sermon by Torin Eikler
Lent 2
Psalm 27 Luke 4:1-13
As you all have probably figured out over the past – is it almost three years now, Carrie and I like to play around with different images of the divine. We use names like Teacher, Brother, and Friend to reveal the different ways in which we experience our Creator. We address our God with titles like Lord, Shepherd, Heart of Compassion, Author of Life, and Savior in order to call forward different characteristics or roles that are part of God’s nature. There are times when metaphors like rock or well or the “stronghold” used by the Psalmist in today’s text seem to be the most helpful as we seek to understand the Holy One we worship and rely on and serve. We even break with tradition from time to time and speak or sing of God as mother or lover.
When we do that, we aren’t really “playing” as such. The traditional title of Father and the image that comes to mind when we use it can be quite comforting. It’s familiar and many of us associate it with the feeling of a wise, benevolent, guiding presence watching over us. But it is limited by our relationships with our own fathers or, for some of us, the experience of being a father. For some of us, it is a difficult – even threatening – image because of bad experiences with father figures in the past. And, of course, a strictly male figure does not reflect the reality that men and women are made in the image of God. Other images not only help us explore the depth and breadth of God’s nature, they can open the door for many of us to relate to God in more profound ways.
All that being said, I have to admit that I was caught off guard by the way Jesus speaks of God as a chicken in his lament for Jerusalem. As much as I appreciate broadening my understanding of God’s nature, I have never once summoned that image as I close my eyes in prayer. A mother … yes, fine. There are many times that I have felt comforted as I imagined her cradling me in warm arms. But a mother hen just doesn’t sit well with me. Somehow it seems a little … undignified to picture the author of all creation as a dirt-pecking egg-layer that might well be on the table for dinner tonight.
Disrespectful might be a better word. All the other images I use for God have a touch of awe in them. Eagles and fortresses, defenders and mighty rivers, even fires and floods all have their own sense of beauty or power … or both, and that feels more appropriate when addressing the One who is at the center of all life. Relational metaphors, too, imply respect … and love. And I can connect to God in these ways much more easily. Honestly, there just isn’t much that I find to respect and love in a chicken – be it a hen or a rooster … not much that brings me inspiration or a sense of comfort and security.
I think that’s what really at the heart of things for me. Whatever else God is to me in my life – guide, teacher, whatever – I want God to be a place of refuge. I need to have that “stronghold” to turn to when things get shaky – those mighty arms and boundless heart to welcome and protect me. And, if I’m honest, there is a part of me that really connects with the Psalms where one’s enemies are dashed to smithereens.
Most of me doesn’t like that image, and theologically I don’t think it fits with Jesus teachings about the love of God. But, some of me definitely wants those people to get “smited” with divine retribution for what they’ve done to me and to those I care about. In that sense, I would really rather have a fox God full of cunning, craftiness, and even betrayal than the bird that I grew up associating with cowardliness and shame. Even that treacherous God would feel safer - more secure since the wily one would, of course, be on my side.
Jesus didn’t give us that, though. He didn’t give a mighty warrior to defend us or an impenetrable stone retreat to run to. He gave us mother hen to gather us under her wings, and in doing so, he once again challenged our assumptions and our perception of the world as was his wont.
Modern thought teaches us that there are three ways that we reflexively respond to the threat of danger. You are undoubtedly familiar with two of them – fight or flight. The third one, the one that didn’t make it into our cultural shorthand, is freeze. These responses are hard-wired into the most primitive part of our brain stem, and we have all experienced the way they can take over when we are under stress. Faced with overwhelming force – physical or emotional, we turn and run for safety whether that be a room with a locked door or the embrace of friends and family. Backed into a corner, we fight back with every adrenaline-laced ounce of strength we’ve got. Surprised by an emotional outburst or an unexpected intruder who hasn’t seen us, we freeze up and pray that the moment will pass, the danger pass us by. And instinct gets even more powerful when our children are involved.
A hen responds in a different way. Fight, flight, and freeze are certainly a part of their vocabulary. Just take a few quick steps toward one and you’re certain to see her flee, wings flapping crazily in an attempt to take to the air. But, when she has her chicks with her and she senses danger close at hand, she doesn’t run. She doesn’t become unpredictable and dangerous like wolves or bears, attacking with tooth and claw – or beak in this case. She doesn’t freeze either.
Instead, she spreads her wings and clucks a warning to the chicks who immediately run to her side. Then, she covers them with her wings and waits for what’s coming, turning to keep the threat in sight. If an attack does comes, she will use her beak to its full potential, but she will not, under any circumstances, leave or even uncover the chicks clustered around her. She holds her ground - even when it means her own death - in order to protect her children.
Jesus didn’t leave us defenseless. He just challenged us to think of our protector in a different way. In a way, he challenged us to think about safety and security in a different way. It is not about building defenses or locking doors against the dangers that might be – probably are – lurking out there somewhere. It’s not about stockpiling weapons or wealth or prestige against the day when they might help you fend off the danger of an intruder or unemployment or slander.
It is about love.
Power, wealth, status … all those things that we have learned to pursue do bring a measure of security. But that safety is a fleeting thing, slippery and treacherous as a fox, and it comes with a quite a big price. We spend our life energy piling it up, passing by some of the most wonderful opportunities … some of the most fulfilling moments that come our way just in case. In the process, we step on the dreams, hopes, and lives of others, alienating them and digging chasms of separation that keep us alone even more effectively than they keep others away. Often, the very same things we count on for our security make us a target for others and, ultimately, there is no hidey-hole or weapon than can guarantee our safety.
Love, though … love is a different creature all together – especially the sacrificial love of the hen. Love finds and fulfills all those moments that make our lives rich. It reaches out to others and builds them up, making their lives richer as well. Love worms its way through the walls, bringing them down and filling in the chasms between us with the rubble. When we “arm” ourselves with love … let love be our arms, we never find ourselves alone because we are surrounded by a community that offers us the same caring and support that we have given.
When we look at life through love, “safety” and “security” take on a different tone. Our assumptions and priorities change, and we realize that even though we may feel vulnerable and overwhelmed, we face our challenges with more strength and endurance. When we fall or we are knocked down, there is a safety net to catch us. When that overwhelming force comes against us, we are supported by others who rise to stand with us.
Jesus, with his eyes of love, knew this to be the truth – the key to life in the Kingdom and the true life of the soul. He tried again and again to explain it:
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your mind, and all your strength, [and] love your neighbor as yourself.”
“If you love only those who love you, what credit is it to you?”
“Love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, [and] you will be children of the Most High.”
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often I have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.”
And, of course, that is what Jesus did. He gathered us all together under those great downy wings, showing us with his life the truth that we couldn’t understand in words … giving us life even as he let go of his own … raising up a community built on the foundation of sacrificial love so that all who came after him would find a safe haven in its breast and a peace and security that the world does not have to offer.
I invite you now to close your eyes and your hands. Put all your assumptions and your false perception inside those fists. Add all those things that you hold onto for dear life: your need for money in the bank, your wily and clever plans for defense, your Mountaineer spirit, your locked doors, your weapons, and the anger, despair, and hardness of heart that buttress the walls of your fortress. Squeeze in the domineering images of a mighty, muscled, warrior God between the fingers and tuck in the stragglers and loose ends.
It’s quite a handful isn’t it? Squeeze it a little.
Feel the strength of the fear and the worry that keep you clinging to them.
As we sit together in silent communion, try to let them all go. Free your heart of the burden they have become. Spread open your hands to receive the power of the love that is poured out on you – the love that lives within you. Feel the support of the community of faith here and beyond these walls, a community that holds you up and gives you power and strength. Let your spirit out from behind the walls your have built so that it can soar under the Eternal Hen’s outstretched wings.
(waiting worship)
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
It Sounded So Convincing
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Lent 1
Luke 4:1-13
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
I drew the short straw one day early last week. It was my morning to get up with Alistair, or whichever one of the boys gets up first, but usually it’s Alistair. I always feel lucky if we make it to 6am before I need to slip downstairs in the cold. Hoping I don’t step on the cat, Alistair and I find our way to the thermostat, tempted to turn it up higher than we need, and settle on that ambiguous place on the dial—somewhere between 63 and 67.
This particular morning we were doing some random play that you do with one-year-olds. The oddly fascinating “put a clothespin in an empty juice bottle” game, or “I’ll follow you around while you empty out all the drawers—I’m too tired to care” game. Around 7:00 the phone rings and it is Bev, Torin’s mom. She needed a favor from us.
Apparently they woke up this particular morning and found out that their yahoo email was inaccessible. In the midst of this, they also found out that someone hacked into their email account and sent an email to their entire contact list. This email that everyone received from them gave the following story: They had made a last minute trip to London. Something happened in London (the exact details I’m not sure of), but the message said they had all their possessions and money stolen, and to top it off, Joel was in the hospital. Please wire $2,000 immediately to the following number.
Now since their email wasn’t working, what they needed from us was to email all our family members to tell them this was a hoax: they weren’t in London, Joel wasn’t in the hospital, they didn’t need rescuing. I sat down in our study to remedy this simple problem with coffee in hand, Alistair playing in the paper recycling box.
Now, if you want to know how much you are loved, have someone send out an email scam saying you are stranded in London, no money, and in the hospital. A friend in Paris, France emailed us to check out the situation, and he even called Joel’s work to ask what was going on. Fritz, a family friend in Switzerland called our house twice before we could answer, called Bev and Joel’s home three times, and finally got through to us.
I talked with Fritz a while. He had never received an email scam like that before. I told him we are always suspicious here in the US when we get the random email similar to this. He laughed and said, “You know, it seemed ridiculous but how was I to know? I mean if Bev Eikenberry writes me and says she is in trouble, I’m going to help her. It sounded convincing.”
It sounded convincing. So knowing how this drama ended makes how it began all the more interesting. Some of you knew that Torin’s parents spent 3 weeks on a medical practicum in Nicaragua this January. A physically and emotionally exhausting trip, they returned to Managua, the capital, filled and depleted at the same time. They found an internet café, logged onto their email account, and found a message, supposedly, from Yahoo administrators, their email provider. The email made a pretty convincing argument that Bev and Joel needed to confirm their login name and password, or their email account would be terminated within 24 hours. The email was sent the day before…time was literally ticking down.
Now my in-laws are no suckers. They are pretty travel and internet savvy. So they quickly deliberated and responded: it was from their email provider after all…it seemed legitimate. And the thought of being without email as there only means of communication while out of the country seemed frightening. And so the saga began. Whoever was on the other end took advantage. It was clear that it was a perfect storm of events: tail end of a difficult trip, physically and emotionally exhausted, ready to go home, to connect with family, to rest, to bathe.
Afterwards they felt duped, apologetic for the worry it caused, and bit embarrassed as well. They felt like they should have known better . After twenty-one days so completely out of their element, in a somewhat physical and emotional wilderness, it all sounded so convincing.
It seems strange doesn’t it…that the most powerful temptations exploit our ability to be reasonable creatures? The temptations that are too easily accepted are the ones that really make sense. It’s our ability to reason and have sound judgment, our capacity to deliberate and discern that can be our pitfall. But as we all know, when we’ve been in the wilderness for too long, there is a tipping point, and all our faculties begin ebbing away.
For Jesus it was the desert of Palestine, for my in-laws it was the forests of Nicaragua. But for you it might be the caves of depression or stress or loneliness. It may be the ocean of too many commitments. It may be the exhaustion from too many early mornings and not enough sleep, or too much work when you’re not compensated fairly, or when you don’t know from month to month what your health prognosis will be, or…or what? What is it for you?
I was recently looking at a painting called the Temptation of Christ by Lorenz Katzheimer. Jesus and the tempter, or the devil, or however you understand it, are in the wilderness. The creature tempting Jesus is terrifying, a combination of real and imagined creatures, horns, claws, even feathers and fur. When we read about Christ’s temptation, our image of the devil probably falls somewhere along the spectrum between the comical red devil of Halloween and this hideous tempter presented by Katzheimer.
Either one seems easy to reject, don’t you think? If a devil looking like this was to offer us even the most scrumptious bread, most tantalizing gifts of power, we would likely stop, look at the bearer of such temptations, and with skepticism say “Wait a minute…I know better. You’re not going to dupe me.”
Scholars are in agreement that we should interpret this passage as Jesus facing an adversary that comes across as some sort of helper who offers things that are completely reasonable and even good. As Kate Huey reflects, “After all, why shouldn’t Jesus satisfy his hunger with a little bread, and wouldn’t it be great if Jesus ruled the world (instead of the hated Romans), and how impressive would it be if Jesus flung himself off the temple roof and a thousand angels came to rescue? ”[1]
And the same convincing temptations are there for us: Why shouldn’t we satisfy our hunger for notoriety by getting involved in all the committees or studies we can—after all, we owe it to ourselves, and owe it to our institutions, right? Why shouldn’t we feel we should be in control of every emotion and every situation our young children put us in—after all, it is our responsibility as parents to be perfect, right?
So we begin forty days of Lent, confronting the convincing temptations of our wilderness. We don’t need to enter into it, because we live in the midst of it. We just might not be able to see it for what it is. I’ve only recently begun to appreciate the opportunity Lent provides for me to explore my wilderness. In my life, I need lists. I need a schedule. I need a google calendar reminder telling me “look at your life for these 40 days. It’s a good life, but you’ve got lots to work on.” And I guess I’m lucky that I don’t receive that as a negative thing, but an empowering opportunity. My life can be such a wilderness that I’m rarely given permission to stop and deal with it. Do you need that? Do you need to be convinced that your life needs assessment?
It’s not a convincing argument in most of our lives. Time could be better spent, energy better directed. It’s too depressing to look at the dark spots in our lives, and more effective to try to do something better. Now, I’ve taken different approaches to Lent, depending on how I feel each year. Sometimes I give up those things that are of no real consequence, to just see if I can do it. Can I really give up…chocolate? But, sometimes instead of giving something up, I’d take something up, focusing more on instilling spiritual disciplines in my life, or finding ways to really take care of myself, and hopefully, my spiritual life.
But that’s not what I’m feeling this year. Not with our theme of holding on and letting go. Not with the realization that the temptations in my life are the convincing invitations to replace the first fruits to God with the dried and tart leftovers of my own ego and ambition. I need to let go of those things that I have no power to make better on my own.
During Lent we often either give up those things that are convincingly “bad” or take something up something that is convincingly “good,”—those things that are likely quite obvious. But I wonder if we could choose a more difficult Lenten discipline together this year? What if we tried to let go of those things we are so convinced that we need to hold onto? Those things that make sense in our lives, that give us identity, that help us feel in control, that fill our schedules with meaning, that others look upon with such admiration, but in reality…those things that leave us famished, powerless, and falling deeper into our own, personal wilderness. It takes some convincing, doesn’t it?
Now before I get in trouble with our leadership team for giving you all permission to not sign up for one more thing, I want to assure you, I’m not saying don’t take on one more thing. Maybe seriously, that is what you need to do. But maybe, for just 40 days, you unearth what is at the heart of your wilderness, not just the fruits of it. Maybe for 40 days that could be your Lenten prayer, to identify the workings maybe, of pride, self-doubt, fear of abandonment, perfectionism, need to control, or…or?
In our practical minds, it doesn’t seem very convincing. There’s not much tangible we can do with this sort of Lenten discipline right away. But maybe that can be at the heart of what we let go of—the notion that we can do it all, fix it all, without the power of the one who has faced it all before us, blessing us and strengthening us along the way. Maybe we can let go and just be in the wilderness, “For the [wilderness] is not God-forsaken nor does it belong to the devil. It is God’s home. The Holy Spirit is there, within us and beside us. And if we cannot feel that spirit inside of us or at our side, perhaps we can at least imagine Jesus there, not too far way, with enough in him to sustain us,”[2] to hold onto us, convincing us we can let go.
---
As we enter into a time of confession, reflection, and reconciliation, I invite you to close your eyes (hopefully they haven’t been closed for too long yet), take a few deep breaths, and clench your fist tightly. Enter into a time of exploring the wilderness with me…
You are a beloved, beautiful child of God. You have so much going for you, so much going in your life. Yet in the middle of the world’s beauty you find yourself in a wilderness. Maybe it is obvious to you. Or maybe you only feel the effects of it: tired and distracted, doubtful of yourself and your abilities, distant from those around you and your God. You are so convinced of those things that give you strength, and yet in some way, you feel depleted, drained, troubled. What is one thing you are so convinced of? Clutch your hands tightly. You’re holding onto it.
Now, slowly release your grip. Open your hands and turn them so they are facing up. Let go of the convincing arguments that tempt you. Walk into the wilderness with release.
[1] Huey, Kate. Wilderness Companions http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/february-21-2010.html
[2] Stendahl, John. New Proclamation 2001.
Lent 1
Luke 4:1-13
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
I drew the short straw one day early last week. It was my morning to get up with Alistair, or whichever one of the boys gets up first, but usually it’s Alistair. I always feel lucky if we make it to 6am before I need to slip downstairs in the cold. Hoping I don’t step on the cat, Alistair and I find our way to the thermostat, tempted to turn it up higher than we need, and settle on that ambiguous place on the dial—somewhere between 63 and 67.
This particular morning we were doing some random play that you do with one-year-olds. The oddly fascinating “put a clothespin in an empty juice bottle” game, or “I’ll follow you around while you empty out all the drawers—I’m too tired to care” game. Around 7:00 the phone rings and it is Bev, Torin’s mom. She needed a favor from us.
Apparently they woke up this particular morning and found out that their yahoo email was inaccessible. In the midst of this, they also found out that someone hacked into their email account and sent an email to their entire contact list. This email that everyone received from them gave the following story: They had made a last minute trip to London. Something happened in London (the exact details I’m not sure of), but the message said they had all their possessions and money stolen, and to top it off, Joel was in the hospital. Please wire $2,000 immediately to the following number.
Now since their email wasn’t working, what they needed from us was to email all our family members to tell them this was a hoax: they weren’t in London, Joel wasn’t in the hospital, they didn’t need rescuing. I sat down in our study to remedy this simple problem with coffee in hand, Alistair playing in the paper recycling box.
Now, if you want to know how much you are loved, have someone send out an email scam saying you are stranded in London, no money, and in the hospital. A friend in Paris, France emailed us to check out the situation, and he even called Joel’s work to ask what was going on. Fritz, a family friend in Switzerland called our house twice before we could answer, called Bev and Joel’s home three times, and finally got through to us.
I talked with Fritz a while. He had never received an email scam like that before. I told him we are always suspicious here in the US when we get the random email similar to this. He laughed and said, “You know, it seemed ridiculous but how was I to know? I mean if Bev Eikenberry writes me and says she is in trouble, I’m going to help her. It sounded convincing.”
It sounded convincing. So knowing how this drama ended makes how it began all the more interesting. Some of you knew that Torin’s parents spent 3 weeks on a medical practicum in Nicaragua this January. A physically and emotionally exhausting trip, they returned to Managua, the capital, filled and depleted at the same time. They found an internet café, logged onto their email account, and found a message, supposedly, from Yahoo administrators, their email provider. The email made a pretty convincing argument that Bev and Joel needed to confirm their login name and password, or their email account would be terminated within 24 hours. The email was sent the day before…time was literally ticking down.
Now my in-laws are no suckers. They are pretty travel and internet savvy. So they quickly deliberated and responded: it was from their email provider after all…it seemed legitimate. And the thought of being without email as there only means of communication while out of the country seemed frightening. And so the saga began. Whoever was on the other end took advantage. It was clear that it was a perfect storm of events: tail end of a difficult trip, physically and emotionally exhausted, ready to go home, to connect with family, to rest, to bathe.
Afterwards they felt duped, apologetic for the worry it caused, and bit embarrassed as well. They felt like they should have known better . After twenty-one days so completely out of their element, in a somewhat physical and emotional wilderness, it all sounded so convincing.
It seems strange doesn’t it…that the most powerful temptations exploit our ability to be reasonable creatures? The temptations that are too easily accepted are the ones that really make sense. It’s our ability to reason and have sound judgment, our capacity to deliberate and discern that can be our pitfall. But as we all know, when we’ve been in the wilderness for too long, there is a tipping point, and all our faculties begin ebbing away.
For Jesus it was the desert of Palestine, for my in-laws it was the forests of Nicaragua. But for you it might be the caves of depression or stress or loneliness. It may be the ocean of too many commitments. It may be the exhaustion from too many early mornings and not enough sleep, or too much work when you’re not compensated fairly, or when you don’t know from month to month what your health prognosis will be, or…or what? What is it for you?
I was recently looking at a painting called the Temptation of Christ by Lorenz Katzheimer. Jesus and the tempter, or the devil, or however you understand it, are in the wilderness. The creature tempting Jesus is terrifying, a combination of real and imagined creatures, horns, claws, even feathers and fur. When we read about Christ’s temptation, our image of the devil probably falls somewhere along the spectrum between the comical red devil of Halloween and this hideous tempter presented by Katzheimer.
Either one seems easy to reject, don’t you think? If a devil looking like this was to offer us even the most scrumptious bread, most tantalizing gifts of power, we would likely stop, look at the bearer of such temptations, and with skepticism say “Wait a minute…I know better. You’re not going to dupe me.”
Scholars are in agreement that we should interpret this passage as Jesus facing an adversary that comes across as some sort of helper who offers things that are completely reasonable and even good. As Kate Huey reflects, “After all, why shouldn’t Jesus satisfy his hunger with a little bread, and wouldn’t it be great if Jesus ruled the world (instead of the hated Romans), and how impressive would it be if Jesus flung himself off the temple roof and a thousand angels came to rescue? ”[1]
And the same convincing temptations are there for us: Why shouldn’t we satisfy our hunger for notoriety by getting involved in all the committees or studies we can—after all, we owe it to ourselves, and owe it to our institutions, right? Why shouldn’t we feel we should be in control of every emotion and every situation our young children put us in—after all, it is our responsibility as parents to be perfect, right?
So we begin forty days of Lent, confronting the convincing temptations of our wilderness. We don’t need to enter into it, because we live in the midst of it. We just might not be able to see it for what it is. I’ve only recently begun to appreciate the opportunity Lent provides for me to explore my wilderness. In my life, I need lists. I need a schedule. I need a google calendar reminder telling me “look at your life for these 40 days. It’s a good life, but you’ve got lots to work on.” And I guess I’m lucky that I don’t receive that as a negative thing, but an empowering opportunity. My life can be such a wilderness that I’m rarely given permission to stop and deal with it. Do you need that? Do you need to be convinced that your life needs assessment?
It’s not a convincing argument in most of our lives. Time could be better spent, energy better directed. It’s too depressing to look at the dark spots in our lives, and more effective to try to do something better. Now, I’ve taken different approaches to Lent, depending on how I feel each year. Sometimes I give up those things that are of no real consequence, to just see if I can do it. Can I really give up…chocolate? But, sometimes instead of giving something up, I’d take something up, focusing more on instilling spiritual disciplines in my life, or finding ways to really take care of myself, and hopefully, my spiritual life.
But that’s not what I’m feeling this year. Not with our theme of holding on and letting go. Not with the realization that the temptations in my life are the convincing invitations to replace the first fruits to God with the dried and tart leftovers of my own ego and ambition. I need to let go of those things that I have no power to make better on my own.
During Lent we often either give up those things that are convincingly “bad” or take something up something that is convincingly “good,”—those things that are likely quite obvious. But I wonder if we could choose a more difficult Lenten discipline together this year? What if we tried to let go of those things we are so convinced that we need to hold onto? Those things that make sense in our lives, that give us identity, that help us feel in control, that fill our schedules with meaning, that others look upon with such admiration, but in reality…those things that leave us famished, powerless, and falling deeper into our own, personal wilderness. It takes some convincing, doesn’t it?
Now before I get in trouble with our leadership team for giving you all permission to not sign up for one more thing, I want to assure you, I’m not saying don’t take on one more thing. Maybe seriously, that is what you need to do. But maybe, for just 40 days, you unearth what is at the heart of your wilderness, not just the fruits of it. Maybe for 40 days that could be your Lenten prayer, to identify the workings maybe, of pride, self-doubt, fear of abandonment, perfectionism, need to control, or…or?
In our practical minds, it doesn’t seem very convincing. There’s not much tangible we can do with this sort of Lenten discipline right away. But maybe that can be at the heart of what we let go of—the notion that we can do it all, fix it all, without the power of the one who has faced it all before us, blessing us and strengthening us along the way. Maybe we can let go and just be in the wilderness, “For the [wilderness] is not God-forsaken nor does it belong to the devil. It is God’s home. The Holy Spirit is there, within us and beside us. And if we cannot feel that spirit inside of us or at our side, perhaps we can at least imagine Jesus there, not too far way, with enough in him to sustain us,”[2] to hold onto us, convincing us we can let go.
---
As we enter into a time of confession, reflection, and reconciliation, I invite you to close your eyes (hopefully they haven’t been closed for too long yet), take a few deep breaths, and clench your fist tightly. Enter into a time of exploring the wilderness with me…
You are a beloved, beautiful child of God. You have so much going for you, so much going in your life. Yet in the middle of the world’s beauty you find yourself in a wilderness. Maybe it is obvious to you. Or maybe you only feel the effects of it: tired and distracted, doubtful of yourself and your abilities, distant from those around you and your God. You are so convinced of those things that give you strength, and yet in some way, you feel depleted, drained, troubled. What is one thing you are so convinced of? Clutch your hands tightly. You’re holding onto it.
Now, slowly release your grip. Open your hands and turn them so they are facing up. Let go of the convincing arguments that tempt you. Walk into the wilderness with release.
[1] Huey, Kate. Wilderness Companions http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/february-21-2010.html
[2] Stendahl, John. New Proclamation 2001.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
"the alchemy of the ashes"
lack of liturgical forsight had last year's palms
composting in our garden,
leaving me to to burn last Sunday's bulletins
on the church griddle
consecrated for buckwheat fudraisers,
to grace the heads of only five parishoners
and my sons' cheeks
as we cuddle before bed.
c.e.
composting in our garden,
leaving me to to burn last Sunday's bulletins
on the church griddle
consecrated for buckwheat fudraisers,
to grace the heads of only five parishoners
and my sons' cheeks
as we cuddle before bed.
c.e.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Knock, Knock ....
sermon by Torin Eikler
Jeremiah 17:5-10 Luke 6:17-26
Knock, knock …
Who’s there?
Sebastian.
Sebastian who?
Sebastian Thomas.
A couple of weeks ago, my mother introduced Sebastian to “knock, knock” jokes for the first time, and he fell in love. His first attempts were all the same – exactly what you just heard followed by uproarious laughter. But, slowly, he has become a little more sophisticated. He now puts the first name of anyone or anything in the joke and finishes it with the second name … or something totally silly, and follows up with a “HAAA.”
Of course, we play along for awhile - or for as long as our patience holds out. Then, we try to move the game to a different level. At first, we used our personal favorites, jokes like:
knock, knock …
who’s there?
Doctor.
Doctor who?
How did you know?
But, all of our favorites are way above Sebastian’s head, and they just get a blank stare or a polite chuckle before he returns to his own particular style. As things drag on, we work our way back toward his developmental level until we get to jokes that just ahead of where he is.
Just a few days ago, we were once again engaged in an epic knock, knock fest, and I remembered one that I hadn’t used before....
knock, knock …
who’s there?
Atch.
Atch who?
Bless you!
And, as Sebastian worked it through and began to laugh a little, I started to think about that oh-so-common winter benediction – “Bless you.” Why do we say that? Where did it come from? And what, exactly, does it mean?
There are any number of explanations out there, and they range from a wish for others to get better to an expression of our sympathy to a prayer offered for someone on the verge of death. (That last one comes from a belief that a person’s heart stops during the moment of a sneeze and may not always start again.) But they all assume that we know what it means to be blessed, and I wonder if we really do.
Since I don’t know myself, I looked it up. A couple of online resources, including Wikipedia of course, list blessing as “a type of religious pronouncement,” “[protecting or guarding] from evil,” and “[requesting] the bestowal of divine favor” which are the definitions we are familiar with. The Westminster Dictionary of Theological Terms adds “[offering] praise” as in the Psalmist’s “O Bless the Lord, my soul.”
But another definition that is more pertinent for us today is “to convey favor.” That is what Jesus was doing in the sermon we have recorded in Luke. The people – the crowd that was committed to following him and listening to his teachings – were gathered around him to receive all that he had to give. And he responded to them by conveying favor upon them.
Judging by the message he gave them, they were all poor people - or at least mostly. They were hungry, and they suffered due to their position in society. By all traditional worldly measures, they would have been considered unlucky. By some religious interpretations of the day they would have been considered cursed. They came to Jesus for hope and healing and he gave them both, curing illness and infirmity, casting out demons, and telling them that despite the world’s judgment they were still special to God.
“Knock, knock,” they said with hopeful resignation.
“Who’s there?”
“The poor – the hungry and suffering.”
“Laugh for God loves you, and you will have all you need.”
And then there’s the other half of the message – the woes. The rich there in the crowd must have felt awfully good when they heard blessings pronounced on the poor. If the poor were to be blessed then certainly they would be too - maybe even more so. If conventional wisdom was to believed, their wealth was already a strong sign of the favor of God. So, they were sitting pretty, and in my imagination I can almost see the smiles spreading across their faces, the excited laughter building in their chests.
But it was short-lived pleasure, as we know. When their turn came, there were no reassuring words; no promises of a bright future … not even a hint of approval. Jesus turned to them and pronounced woe. “Woe to you who are full, woe to you who enjoy life now, woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation already.”
If blessing someone is conveying favor, “woe-ing” someone (if there is such a word) is just the opposite. Jesus was making it clear that God was not particularly pleased with the wealthy. And though the story is not explicit about why that was the case, there are some clues to help us understand.
One of them is hiding in Jesus’ reference to the Kingdom of God. We usually think of the Kingdom as a thing of the future - a time when the world will reflect God’s true sense of justice and equity. The first will be last and the last will be first, but really there will not be a first or a last because everyone will be equal thanks to the grace and mercy of God.
But remember that Israel was also the Kingdom of God. It was the place given to the chosen people according to the covenant that Abraham made. And it was fundamentally a Theocracy where God sat “enthroned” in the Temple and governed the people through the law of Moses – a law that spoke often about caring for the poor. Being rich and standing in the midst of a crowd of the poor shows, at best, a shocking level of ignorance and, at worst, a blatant disregard for the will of God. Is it any surprise, then, that Jesus pronounces disfavor on the wealthy?
But, The second and more telling reason disfavor is implied in the last set of blessings and woes – in the mention of the prophets. Throughout the history of Israel, the prophets called the people back to the heart of their faith and the spirit behind the law. The words we heard from Jeremiah this morning sum it up pretty well:
“Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They [are] like a tree planted by water [which] does not cease to bear fruit.” And, “cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength. They [are] like a shrub in the desert [which] lives in the parched places of the wilderness.”
As R. Alan Culpepper understands the pronouncement of blessings and woes in Jesus’ sermon, this is at the heart of the message. The poor are blessed because they rely on God. The world and the people around them have failed them, and they have nowhere else to turn. So, they have come to Jesus trusting that through him their God will provide.
The rich, on the other hand, are in trouble because they struggle with that kind of trust. Their wealth brings them confidence in their own ability to provide for themselves. The respect and admiration they receive from others makes them proud and gives them a feeling of power and control. And, that self-reliance … that faith in their own strength is their downfall. It gets in the way of genuine dependence on God’s provident care and stops their ears to the invitation to live according the ways of the Kingdom.[1]
“Knock, knock,” they said with confident boldness.
“Who’s there?”
“The rich – the happy and content.”
“Mourn for what could be and take what happiness you can,
for you do not hear the voice of God.”
You know, what’s interesting to me is that we don’t hear this version of the beatitudes all that often. We don’t teach our children to learn it by heart. We are much happier with Matthew’s version – the one that reads, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” And so on.
I wonder if that has anything to do with the stark clarity of the text in Luke. Where Matthew says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Luke says, “Blessed are you who are poor.” That makes it hit home in a different way. Jesus seems to be speaking directly to us, and there is no wiggle room for us to escape the truth that we are not poor. There is no “poor in spirit” to retreat to– whatever that means. And without that loophole, we start to get a squirmy, uncomfortable feeling as we realize that we may be – we probably are – among those who received judgment instead of blessing.
So, what do we do with that feeling? Is there any hope for us or should we just put aside our sense of guilt and hide from the fear as we do so often? The easy answer, the one that I really want to give you because it’s the one I really want to hear, is that everything will be okay. Do what you can to follow the teachings of Christ. Reach out in compassion to help the poor and alleviate the suffering you see around you. Ask forgiveness for the times you fail. And God, in the strength of unbounded love, will hear your prayers and bless you. And there is truth in that.
The truer answer – or maybe the more complete answer – is not so easy to hear. There is hope, but it lies in another direction. We find it not when we use our riches to help those around us, but when we let go of our need to take control of the situation and follow the leading of God. For some of us, like for the rich young ruler, that could mean getting rid of stuff – maybe even selling or giving away things we cherish or are most proud of. For some of us that may mean giving up habits or activities that have more of a hold on us than we have on them. For most of us it will mean reevaluating our goals and priorities to see how well the line up with God’s.
However difficult those tasks may be, that is the way. Whatever it is that plugs the ears of our soul, we need to clear it out so that we can hear the Voice calling to us. Whatever blinds the eyes of our hearts, we need to wash it away so that we see the path on which the Spirit would lead us. Whatever leads us to mistake our weakness for strength – and we all have something … whatever it is, it holds us back from trusting in God, and our hope lies in letting it go and grabbing hold of God.
Every day we choose whether we lean into God – to become the poor in spirit even though that may lead us to actually become poor in fact – or we lean into the power and control our wealth affords. We all have to make that choice. We all do make that choice. It may sound harsh, but as Jesus makes clear, it is a truth that we cannot avoid especially as we prepare to enter the season of Lent.
Will we hold onto our illusions of grandeur or will we let them go?
Will we plant ourselves by the living water and bear fruit or will we be shrubs in the desert becoming nothing but tumbleweeds?
Will we hear words of blessing or a pronouncement of woe?
When we knock and Jesus says, “Who’s there?” what will we say?
[1] The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary. Volume IX, 144.
Jeremiah 17:5-10 Luke 6:17-26
Knock, knock …
Who’s there?
Sebastian.
Sebastian who?
Sebastian Thomas.
A couple of weeks ago, my mother introduced Sebastian to “knock, knock” jokes for the first time, and he fell in love. His first attempts were all the same – exactly what you just heard followed by uproarious laughter. But, slowly, he has become a little more sophisticated. He now puts the first name of anyone or anything in the joke and finishes it with the second name … or something totally silly, and follows up with a “HAAA.”
Of course, we play along for awhile - or for as long as our patience holds out. Then, we try to move the game to a different level. At first, we used our personal favorites, jokes like:
knock, knock …
who’s there?
Doctor.
Doctor who?
How did you know?
But, all of our favorites are way above Sebastian’s head, and they just get a blank stare or a polite chuckle before he returns to his own particular style. As things drag on, we work our way back toward his developmental level until we get to jokes that just ahead of where he is.
Just a few days ago, we were once again engaged in an epic knock, knock fest, and I remembered one that I hadn’t used before....
knock, knock …
who’s there?
Atch.
Atch who?
Bless you!
And, as Sebastian worked it through and began to laugh a little, I started to think about that oh-so-common winter benediction – “Bless you.” Why do we say that? Where did it come from? And what, exactly, does it mean?
There are any number of explanations out there, and they range from a wish for others to get better to an expression of our sympathy to a prayer offered for someone on the verge of death. (That last one comes from a belief that a person’s heart stops during the moment of a sneeze and may not always start again.) But they all assume that we know what it means to be blessed, and I wonder if we really do.
Since I don’t know myself, I looked it up. A couple of online resources, including Wikipedia of course, list blessing as “a type of religious pronouncement,” “[protecting or guarding] from evil,” and “[requesting] the bestowal of divine favor” which are the definitions we are familiar with. The Westminster Dictionary of Theological Terms adds “[offering] praise” as in the Psalmist’s “O Bless the Lord, my soul.”
But another definition that is more pertinent for us today is “to convey favor.” That is what Jesus was doing in the sermon we have recorded in Luke. The people – the crowd that was committed to following him and listening to his teachings – were gathered around him to receive all that he had to give. And he responded to them by conveying favor upon them.
Judging by the message he gave them, they were all poor people - or at least mostly. They were hungry, and they suffered due to their position in society. By all traditional worldly measures, they would have been considered unlucky. By some religious interpretations of the day they would have been considered cursed. They came to Jesus for hope and healing and he gave them both, curing illness and infirmity, casting out demons, and telling them that despite the world’s judgment they were still special to God.
“Knock, knock,” they said with hopeful resignation.
“Who’s there?”
“The poor – the hungry and suffering.”
“Laugh for God loves you, and you will have all you need.”
And then there’s the other half of the message – the woes. The rich there in the crowd must have felt awfully good when they heard blessings pronounced on the poor. If the poor were to be blessed then certainly they would be too - maybe even more so. If conventional wisdom was to believed, their wealth was already a strong sign of the favor of God. So, they were sitting pretty, and in my imagination I can almost see the smiles spreading across their faces, the excited laughter building in their chests.
But it was short-lived pleasure, as we know. When their turn came, there were no reassuring words; no promises of a bright future … not even a hint of approval. Jesus turned to them and pronounced woe. “Woe to you who are full, woe to you who enjoy life now, woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation already.”
If blessing someone is conveying favor, “woe-ing” someone (if there is such a word) is just the opposite. Jesus was making it clear that God was not particularly pleased with the wealthy. And though the story is not explicit about why that was the case, there are some clues to help us understand.
One of them is hiding in Jesus’ reference to the Kingdom of God. We usually think of the Kingdom as a thing of the future - a time when the world will reflect God’s true sense of justice and equity. The first will be last and the last will be first, but really there will not be a first or a last because everyone will be equal thanks to the grace and mercy of God.
But remember that Israel was also the Kingdom of God. It was the place given to the chosen people according to the covenant that Abraham made. And it was fundamentally a Theocracy where God sat “enthroned” in the Temple and governed the people through the law of Moses – a law that spoke often about caring for the poor. Being rich and standing in the midst of a crowd of the poor shows, at best, a shocking level of ignorance and, at worst, a blatant disregard for the will of God. Is it any surprise, then, that Jesus pronounces disfavor on the wealthy?
But, The second and more telling reason disfavor is implied in the last set of blessings and woes – in the mention of the prophets. Throughout the history of Israel, the prophets called the people back to the heart of their faith and the spirit behind the law. The words we heard from Jeremiah this morning sum it up pretty well:
“Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They [are] like a tree planted by water [which] does not cease to bear fruit.” And, “cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength. They [are] like a shrub in the desert [which] lives in the parched places of the wilderness.”
As R. Alan Culpepper understands the pronouncement of blessings and woes in Jesus’ sermon, this is at the heart of the message. The poor are blessed because they rely on God. The world and the people around them have failed them, and they have nowhere else to turn. So, they have come to Jesus trusting that through him their God will provide.
The rich, on the other hand, are in trouble because they struggle with that kind of trust. Their wealth brings them confidence in their own ability to provide for themselves. The respect and admiration they receive from others makes them proud and gives them a feeling of power and control. And, that self-reliance … that faith in their own strength is their downfall. It gets in the way of genuine dependence on God’s provident care and stops their ears to the invitation to live according the ways of the Kingdom.[1]
“Knock, knock,” they said with confident boldness.
“Who’s there?”
“The rich – the happy and content.”
“Mourn for what could be and take what happiness you can,
for you do not hear the voice of God.”
You know, what’s interesting to me is that we don’t hear this version of the beatitudes all that often. We don’t teach our children to learn it by heart. We are much happier with Matthew’s version – the one that reads, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” And so on.
I wonder if that has anything to do with the stark clarity of the text in Luke. Where Matthew says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Luke says, “Blessed are you who are poor.” That makes it hit home in a different way. Jesus seems to be speaking directly to us, and there is no wiggle room for us to escape the truth that we are not poor. There is no “poor in spirit” to retreat to– whatever that means. And without that loophole, we start to get a squirmy, uncomfortable feeling as we realize that we may be – we probably are – among those who received judgment instead of blessing.
So, what do we do with that feeling? Is there any hope for us or should we just put aside our sense of guilt and hide from the fear as we do so often? The easy answer, the one that I really want to give you because it’s the one I really want to hear, is that everything will be okay. Do what you can to follow the teachings of Christ. Reach out in compassion to help the poor and alleviate the suffering you see around you. Ask forgiveness for the times you fail. And God, in the strength of unbounded love, will hear your prayers and bless you. And there is truth in that.
The truer answer – or maybe the more complete answer – is not so easy to hear. There is hope, but it lies in another direction. We find it not when we use our riches to help those around us, but when we let go of our need to take control of the situation and follow the leading of God. For some of us, like for the rich young ruler, that could mean getting rid of stuff – maybe even selling or giving away things we cherish or are most proud of. For some of us that may mean giving up habits or activities that have more of a hold on us than we have on them. For most of us it will mean reevaluating our goals and priorities to see how well the line up with God’s.
However difficult those tasks may be, that is the way. Whatever it is that plugs the ears of our soul, we need to clear it out so that we can hear the Voice calling to us. Whatever blinds the eyes of our hearts, we need to wash it away so that we see the path on which the Spirit would lead us. Whatever leads us to mistake our weakness for strength – and we all have something … whatever it is, it holds us back from trusting in God, and our hope lies in letting it go and grabbing hold of God.
Every day we choose whether we lean into God – to become the poor in spirit even though that may lead us to actually become poor in fact – or we lean into the power and control our wealth affords. We all have to make that choice. We all do make that choice. It may sound harsh, but as Jesus makes clear, it is a truth that we cannot avoid especially as we prepare to enter the season of Lent.
Will we hold onto our illusions of grandeur or will we let them go?
Will we plant ourselves by the living water and bear fruit or will we be shrubs in the desert becoming nothing but tumbleweeds?
Will we hear words of blessing or a pronouncement of woe?
When we knock and Jesus says, “Who’s there?” what will we say?
[1] The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary. Volume IX, 144.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)