waters bringing life into being out of chaos and darkness. And, it was good. The human family came into being and learned of its own power and began to tear itself apart. People learned to kill – at first one at a time … then on a grand scale as warfare became popular and the thirst for power took hold, consuming all things in its path. Whole nations were destroyed or made slaves, and division was sown where God would have unity.
And the Word became flesh and taught by word and deed as he lived among us: shining light on the path to the Realm of God, opening the door, and inviting us into the banquet table where all can sit down together. Some, there were, who heard and saw and truly followed. Others came along for the promise and hope set before them, and it was good.
And here we stand now, in the midst of a time and a world where the vision of the Realm of God shines faintly and the promise of unity among the nations is far from reality. But, the Word still speaks, saying, “Behold, I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it” among you? I set a table before you that you may eat of the bread of life and drink the cup of salvation. Come and eat. Come and drink, and remember the promise. Be re-membered. Become once again one family, one body perfect in love and unity though you be imperfect in your living and understanding. “Do this in remembrance of me,” and “what God has joined together, let no one of you put asunder.”
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Being Salty People
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Mark 9:38-50
The time of canning in our household has come to an end. We have stocked our larder full of tomatoes, tomato sauce, tomato juice, jam (sometime tomato jam)…This year we ventured into pickling. We grew a few rows of Boston pickling cucumbers. What the weeds didn’t kill off left us a nice “mess” of cukes to turn into dill pickles. We also tried sauerkraut from our cabbages. Who knows how they’ll turn out? We haven’t been brave enough to try it yet.
Until we started pickling, I didn’t know there was such a difference in salt, or so many types of salt. Do you know how many types of salt there are? Ordinary table salt, sea salt, rock salt, pickling and Kosher salt (the best salts for pickling, mind you). Then I went into Mountain People’s Co-op the other day and discovered black lava salt, red alaea salt, Himalayan pink salt, and smoked sea salt.
I guess I’m destined to love pickling because I love the taste of salt. And since “dark chocolate” is not a taste, but balances on the fence between sweet and bitter, I’d have to say that salty is probably my favorite taste. I guess that’s why this part of the scripture stood out to me.
Of course, the entire reading isn’t about salt. There are three distinct parts. The other two are a bit more difficult to deal with. The first talks about demons and exorcism, and brings to us the politically volatile cliché of “are you with us or against us?” This seems to overshadow the nicer image that follows—an image of bringing a cup of cold water to drink. The second part of the scripture seems to prescribe amputation for sinfulness, and suggests cutting off hands and feet, plucking out eyes. It leaves us with a disturbing teaching that it is better to enter heaven maimed rather than leading others astray.
What happened to the little child that Jesus was embracing in the verses that are just before, the child we looked at last week? I certainly hope Jesus covered the little one’s ears, or sent him back to his mother before he began in with all of this…. Demons, self-mutilation, salt… Pass the salt, please. I’ll leave the rest for another time.
But unfortunately, Jesus’ teachings are hard to pick apart that way. They are more like a big gumbo rather than a child’s carefully picked over plate of food: don’t touch the carrots with the pasta or the macaroni and cheese with the peas. No, sometimes it seems Jesus’ teachings are more like throwing in all different ingredients in a pot and letting them stew. You can still recognize the vegetables, the meats, the grains, but they also have a flavor of everything else. You just can’t easily separate them. Demons and self-mutilation, seemingly extreme in word and tone, are thrown together into a big gumbo, finished off with a dash of salt. But to pick apart the pieces briefly might help make it a more palatable option.
The disciples again are fighting over place and rank. Should just anyone who is doing good deeds in Jesus name be allowed to? To which Jesus says, don’t be so conceited. Just because you don’t know this person, because they are not part of our crowd, doesn’t mean they can’t do what I’m preaching about. Maybe it is this in crowd/out crowd distinction he sees the disciples beginning to draw that moves him to a warning about their own agenda, the whole cutting off bits of your body saying. Think about what you’re doing. What are the consequences? Once you have deceived, or misjudged, or caused another to sin, can you live with the costs? This extreme hyperbole invokes Jesus’ intensity: essentially, the stakes are high when it comes to your behavior.
Instead of doing these things, he encourages, be salt... salt, refined by fire. Being salty may just be the anecdote for the temptations Jesus laid bare.
If you were starting a new kitchen and could only have one spice, what would it be? I’m sure there are the few exotic cooks among you, that if you just had cumin, or cardamom, or ginger you could make the tastiest dishes in the world. But I think if we only had one choice, most of us would probably choose salt. Salt is, and has been, a staple throughout time and cultures. It doesn’t just make food taste salty, it makes food taste better…it brings out the flavor.
It’s true that we Americans have too much salt in our diet, but no one would dispute the essential presence of salt in our everyday lives. Which is likely why Jesus used this as a metaphor. Salt had importance in religious life, often used in rites of purification and ritual offerings. Jesus says salt is good, have salt in yourself, don’t loose your saltiness. When Jesus uses metaphors such as this, he invites us to think creatively--deliciously--about how we can move from bland living into tasty discipleship.
Last month my mother and mother-in-law and I had a women’s afternoon out and excitedly went to see the new movie Julie and Julia. This movie follows two separate, but true, story lines. The first follows the world famous cook Julia Child as she begins to uncover her passion and talent for cooking. Beginning to dabble in cuisine in her mid-30s when she and her husband lived in France, Julia found her life’s calling, which included cookbook writing, the first of which was the mammoth, 752 page book Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
The second story line follows Julie, a contemporary thirty-something who is feeling lost, and decides to give herself a challenge to spice up her life. In the span of one calendar year she attempts to cook all 500 plus recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking – a feat, even for Julia Child.
What happened was that Julie started blogging about her experience, writing about it and publishing it on the web. She gathered a large following, wondering what little Julie would take on each night, wondering when she might collapse from the enormity of cooking outlandish French cuisine in her tiny Queens, New York apartment. But when Julia Child’s editor, the editor of the Mastering the Art of French Cooking cookbook, arranges a dinner date with Julie, she can hardly believe it.
Julie frets over making the perfect meal: boeuf bourginon, a tasty beef stew. She even skipped work in order to get it just perfect. But when mealtime arrives, she receives a call that her coveted guest had to cancel due to the weather. So what to do with such a meal? Well, eat it of course. And as Julie’s supportive husband attempts to buoy his wife’s dashed spirits, he digs into the wonderful, the time consuming…boeuf bourginon. As he continues talking and eating, he stands up, gets some salt, and begins dumping it on…
Julie is indignant and with disgust she spats, “I’m sorry. Is it bland?” Her husband tries to backpedal, but all Julie can focus on is that he would let her serve bland boeuf bourginon to the editor of Julia Child’s cookbook. All that time, all that energy, worry and sweat…and it still needed salt. It was, at least in her husband’s taste, a bit bland.
I like thinking about what salt actually does and seeing where it can translate into our lives, especially when we are feeling a bit spiritually bland. Aside from adding salty taste, salt draws out moisture from food, allowing it to absorb more flavors. When Torin makes his wonderful eggplant parmesean, he always sprinkles the eggplant slices with salt to draw out the water. He then smothers it in sauce which can more easily seep into the cracks and crevices of the eggplant, into the places that were once filled with tasteless water.
Being salty disciples can be a process of pulling out of ourselves the stuff that takes up space, the watered-down aspects of our life that are dull and tasteless. Being salty disciples means we can open ourselves up to new flavors of life, new ways of experiencing God. Maybe we recognize that new flavors, new people, new ways of thinking needn’t be feared. The disciples were fearful of someone doing acts in the name of Jesus, but Jesus said there was no need to fear this new flavor.
Salt also acts as a preservative, an important function of salt in Jesus’ context. Before refrigeration, people would use salt to preserve meat and vegetables. It kept things. It helped them “live” longer, so to speak. Maybe being salty means we know what keeps us. We know what gives us life. Being salty means we know the difference between what really sustains us and what just fills the void.
And how many of you put salt in your sweet desserts? Nicole Kaplan, a pastry chef in New York City, says that they are putting a lot more salt in sweet things these days. Apparently salt helps bring out the sweetness, rounding it out while not being overwhelming.[1] I like this metaphor for Christian discipleship. If we are salty we round out the flavors in our world, enhancing those which need enhancing, tempering those which need tempering. All in all, salt brings out the essence of the food and enhances the flavor.
In a world where we are tempted to draw the line of who is in and who is out, like the disciples did, Jesus calls us to be salt, inviting us to bring new flavors into our lives. When we are tempted to fall into patterns that separate us from the Body of Christ causing ourselves and others to stumble, Jesus calls us to the table again. When our living feels bland, he invites us to be salt for the world. Absorb the flavors of God’s creation, know what it is that sustains us, and enhance the good in the world.
What salt do you have in your life that enhances the beautiful world God has created? What salt would you like to add to your life to more fully absorb God’s goodness? In this time of waiting worship, I invite you to reflect on how you can receive salt from God and give salt to the world.
[1] The Rise of the Salt Tooth, www.chow.com
Mark 9:38-50
The time of canning in our household has come to an end. We have stocked our larder full of tomatoes, tomato sauce, tomato juice, jam (sometime tomato jam)…This year we ventured into pickling. We grew a few rows of Boston pickling cucumbers. What the weeds didn’t kill off left us a nice “mess” of cukes to turn into dill pickles. We also tried sauerkraut from our cabbages. Who knows how they’ll turn out? We haven’t been brave enough to try it yet.
Until we started pickling, I didn’t know there was such a difference in salt, or so many types of salt. Do you know how many types of salt there are? Ordinary table salt, sea salt, rock salt, pickling and Kosher salt (the best salts for pickling, mind you). Then I went into Mountain People’s Co-op the other day and discovered black lava salt, red alaea salt, Himalayan pink salt, and smoked sea salt.
I guess I’m destined to love pickling because I love the taste of salt. And since “dark chocolate” is not a taste, but balances on the fence between sweet and bitter, I’d have to say that salty is probably my favorite taste. I guess that’s why this part of the scripture stood out to me.
Of course, the entire reading isn’t about salt. There are three distinct parts. The other two are a bit more difficult to deal with. The first talks about demons and exorcism, and brings to us the politically volatile cliché of “are you with us or against us?” This seems to overshadow the nicer image that follows—an image of bringing a cup of cold water to drink. The second part of the scripture seems to prescribe amputation for sinfulness, and suggests cutting off hands and feet, plucking out eyes. It leaves us with a disturbing teaching that it is better to enter heaven maimed rather than leading others astray.
What happened to the little child that Jesus was embracing in the verses that are just before, the child we looked at last week? I certainly hope Jesus covered the little one’s ears, or sent him back to his mother before he began in with all of this…. Demons, self-mutilation, salt… Pass the salt, please. I’ll leave the rest for another time.
But unfortunately, Jesus’ teachings are hard to pick apart that way. They are more like a big gumbo rather than a child’s carefully picked over plate of food: don’t touch the carrots with the pasta or the macaroni and cheese with the peas. No, sometimes it seems Jesus’ teachings are more like throwing in all different ingredients in a pot and letting them stew. You can still recognize the vegetables, the meats, the grains, but they also have a flavor of everything else. You just can’t easily separate them. Demons and self-mutilation, seemingly extreme in word and tone, are thrown together into a big gumbo, finished off with a dash of salt. But to pick apart the pieces briefly might help make it a more palatable option.
The disciples again are fighting over place and rank. Should just anyone who is doing good deeds in Jesus name be allowed to? To which Jesus says, don’t be so conceited. Just because you don’t know this person, because they are not part of our crowd, doesn’t mean they can’t do what I’m preaching about. Maybe it is this in crowd/out crowd distinction he sees the disciples beginning to draw that moves him to a warning about their own agenda, the whole cutting off bits of your body saying. Think about what you’re doing. What are the consequences? Once you have deceived, or misjudged, or caused another to sin, can you live with the costs? This extreme hyperbole invokes Jesus’ intensity: essentially, the stakes are high when it comes to your behavior.
Instead of doing these things, he encourages, be salt... salt, refined by fire. Being salty may just be the anecdote for the temptations Jesus laid bare.
If you were starting a new kitchen and could only have one spice, what would it be? I’m sure there are the few exotic cooks among you, that if you just had cumin, or cardamom, or ginger you could make the tastiest dishes in the world. But I think if we only had one choice, most of us would probably choose salt. Salt is, and has been, a staple throughout time and cultures. It doesn’t just make food taste salty, it makes food taste better…it brings out the flavor.
It’s true that we Americans have too much salt in our diet, but no one would dispute the essential presence of salt in our everyday lives. Which is likely why Jesus used this as a metaphor. Salt had importance in religious life, often used in rites of purification and ritual offerings. Jesus says salt is good, have salt in yourself, don’t loose your saltiness. When Jesus uses metaphors such as this, he invites us to think creatively--deliciously--about how we can move from bland living into tasty discipleship.
Last month my mother and mother-in-law and I had a women’s afternoon out and excitedly went to see the new movie Julie and Julia. This movie follows two separate, but true, story lines. The first follows the world famous cook Julia Child as she begins to uncover her passion and talent for cooking. Beginning to dabble in cuisine in her mid-30s when she and her husband lived in France, Julia found her life’s calling, which included cookbook writing, the first of which was the mammoth, 752 page book Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
The second story line follows Julie, a contemporary thirty-something who is feeling lost, and decides to give herself a challenge to spice up her life. In the span of one calendar year she attempts to cook all 500 plus recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking – a feat, even for Julia Child.
What happened was that Julie started blogging about her experience, writing about it and publishing it on the web. She gathered a large following, wondering what little Julie would take on each night, wondering when she might collapse from the enormity of cooking outlandish French cuisine in her tiny Queens, New York apartment. But when Julia Child’s editor, the editor of the Mastering the Art of French Cooking cookbook, arranges a dinner date with Julie, she can hardly believe it.
Julie frets over making the perfect meal: boeuf bourginon, a tasty beef stew. She even skipped work in order to get it just perfect. But when mealtime arrives, she receives a call that her coveted guest had to cancel due to the weather. So what to do with such a meal? Well, eat it of course. And as Julie’s supportive husband attempts to buoy his wife’s dashed spirits, he digs into the wonderful, the time consuming…boeuf bourginon. As he continues talking and eating, he stands up, gets some salt, and begins dumping it on…
Julie is indignant and with disgust she spats, “I’m sorry. Is it bland?” Her husband tries to backpedal, but all Julie can focus on is that he would let her serve bland boeuf bourginon to the editor of Julia Child’s cookbook. All that time, all that energy, worry and sweat…and it still needed salt. It was, at least in her husband’s taste, a bit bland.
I like thinking about what salt actually does and seeing where it can translate into our lives, especially when we are feeling a bit spiritually bland. Aside from adding salty taste, salt draws out moisture from food, allowing it to absorb more flavors. When Torin makes his wonderful eggplant parmesean, he always sprinkles the eggplant slices with salt to draw out the water. He then smothers it in sauce which can more easily seep into the cracks and crevices of the eggplant, into the places that were once filled with tasteless water.
Being salty disciples can be a process of pulling out of ourselves the stuff that takes up space, the watered-down aspects of our life that are dull and tasteless. Being salty disciples means we can open ourselves up to new flavors of life, new ways of experiencing God. Maybe we recognize that new flavors, new people, new ways of thinking needn’t be feared. The disciples were fearful of someone doing acts in the name of Jesus, but Jesus said there was no need to fear this new flavor.
Salt also acts as a preservative, an important function of salt in Jesus’ context. Before refrigeration, people would use salt to preserve meat and vegetables. It kept things. It helped them “live” longer, so to speak. Maybe being salty means we know what keeps us. We know what gives us life. Being salty means we know the difference between what really sustains us and what just fills the void.
And how many of you put salt in your sweet desserts? Nicole Kaplan, a pastry chef in New York City, says that they are putting a lot more salt in sweet things these days. Apparently salt helps bring out the sweetness, rounding it out while not being overwhelming.[1] I like this metaphor for Christian discipleship. If we are salty we round out the flavors in our world, enhancing those which need enhancing, tempering those which need tempering. All in all, salt brings out the essence of the food and enhances the flavor.
In a world where we are tempted to draw the line of who is in and who is out, like the disciples did, Jesus calls us to be salt, inviting us to bring new flavors into our lives. When we are tempted to fall into patterns that separate us from the Body of Christ causing ourselves and others to stumble, Jesus calls us to the table again. When our living feels bland, he invites us to be salt for the world. Absorb the flavors of God’s creation, know what it is that sustains us, and enhance the good in the world.
What salt do you have in your life that enhances the beautiful world God has created? What salt would you like to add to your life to more fully absorb God’s goodness? In this time of waiting worship, I invite you to reflect on how you can receive salt from God and give salt to the world.
[1] The Rise of the Salt Tooth, www.chow.com
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Hands of Death, or Arms of Love?
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Mark 9:30-37
20 September 2009
This Monday we went to the Pittsburgh Zoo for the first time. It was a wonderful family outing and for the first time since Alistair was born, we had a pretty good ride home. Usually around Waynesburg he has completely lost it and begins sobbing close to hyperventilation. Probably why it went so well is that Sebastian actually played with Alistair in the back, something that is only beginning to happen…something we are extremely grateful for. But a couple times Sebastian’s play got a little rowdy and we had to threaten that there would be bedtime immediately when we got home, no bath, no story. Once I almost resorted to the response we have likely all been victim to as children: “Stop right now or I’m going to stop this car. I’m not joking, I’ll do it!”
I like to picture the disciples as children in the traveling caravan with Jesus, meandering through Galilee. The topic, however, is not one that many children need to deal with—the fact that Jesus says, for the second time in their journey together, that he will be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again. And they didn’t understand. It says they didn’t ask anymore and were scared. I don’t really fault them…it’s a pretty unusual prediction for anyone, especially the one that they believed would be an earthly king, the messiah.
But as they approached Capernaum, it appears there may have been whispers, bickers, taunts. Jesus doesn’t quite say “Stop right now or I’m going to sit you all under that olive tree there until you stop! I’m not joking! I will do it” He waits until they are at their destination and asks “Now, what was all that about?” The disciples know that what they were arguing about was petty—at least they knew it would probably upset Jesus: it says “they were silent, for they argued with one another who was the greatest.”
Can’t you just see Jesus rolling his eyes and sighing. He let’s them in on this big secret and all they care about is who is better than the other, maybe trying to establish who would be in charge when Jesus does die. “Kids” he might say.
But “kids” is essentially what he does say. Instead of rolling his eyes, he calls a child to him, opens his arms, and embraces this unknown little one to himself. “This is greatness” he implies—“to do this. To open your arms and welcome a child, in my name. This is greatness because you are embracing me, and not only me, but embracing God.”
He embraces a child…. We have often romanticized this image, thinking who wouldn’t welcome a child into our lives, or even into our church, or even into our worship (as long as they are quiet enough and mind us when we “shush” them and don’t draw out the children’s story too long so we can get to the sermon and finish up on time). Really, who wouldn’t welcome a child??
But that’s not how the disciples would have seen it. In fact, in antiquity, children weren’t seen or treated as we see and treat them today at all. To even say they should be seen and not heard doesn’t even begin to describe the place of children during Jesus’ time. According to social research, children in antiquity were seen as “non-persons.”
Pheme Perkins reflects, “Children should have been with the women, not hanging around the teacher and his students. To say that those who receive Jesus receive God does not constitute a problem….But to insist that receiving a child might have some value for male disciples is almost inconceivable….This example treats the child, who was socially invisible, as the stand-in for Jesus.”[1]
This wasn’t Jesus exhorting the disciples to look at a child’s innocence or reverence for mystery or wonder or abandon, as we celebrated in our recent Children’s Sunday. This is not Elspeth, or Sebastian, or Lily, or Axel running around the sanctuary with glee. The child was a non-person.
In the midst of dwelling in the knowledge that he will be delivered into the hands of death, Jesus reaches out his arms to embrace a “non-person,” saying this is what the kingdom of God is about.
Maybe because children are treated differently these days, maybe because many children can expect to live through childhood into adulthood…for whatever reason, it is hard for us to recognize the radical comparison Jesus is making. It’s hard for us to imagine children as non-persons. This doesn’t mean that parents didn’t love their children, but in the eyes of society they had no worth. We can’t imagine Jesus using a child today as an example of someone without worth in society. We don’t feel uncomfortable with Jesus using a child like this, but the disciples were very likely uncomfortable with Jesus using a child like this.
So what might we feel uncomfortable with? Who do we feel is without value in our society? We might we consider one not worth redeeming?
“ Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Then he took a meth-addict and put it among them…then he took spouse abuser and put it among them…then he took, not a child, but a child molester and put it among them…and taking it in his arms he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one such “non-person”-one without value in the eyes of society-whoever welcomes them in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
There are non-persons in our society, those who we believe have so little value that there is nothing embraceable about them. Jesus didn’t just embrace innocent, but powerless children. He also embraced sex-workers, murders, adulterers, and executioners--even his own. Who might you consider the least of these--and I'm not just talking about who you think society considers the least of these. I'm talking about the people you yourself find it difficult to believe that Jesus could embrace, that you yourself couldn't imagine embracing?
When I re-read the scripture and thought of him embracing, say, a child-molester, who in my eyes constitutes the lowest of the low, I have to stop. No way. No way. There is no comparison between embracing a child, and one who hurts a child. But I guess when I think “no way” I am getting a little nudge from those disciples sitting around, like they are whispering in my ear “see, who feels so great now. That’s exactly how we reacted.”
But it doesn’t feel quite the same does it? The small, the powerless, the innocent children, versus the grown, exploitative, and guilty offender? I found it even feels different for me than welcoming, say, the poor, the prostitute, or needy. They all feel pretty benign and easily fit my framework of the “least of these.”
In 2002, Ambler Mennonite Church in Pennsylvania faced this question when a man named Joe began attending worship. Joe was a convicted child sex offender under court supervision. When his status became known, the church leaders met, as well as the congregation. They met to discern how, or if, Joe could be incorporated into the church life, at least, in worship. The leadership believed that with discussion and supervision, Joe could safely worship with them. But some in the church didn’t see it that way. And they weren’t to be blamed, really. Some were survivors of sexual abuse. Even the parents of one of Joe’s victims attended the church. And some were parents who wanted to welcome the least of these, but felt that this went too far.
A special support group was formed for Joe. A separate evening adult worship began specifically for those who wanted to support Joe in a worshiping environment. A listening and support group for those who were victims of sexual abuse began in order to make sure the feelings of those who have faced the crime Joe perpetrated were taken into consideration. A sexual abuse task group formed, and people from all perspectives were represented. As part of this process, some survivors even met with Joe to hear his story as a child victim of sexual abuse, and later as a perpetrator.
But some left the church, both because Joe continued worshipping with them. On the other side, some left because Joe wasn’t allowed to more fully be a part of the community. Everyone grew tired of the long process of trying to faithfully incorporate Joe in the church. After five years, Joe decided to withdrawal his participation. The pastor, Scott Eldredge, wrote that “[eventually] another survivor, initially opposed to Joe’s attendance, expressed her readiness for Joe to attend our worship service. I see God at work as others continue to heal." Scott reflects, "Healing may not mean for everyone an acceptance of Joe in our worship, but I trust God for his work of healing individually and among us. I know some still hurt from this experience in our church, and we all mourn for those who have left.” He ends his reflection: “We did not find any easy answers. What would your church do?”[2]
The disciples show us that we can understand to an extent what Jesus was talking about; of course we should visit the imprisoned, forgive the adulterer, even forgive our enemy. But welcoming them in our worship? Getting to know them? But until we can wrap our minds that the least of our society, the lowest of the low, the unforgivable…even those who may seem as unredeemable is welcomed by God--until we can understand that to the point of enacting it ourselves, then we too are like the disciples…we don’t get it.
And I’ll admit, I’m there. I don’t get it. I guess can’t imagine Jesus embracing the lowest of the low. I take that back, I can imagine him doing it. But I can’t see myself doing it. And when I can confess that, I hope that Christ isn't dissapointed with me. I hope he'd forgive me for joining the disciples in “not getting it,” and remind me that there is still a lot of work I have to do on myself. And that can be the hardest part of answering the call to discipleship there is.
Helen Prejean, a Catholic nun who began ministering to inmates on death row, has walked with six men as they have been delivered into the hands of death. The movie Dead Man Walking shows the beginning of this ministry. Sr Helen later wrote that on death row, “I encountered the enemy--those considered so irredeemable by our society that even our Supreme Court has made it legal to kill them. For 20 years now, I’ve been visiting people on death row, and I have accompanied six human beings to their deaths. As each has been killed, I have told them to look at me. I want them to see a loving face when they die. I want my face to carry the love that tells them that they and every one of us are worth more than our most terrible acts.”
She has reached out to perpetrators and victims families, visiting those families who want to be visited, and has started a victims support group in New Orleans. She reflected “It was a big stretch for me, loving both perpetrators and victims’ families, and most of the time I fail because so often a victim’s family interpret my care for perpetrators as choosing sides—the wrong side. I understand that, “ she says, “but I don’t stop reaching out.” (3)
Each time I start getting on my high horse, proclaiming that others just need to start welcoming those people I think are excluded or unjustly treated-single mothers, homosexuals, the homeless-- Jesus asks me, but can you welcome the one that you think is without worth? Will you deliver this person into the hands of death—into isolation and suspicion --or will you open your arms to embrace them? And like the disciples, I fall silent.
Do you fall silent? In this time of meditation, I invite you into a brief guided visualization and confession. Let’s begin by closing our eyes and taking three deep breaths:
The Sufi poet Rumi wrote this poem:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoingand rightdoing there is a field.I'll meet you there.
In your mind, what type of person is the least of these—the lowest of the low—the irredeemable--the non-person. Visualize a body that represents that type of person? It doesn’t need to have a face, or a gender, although it may...
Now, visualize yourself standing in a field.
Recall to mind the non-person. Imagine you are meeting that person in the field, face-to-face.
Visualize yourself opening your arms wide. Ask yourself honestly and without judgment: “Can I embrace this person?” If so, visualize yourself doing so, and let your mind rest on that image, giving thanks to God for moving you into a place of embrace. Pray for that person you are embracing.
If you honestly feel you cannot embrace them, feel Jesus standing beside you in this field. With your arms held stretched out, imagine Jesus beside you, embracing the non-person. Dwell in the power and knowledge that while you cannot yet embrace this person, Jesus is embracing them for you.
[pause]
God who stretches out your arms,
we confess that there are some we cannot welcome.
When our best intentions for justice, and our political correctness are challenged,
We confess that we, like the disciples don’t get it.
Help us see what lies in our way.
We know it is not enough that you embraced the lowest,
you call us to do
and you know it’s hard.
We pray that in this work of faith we can embrace those you embraced.
Forgive us when we fail.
Encourage us when we take small steps.
Guide us into the field, beyond right and wrong
And meet us in a place where there are no non-persons,
but only full spirits, loved by you.
may it be so, AMEN
[1] “Commentary on Mark.” New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville, Abingdon Press) 1995.
[2] Eldredge, Scott. “What would your congregation do?” The Mennonite (vol 12, No. 8, April 21, 2009)
3. Sr. Helen Prejean, "This I Believe" NPR, January 6, 2008.
Mark 9:30-37
20 September 2009
This Monday we went to the Pittsburgh Zoo for the first time. It was a wonderful family outing and for the first time since Alistair was born, we had a pretty good ride home. Usually around Waynesburg he has completely lost it and begins sobbing close to hyperventilation. Probably why it went so well is that Sebastian actually played with Alistair in the back, something that is only beginning to happen…something we are extremely grateful for. But a couple times Sebastian’s play got a little rowdy and we had to threaten that there would be bedtime immediately when we got home, no bath, no story. Once I almost resorted to the response we have likely all been victim to as children: “Stop right now or I’m going to stop this car. I’m not joking, I’ll do it!”
I like to picture the disciples as children in the traveling caravan with Jesus, meandering through Galilee. The topic, however, is not one that many children need to deal with—the fact that Jesus says, for the second time in their journey together, that he will be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again. And they didn’t understand. It says they didn’t ask anymore and were scared. I don’t really fault them…it’s a pretty unusual prediction for anyone, especially the one that they believed would be an earthly king, the messiah.
But as they approached Capernaum, it appears there may have been whispers, bickers, taunts. Jesus doesn’t quite say “Stop right now or I’m going to sit you all under that olive tree there until you stop! I’m not joking! I will do it” He waits until they are at their destination and asks “Now, what was all that about?” The disciples know that what they were arguing about was petty—at least they knew it would probably upset Jesus: it says “they were silent, for they argued with one another who was the greatest.”
Can’t you just see Jesus rolling his eyes and sighing. He let’s them in on this big secret and all they care about is who is better than the other, maybe trying to establish who would be in charge when Jesus does die. “Kids” he might say.
But “kids” is essentially what he does say. Instead of rolling his eyes, he calls a child to him, opens his arms, and embraces this unknown little one to himself. “This is greatness” he implies—“to do this. To open your arms and welcome a child, in my name. This is greatness because you are embracing me, and not only me, but embracing God.”
He embraces a child…. We have often romanticized this image, thinking who wouldn’t welcome a child into our lives, or even into our church, or even into our worship (as long as they are quiet enough and mind us when we “shush” them and don’t draw out the children’s story too long so we can get to the sermon and finish up on time). Really, who wouldn’t welcome a child??
But that’s not how the disciples would have seen it. In fact, in antiquity, children weren’t seen or treated as we see and treat them today at all. To even say they should be seen and not heard doesn’t even begin to describe the place of children during Jesus’ time. According to social research, children in antiquity were seen as “non-persons.”
Pheme Perkins reflects, “Children should have been with the women, not hanging around the teacher and his students. To say that those who receive Jesus receive God does not constitute a problem….But to insist that receiving a child might have some value for male disciples is almost inconceivable….This example treats the child, who was socially invisible, as the stand-in for Jesus.”[1]
This wasn’t Jesus exhorting the disciples to look at a child’s innocence or reverence for mystery or wonder or abandon, as we celebrated in our recent Children’s Sunday. This is not Elspeth, or Sebastian, or Lily, or Axel running around the sanctuary with glee. The child was a non-person.
In the midst of dwelling in the knowledge that he will be delivered into the hands of death, Jesus reaches out his arms to embrace a “non-person,” saying this is what the kingdom of God is about.
Maybe because children are treated differently these days, maybe because many children can expect to live through childhood into adulthood…for whatever reason, it is hard for us to recognize the radical comparison Jesus is making. It’s hard for us to imagine children as non-persons. This doesn’t mean that parents didn’t love their children, but in the eyes of society they had no worth. We can’t imagine Jesus using a child today as an example of someone without worth in society. We don’t feel uncomfortable with Jesus using a child like this, but the disciples were very likely uncomfortable with Jesus using a child like this.
So what might we feel uncomfortable with? Who do we feel is without value in our society? We might we consider one not worth redeeming?
“ Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Then he took a meth-addict and put it among them…then he took spouse abuser and put it among them…then he took, not a child, but a child molester and put it among them…and taking it in his arms he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one such “non-person”-one without value in the eyes of society-whoever welcomes them in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
There are non-persons in our society, those who we believe have so little value that there is nothing embraceable about them. Jesus didn’t just embrace innocent, but powerless children. He also embraced sex-workers, murders, adulterers, and executioners--even his own. Who might you consider the least of these--and I'm not just talking about who you think society considers the least of these. I'm talking about the people you yourself find it difficult to believe that Jesus could embrace, that you yourself couldn't imagine embracing?
When I re-read the scripture and thought of him embracing, say, a child-molester, who in my eyes constitutes the lowest of the low, I have to stop. No way. No way. There is no comparison between embracing a child, and one who hurts a child. But I guess when I think “no way” I am getting a little nudge from those disciples sitting around, like they are whispering in my ear “see, who feels so great now. That’s exactly how we reacted.”
But it doesn’t feel quite the same does it? The small, the powerless, the innocent children, versus the grown, exploitative, and guilty offender? I found it even feels different for me than welcoming, say, the poor, the prostitute, or needy. They all feel pretty benign and easily fit my framework of the “least of these.”
In 2002, Ambler Mennonite Church in Pennsylvania faced this question when a man named Joe began attending worship. Joe was a convicted child sex offender under court supervision. When his status became known, the church leaders met, as well as the congregation. They met to discern how, or if, Joe could be incorporated into the church life, at least, in worship. The leadership believed that with discussion and supervision, Joe could safely worship with them. But some in the church didn’t see it that way. And they weren’t to be blamed, really. Some were survivors of sexual abuse. Even the parents of one of Joe’s victims attended the church. And some were parents who wanted to welcome the least of these, but felt that this went too far.
A special support group was formed for Joe. A separate evening adult worship began specifically for those who wanted to support Joe in a worshiping environment. A listening and support group for those who were victims of sexual abuse began in order to make sure the feelings of those who have faced the crime Joe perpetrated were taken into consideration. A sexual abuse task group formed, and people from all perspectives were represented. As part of this process, some survivors even met with Joe to hear his story as a child victim of sexual abuse, and later as a perpetrator.
But some left the church, both because Joe continued worshipping with them. On the other side, some left because Joe wasn’t allowed to more fully be a part of the community. Everyone grew tired of the long process of trying to faithfully incorporate Joe in the church. After five years, Joe decided to withdrawal his participation. The pastor, Scott Eldredge, wrote that “[eventually] another survivor, initially opposed to Joe’s attendance, expressed her readiness for Joe to attend our worship service. I see God at work as others continue to heal." Scott reflects, "Healing may not mean for everyone an acceptance of Joe in our worship, but I trust God for his work of healing individually and among us. I know some still hurt from this experience in our church, and we all mourn for those who have left.” He ends his reflection: “We did not find any easy answers. What would your church do?”[2]
The disciples show us that we can understand to an extent what Jesus was talking about; of course we should visit the imprisoned, forgive the adulterer, even forgive our enemy. But welcoming them in our worship? Getting to know them? But until we can wrap our minds that the least of our society, the lowest of the low, the unforgivable…even those who may seem as unredeemable is welcomed by God--until we can understand that to the point of enacting it ourselves, then we too are like the disciples…we don’t get it.
And I’ll admit, I’m there. I don’t get it. I guess can’t imagine Jesus embracing the lowest of the low. I take that back, I can imagine him doing it. But I can’t see myself doing it. And when I can confess that, I hope that Christ isn't dissapointed with me. I hope he'd forgive me for joining the disciples in “not getting it,” and remind me that there is still a lot of work I have to do on myself. And that can be the hardest part of answering the call to discipleship there is.
Helen Prejean, a Catholic nun who began ministering to inmates on death row, has walked with six men as they have been delivered into the hands of death. The movie Dead Man Walking shows the beginning of this ministry. Sr Helen later wrote that on death row, “I encountered the enemy--those considered so irredeemable by our society that even our Supreme Court has made it legal to kill them. For 20 years now, I’ve been visiting people on death row, and I have accompanied six human beings to their deaths. As each has been killed, I have told them to look at me. I want them to see a loving face when they die. I want my face to carry the love that tells them that they and every one of us are worth more than our most terrible acts.”
She has reached out to perpetrators and victims families, visiting those families who want to be visited, and has started a victims support group in New Orleans. She reflected “It was a big stretch for me, loving both perpetrators and victims’ families, and most of the time I fail because so often a victim’s family interpret my care for perpetrators as choosing sides—the wrong side. I understand that, “ she says, “but I don’t stop reaching out.” (3)
Each time I start getting on my high horse, proclaiming that others just need to start welcoming those people I think are excluded or unjustly treated-single mothers, homosexuals, the homeless-- Jesus asks me, but can you welcome the one that you think is without worth? Will you deliver this person into the hands of death—into isolation and suspicion --or will you open your arms to embrace them? And like the disciples, I fall silent.
Do you fall silent? In this time of meditation, I invite you into a brief guided visualization and confession. Let’s begin by closing our eyes and taking three deep breaths:
The Sufi poet Rumi wrote this poem:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoingand rightdoing there is a field.I'll meet you there.
In your mind, what type of person is the least of these—the lowest of the low—the irredeemable--the non-person. Visualize a body that represents that type of person? It doesn’t need to have a face, or a gender, although it may...
Now, visualize yourself standing in a field.
Recall to mind the non-person. Imagine you are meeting that person in the field, face-to-face.
Visualize yourself opening your arms wide. Ask yourself honestly and without judgment: “Can I embrace this person?” If so, visualize yourself doing so, and let your mind rest on that image, giving thanks to God for moving you into a place of embrace. Pray for that person you are embracing.
If you honestly feel you cannot embrace them, feel Jesus standing beside you in this field. With your arms held stretched out, imagine Jesus beside you, embracing the non-person. Dwell in the power and knowledge that while you cannot yet embrace this person, Jesus is embracing them for you.
[pause]
God who stretches out your arms,
we confess that there are some we cannot welcome.
When our best intentions for justice, and our political correctness are challenged,
We confess that we, like the disciples don’t get it.
Help us see what lies in our way.
We know it is not enough that you embraced the lowest,
you call us to do
and you know it’s hard.
We pray that in this work of faith we can embrace those you embraced.
Forgive us when we fail.
Encourage us when we take small steps.
Guide us into the field, beyond right and wrong
And meet us in a place where there are no non-persons,
but only full spirits, loved by you.
may it be so, AMEN
[1] “Commentary on Mark.” New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville, Abingdon Press) 1995.
[2] Eldredge, Scott. “What would your congregation do?” The Mennonite (vol 12, No. 8, April 21, 2009)
3. Sr. Helen Prejean, "This I Believe" NPR, January 6, 2008.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Embracing the Call
sermon by Torin Eikler
Final Sunday in Passionate Spirituality Series
Matthew 5:13-16 Psalm 42
For nine weeks now, we have been talking about passionate spirituality and some of the practices that can help revive our relationship with the author of our faith when we find ourselves feeling stagnate or cut off from God. In the process, we have explored discernment, healing, living and dying well, saying yes and saying no, prayer, child-likeness, forgiveness, and hospitality in keeping with the interests you all shared with Carrie and me in June. And, while I know from the comments that we have received that many of you have found some aspect or another of our tour helpful or maybe even inspiring for your own spiritual journeys. But, I wonder if we have left something important unsaid. I wonder if, for all the time we have spent with particulars, we have missed the bigger picture. What, after all, is passionate spirituality? And, why should we worry about pursuing it?
If we hear those questions and feel like we don’t even know where to begin the answers (which may be the case from the looks on some of your faces), I have to admit that I’m not really surprised. Passionate Spirituality is a vague, amorphous term that can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. And, when I began our journey together two months ago, I chose not to delve into what it might mean because I wanted you all to be able to discover it for yourselves, and I hope that you have. Yet, it may be good for us to step back and look at the bigger picture. And, though we may not be able to define passionate spirituality, we all know it when we see it – or at least the fruits of it because the lives of those who have found it are marked by power and an unmistakable sense of connection with God that stands our self-satisfied lives on end.
If you take a moment to think about it, I’m sure you can identity a few people who embody this life. Some are so well known that they have become a part of our communal identity: Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothy Day, Gandhi, Mother Teresa, and any number of others. Yet, as easy as it is to name those famous figures as examples, they have become almost unreal – clichés that have lost a good deal of their meaning in the process of becoming short-hand references dropped in passing. There are others in our traditions whose stories are fresher and can offer us more illumination.
One of these is Sister Anna Mow. Now, don’t let the name throw you. Sister Anna was not a nun. She was a plain woman of the Church of the Brethren in an age when we still called each other brother and sister as recognition that we are all adopted into the family of Christ.
Sister Anna was, as I said, a plain woman. She wore the plain dress of the old Brethren, and she sought to follow the example of Christ by opening her heart to all that she met. She had little for herself because she chose to give most (if not all) of what she could spare to those in need, and she spent much of her time working with young people in the church.
She was dedicated in her devotion to God and ardent in her prayers for the church as a whole and the individual people she knew. Those whose lives she touched found her to be inspirational. They honored and loved her with all her quirks because she was an example of the faith and selfless-ness they felt was at the heart of Christianity. And she, in turn, accepted them for who they were and pushed them to become all that they could be. Yet, no one resented her because it was clear to everyone that her love was not conditional and her guidance came from the dreams she had for others. As one folk song said it, “[she] had a hole in her stocking and a pocket full of dreams…. And a heart so big, that it could cure your soul.”
If you want to know more about Sister Anna, you can just ask Sue Overman. She knows a lot of the stories about her and I bet she would happy to share them with you.
Another example from the history of the Church of the Brethren is that of Sarah Rider Major. Sister Sarah was born in the early part of the twentieth century and lived most of her life on the farmland of Ohio. One day, during her prayer time, she felt the call of the Spirit to preach the good news of Christ. That might not seem like such a big deal to us now, but at that time, women were not allowed to be in leadership of the church – let alone preach the gospel.
Sister Sarah did not let that stop her. After a time of more prayer and discernment (on her own and with others), she decided that she had to obey God’s call. So, during the time in worship when the ministers shared the message, she rose to speak. Though the leaders of her congregation responded by asking her to stop, she continued to obey the calling she felt every time she went to prayer by traveling to other congregations.
As news of the woman preacher spread, many people expressed concern about this breach of the Church’s teaching. Eventually, it came up as a part of the business at Annual Conference where the elder body of the church directed her to stop. Once again, Sarah spent time in prayer and reflection and found that she simply could not go against the will of the Spirit in whose presence she sought to dwell. And, though the annual meeting sent a delegation of elders to discipline her, after listening to her preach they found that they could not bring themselves to silence a voice that spoke the gospel with such power. So, Sister Sarah continued to preach, paving the way for other women to become preachers and leaders in the church.
Two women of extraordinary conviction and vibrant faith …. Both of them longed for a closer, deeper relationship with the God. Both of them thirsted for the presence of the Spirit filling them with the water of life, bringing dreams of what could be, and opening their eyes to the activity of the divine all around them at all times. And, both of them found themselves propelled into the world to follow Christ in lives of discipleship that were rich and juicy with the fruits of their passionate spirituality … whatever it led them and whatever the cost.
In the end, there is really no way that I can tell you what passionate spirituality is because each person experiences it differently and is uniquely affected by the touch of the Spirit. What I can say, is that the remarkable thing about people who have found it is that they live vibrant lives that call to us, resonating with that part of each of us that longs to know God more deeply. What each person’s response to that calling is cannot be known in advance. But, if we can say anything with certainty, we can say that passionate spirituality is marked by deep faith and a commitment to feed that hunger for God which gives it birth and which it, in turn, feeds and nurtures. And we can go one step further and say that passionate spirituality is evidenced by vibrant discipleship, by lives committed to seeking out the will of God and doing what needs to be done in order bring the Realm of God more fully into being here and now.
When you find the key that unlocks that kind of spirituality within your own soul, you will know it. It will come over you with a power and a sweetness that you never thought possible. Or, it will sneak up on you, growing stronger and stronger, reshaping your heart and your life until, one day, you will get a glimpse of yourself and wonder who, exactly, you are. And, a little voice inside you will tell you that you are a chosen one, a beloved child of God who has answered the call to walk closely with the One who is at the heart of all life.
As we come to the end of this series, I pray that at least one of the practices we have explored has inspired you – has helped you find your way closer to your own passionate spirituality. Whether it is a new type of prayer, the reawakening of the child-like nature within you, a recognition of the freeing power of forgiveness, the pursuit of healing and wholeness, a sense of being drawn to welcome others with Christian hospitality, or a commitment to discerning the Spirit’s guidance for how you say yes and no as you seek to live and, ultimately, to die well, or some combination of all of these, I hope that it has awakened for you a thirst for a deeper relationship with God. And that, as we leave this time of worship together, you will not simply leave behind all that has been said or the possibilities for a deeper, more vibrant faith. But, that you will take something with you, putting at least one of these practices in your spiritual backpack to carry with you as you continue walking with Christ on your journey of discipleship.
Final Sunday in Passionate Spirituality Series
Matthew 5:13-16 Psalm 42
For nine weeks now, we have been talking about passionate spirituality and some of the practices that can help revive our relationship with the author of our faith when we find ourselves feeling stagnate or cut off from God. In the process, we have explored discernment, healing, living and dying well, saying yes and saying no, prayer, child-likeness, forgiveness, and hospitality in keeping with the interests you all shared with Carrie and me in June. And, while I know from the comments that we have received that many of you have found some aspect or another of our tour helpful or maybe even inspiring for your own spiritual journeys. But, I wonder if we have left something important unsaid. I wonder if, for all the time we have spent with particulars, we have missed the bigger picture. What, after all, is passionate spirituality? And, why should we worry about pursuing it?
If we hear those questions and feel like we don’t even know where to begin the answers (which may be the case from the looks on some of your faces), I have to admit that I’m not really surprised. Passionate Spirituality is a vague, amorphous term that can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. And, when I began our journey together two months ago, I chose not to delve into what it might mean because I wanted you all to be able to discover it for yourselves, and I hope that you have. Yet, it may be good for us to step back and look at the bigger picture. And, though we may not be able to define passionate spirituality, we all know it when we see it – or at least the fruits of it because the lives of those who have found it are marked by power and an unmistakable sense of connection with God that stands our self-satisfied lives on end.
If you take a moment to think about it, I’m sure you can identity a few people who embody this life. Some are so well known that they have become a part of our communal identity: Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothy Day, Gandhi, Mother Teresa, and any number of others. Yet, as easy as it is to name those famous figures as examples, they have become almost unreal – clichés that have lost a good deal of their meaning in the process of becoming short-hand references dropped in passing. There are others in our traditions whose stories are fresher and can offer us more illumination.
One of these is Sister Anna Mow. Now, don’t let the name throw you. Sister Anna was not a nun. She was a plain woman of the Church of the Brethren in an age when we still called each other brother and sister as recognition that we are all adopted into the family of Christ.
Sister Anna was, as I said, a plain woman. She wore the plain dress of the old Brethren, and she sought to follow the example of Christ by opening her heart to all that she met. She had little for herself because she chose to give most (if not all) of what she could spare to those in need, and she spent much of her time working with young people in the church.
She was dedicated in her devotion to God and ardent in her prayers for the church as a whole and the individual people she knew. Those whose lives she touched found her to be inspirational. They honored and loved her with all her quirks because she was an example of the faith and selfless-ness they felt was at the heart of Christianity. And she, in turn, accepted them for who they were and pushed them to become all that they could be. Yet, no one resented her because it was clear to everyone that her love was not conditional and her guidance came from the dreams she had for others. As one folk song said it, “[she] had a hole in her stocking and a pocket full of dreams…. And a heart so big, that it could cure your soul.”
If you want to know more about Sister Anna, you can just ask Sue Overman. She knows a lot of the stories about her and I bet she would happy to share them with you.
Another example from the history of the Church of the Brethren is that of Sarah Rider Major. Sister Sarah was born in the early part of the twentieth century and lived most of her life on the farmland of Ohio. One day, during her prayer time, she felt the call of the Spirit to preach the good news of Christ. That might not seem like such a big deal to us now, but at that time, women were not allowed to be in leadership of the church – let alone preach the gospel.
Sister Sarah did not let that stop her. After a time of more prayer and discernment (on her own and with others), she decided that she had to obey God’s call. So, during the time in worship when the ministers shared the message, she rose to speak. Though the leaders of her congregation responded by asking her to stop, she continued to obey the calling she felt every time she went to prayer by traveling to other congregations.
As news of the woman preacher spread, many people expressed concern about this breach of the Church’s teaching. Eventually, it came up as a part of the business at Annual Conference where the elder body of the church directed her to stop. Once again, Sarah spent time in prayer and reflection and found that she simply could not go against the will of the Spirit in whose presence she sought to dwell. And, though the annual meeting sent a delegation of elders to discipline her, after listening to her preach they found that they could not bring themselves to silence a voice that spoke the gospel with such power. So, Sister Sarah continued to preach, paving the way for other women to become preachers and leaders in the church.
Two women of extraordinary conviction and vibrant faith …. Both of them longed for a closer, deeper relationship with the God. Both of them thirsted for the presence of the Spirit filling them with the water of life, bringing dreams of what could be, and opening their eyes to the activity of the divine all around them at all times. And, both of them found themselves propelled into the world to follow Christ in lives of discipleship that were rich and juicy with the fruits of their passionate spirituality … whatever it led them and whatever the cost.
In the end, there is really no way that I can tell you what passionate spirituality is because each person experiences it differently and is uniquely affected by the touch of the Spirit. What I can say, is that the remarkable thing about people who have found it is that they live vibrant lives that call to us, resonating with that part of each of us that longs to know God more deeply. What each person’s response to that calling is cannot be known in advance. But, if we can say anything with certainty, we can say that passionate spirituality is marked by deep faith and a commitment to feed that hunger for God which gives it birth and which it, in turn, feeds and nurtures. And we can go one step further and say that passionate spirituality is evidenced by vibrant discipleship, by lives committed to seeking out the will of God and doing what needs to be done in order bring the Realm of God more fully into being here and now.
When you find the key that unlocks that kind of spirituality within your own soul, you will know it. It will come over you with a power and a sweetness that you never thought possible. Or, it will sneak up on you, growing stronger and stronger, reshaping your heart and your life until, one day, you will get a glimpse of yourself and wonder who, exactly, you are. And, a little voice inside you will tell you that you are a chosen one, a beloved child of God who has answered the call to walk closely with the One who is at the heart of all life.
As we come to the end of this series, I pray that at least one of the practices we have explored has inspired you – has helped you find your way closer to your own passionate spirituality. Whether it is a new type of prayer, the reawakening of the child-like nature within you, a recognition of the freeing power of forgiveness, the pursuit of healing and wholeness, a sense of being drawn to welcome others with Christian hospitality, or a commitment to discerning the Spirit’s guidance for how you say yes and no as you seek to live and, ultimately, to die well, or some combination of all of these, I hope that it has awakened for you a thirst for a deeper relationship with God. And that, as we leave this time of worship together, you will not simply leave behind all that has been said or the possibilities for a deeper, more vibrant faith. But, that you will take something with you, putting at least one of these practices in your spiritual backpack to carry with you as you continue walking with Christ on your journey of discipleship.
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