sermon by Torin Eikler
Psalm 8 Romans 5:1-12
One evening not long ago, the doorbell rang, and I was surprised and pleased to see one of our neighbors on the front porch. Pleased because I like Charlie and his wife and have often wished we were more conscientious about spending time with them. Surprised because Charley has never actually rung our doorbell before. As I took in the pamphlets in his pocket and the bible in his hand and the other man standing there with him, though, I realized that he was not making a social call, and I began to feel a little uneasy.
I suspect that many of you have felt the same way when you opened the door or looked out the window only to find a pair of earnest-looking individuals standing ready to bring you the Word of salvation through one church or another. In our case it is usually Mormons, but we have also seen a Jehovah’s Witnesses and Lighthouse Baptists from time to time. Usually I take a deep breath, open the door, and invite them because I want to show them hospitality and respect for their deeply held beliefs. Sometimes, I’ll admit, I simply turn away from the door, hushing Sebastian and pretending that they won’t have heard his voice … that they won’t know that we are home.
Since this was Charlie, though, I pushed aside my misgivings and greeted him. After all, he knows that we are pastors, and I thought he would appreciate a warm welcome since most of his visits had probably ended with doors shut in his face if they had been opened at all. A few questions later, my suspicions in that area were confirmed, and I was congratulating myself on being such a good neighbor and such a “good Christian” when he surprised me by asking if I knew whether or not I was going to heaven.
I suppose that if I had just said, “Yes,” the conversation would have been over or at least moved on to more casual topics. But, I was caught off guard, and I gave the more honest answer of, “as sure as we can be this side of death.” Let me tell you, if you are trying to avoid a conversation about the state of your soul that is not the way to go.
In short order, we had been through the usual set of doctrinal statements that can be over-simplified as “we have an assurance that we are saved by grace through faith in the power of Christ.” I thought that we were pretty much done, and was getting ready to head inside to help get the boys to bed when Charlie asked, “So, do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?” After a pause, I answer, simply, “Yes.” I made my excuses and went inside to help Carrie with the boys.
I don’t know why Charlie asked that question. It seems like the answer would be a given with a Christian pastor no matter his denomination. Yet, it stuck with me for a couple of days … not because I was questioning my answer to any degree. No, I was considering what it means to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.
This past week, the seeds planted by that question grew into dozens more. Thinking about my relationship with Christ in the context of Trinity Sunday, I began to wonder about the Father and the Holy Spirit. God is no less than all three – creator, redeemer, and sustainer. Why do we only concern ourselves about our relationship to the one and not the others? Is Jesus the only one that we can relate to? Is the creator God so far above us that we can’t reach out to make a connection? Is the Spirit to unknown to trust ourselves in her care? Would it be more proper to work at a personal relationship with the Holy Spirit since Jesus very clearly told us that he was leaving us and would be sending the Spirit in his place? Is it enough to build a relationship with just one of the three? How does the trinity work?
In the history of Western Christianity, theologians tend to envision the trinity according to a linear model. From the Father comes the Son and from the Father and the Son comes the Holy Spirit. The image that comes to my mind when I think from this perspective is a tree. God the Father is the roots. God the Son is the trunk. And, God the Spirit is the leaves. They are still one though they are distinct, and no part exists without the other.
Would that make us tree-huggers, then, with our arms wrapped around the trunk? What about the leaves? Do we simply enjoy the shade they provide or do we cloth ourselves in their comforting presence? And do we take the roots for granted though they are the source of our existence just like the rest of creation?
In some sense, the almighty Creator is too big, too powerful to approach. What do you say to the One who laid the foundations of the earth, who commands the morning, and who put the stars in their places? Even though we have been “crowned with glory” and “made just a little lower than God,” tradition says that even a glimpse of his face would destroy us. So, we kneel in awe and offer praise.
The Holy Spirit seems too mysterious, too unknown. We don’t see her. We have no stories that speak of her “personality” or explain the way she works. And what we do have is enough to give us pause: people caught up from one place and set down in another, death dealt out for lying, prophesy and tongues overwhelming people so completely that they remember nothing of the event. It’s risky to embrace the Spirit because we never know what will happen or who we will become.
Jesus, though, feels easier. He shared the human experience, and we can relate to the stories of his frustration and struggle. We can commiserate with him in his grief and pain. We can aspire to a life like his. The promise of new life is easier to accept … easier to believe when it comes from the lips of our brother than when it is thundered through the heavens or whispered on the breeze blowing in our souls.
And yet, John tells that he was there at the beginning and “all things came into being through him.” He had the power to still the winds, bring life to the dead, and alter the fabric of creation so that water became wine and the crowds were fed on five loaves and two fish. … How many people did his touch transform? How many lives have changed just because of hearing his words shared in loud proclamation or whispered consolation?
Jesus is no less God for all that he walked the Earth among us. He is not bound in history though he died some 2,000 years ago. That should make it easier for us to relate to the Creator and the Spirit, but somehow we still want to stop with Christ – to hold onto the trunk for dear life, pressing our faces against the bark with only an occasional thought of the roots beneath our feet or a thankful glace at the leaves shading our heads.
Maybe it’s an artifact of that linear view of the trinity. Maybe it’s just hard for us to overcome our need for control and our fear of change. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. I really don’t know, and I suspect the reasons are different for everyone. For myself, I have found that I can begin to move past my fears and reach out for more of God if I approach from a different angle.
One of my favorite ways of understanding God comes out of the Eastern Orthodox tradition. The technical word for it is perichoresis. I’ll say that one again … perichoresis. It’s a Greek term referring to the “mutual inter-penetration and indwelling within the threefold nature of the Trinity”[1] … which doesn’t go much farther toward helping us understand anything, I know. But, one of my teachers in seminary described it as a divine dance of relationship - the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit holding hands as one God while they continually move around and through each other in patterns so intricate that it sometimes seems you can’t tell them apart.
It puts me in mind of a group of children playing ring around the rosey before they learn that you have to let go when you fall down or you end up in a big twisted pile. And that’s why I love this way of thinking about God: dancing, laughing, falling all over God-self in a messy pile only to get back up and keep going. When I picture that, the Creator doesn’t seem so far away, the spirit so strange, or the way of Christ so demanding. I do feel a sense of lightness and excitement. I want to part of that dance. I want to jump in and grab hold of whichever hands are offered in order to rediscover the joy at the heart of life.
I don’t exactly lose my fear or my sense of awe. If I stop to think about it, which I almost always do, I still hold myself back. But, it feels like I have opened up a little more to all that God is. It feels like I have invited God a little more deeply into my heart and my life in a way that will change me – that will make me more what God dreams I could be. And as I change, I become more open,
and I am further transformed,
and I become more open,
and Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer, and I go around and around and around holding hands and laughing as we dance until I am lost in the wonder of divine love and mercy and grace.
At least I hope that’s the way it will work….
Whatever you picture when you imagine God … however you feel about Jesus or the Father or the Holy Spirit, I hope that you can find a way to reach out to all three because our relationship with each one is important. Paul’s language ties it all up in knots to our ears, but he does have that right. Creations of God, we know salvation when we are at peace with our creator. That peace is ours through the grace of Christ that forgives our sins, heals our brokenness, and makes us one with God. And that grace comes to us through the presence of the Holy Spirit pouring God’s love into our hearts bringing peace that passes all understanding.
The tree cannot exist without any one of its parts. The dance cannot go on without all the partners in the circle. And tree or dance or whatever other image sparks your imagination, this is the source of our being, offering the water of new life, and providing the bread to keep us going. Without any one of these blessings, the Life within us withers.
The truly amazing thing is that God, in a wondrous act of love and compassion, has opened the way for us to join in the dance, to lean against the trunk and feel the deep roots beneath us even as the leaves caress our faces. Yes … build a personal relationship with Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior … and explore your relationship with God your Creator … and embrace the presence of the Holy Spirit in your heart, so that your life may be renewed, filled with peace, and overflowing with love and joy to be shared with all of God’s children.
[1] taken from Wikipedia on May 29, 2010.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Language of the Spirit
“The Language of the Spirit”
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Acts 2:1-2
Pentecost Sunday
I like to think of the Holy Spirit as a spirit who speaks many languages, a polyglot. Isn’t that a great word? Polyglot. Someone who speaks many languages. A spirit that communicates with many people, all people in fact. I like to think of our son Sebastian as a polyglot. He has taken it upon himself to discover and create new words. Mostly it sounds like gibberish, but I recognize it is his own special language. It can be kind of weird. But to him some credit, I can just image all the learning that goes into that little head of his: he learns new English words everyday, some French and Spanish words occasionally. And on top of that, he is constantly learning our culture and society’s norms, rules, niceties. We are constantly needing to tell him to not do this, but please do this, the fork goes on this side of the plate the spoon on that side, the proper place to go to the bathroom is in the toilet…not off the top of the outside stairwell, please…
Yes, in that little turning, churning brain of his he is getting so much information, I don’t blame him for wanting to have a little control over his reality. One of the most notable of his Sebastian-ese is quite endearing, even though it is a tad embarrassing. We checked a children’s book out of the library (and I can’t believe I’m saying this from the pulpit) called “Chicken Butt.” It is a dialogue between a boy, his father, and yes, a chicken. And any one who is at least my age and younger, knows about this reference of “chicken butt.” You ask a question, “Guess What?” and the response is? “Chicken Butt” “Guess Why?” “Chicken Thigh” and the questions go all through the body. I don’t know why, but this is hilarious to children.
So somehow Sebastian has turned “Chicken Butt” into a term of endearment meaning “I love you.” And somehow, as if to seal the deal and to add some sort of emphasis, he adds his own special word to the end, which is “gollickly” So if he runs up to you and says “Chicken Butt Gollickly” please don’t take offense. He is simply saying, I love you very much.
Now this can be cute, but I have to admit, I shrink a little when I’m walking out the door to come to church for the day and as I’m crossing the street, I hear the creak of the screen door and such a loud voice, coming out of such a little boy, professing in front of the entire neighborhood “Chicken Butt! Gollickly!” Often, a bit red, I’ll respond “I love you too” or if I’m not quite aware of what’s going on I’ll respond in kind, a reciprocal “Chicken Butt Gollickly.” And then I just realize what I did, and hurry to the church wishing Sebastian would stop yelling this unruly affection.
Unruly affection just might be a way of describing the events of Pentecost. And the Jews who gathered in our story today, gathered together from distant lands to celebrate the end of the Jewish Festival of Weeks, or Shavout, had their own story of God’s unruly affection. They were celebrating the Pentecost, at the end of the fifty days that follows the Passover, a celebration of bringing in the harvest, a celebration of Moses receiving the divine law from Mt. Sinai and giving it to the Israelites, this gift, this unruly affection. Legend has it that when the Israelites received the law, flame came down from heaven and divided into 70 tongues of fire, one for each nation of the world. All could understand, but only one nation promised to keep the Law, Israel.[1] And you thought Pentecost was just a Christian celebration.
So with that story of the 70 tongues and Mt. Sinai in mind, you can imagine those in the room felt part of God’s continuing work. And with that story of the 70 tongues and Mt. Sinai in mind, you can imagine those out in the street were wondering what in the world was going on in there.
We kind of forget about them, don’t we? Those people out in the street? Perplexed at the cacophony of languages coming out of that room, but more amazed that they were understanding, even though they sounded simply drunk (and as Peter reminds us, of course they are not drunk, it’s only 9 in the morning for heavens sake). The unruly party leaks out into the street. What was a private event is now a holy public nuisance.
All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another “What does this mean?” What does this mean? Why are you shouting these words of love at me in the street? And since we have heard this story of Pentecost, most every year, faithfully following seven weeks after Easter (50 days), we have a tendency to move Pentecost off the street, and shove it back indoors where it is safe. “Yes yes, chicken butt gollockily, I love you too, now please, please be quiet and go back inside. The neighbors will hear you.”
And let’s face it, the word Pentecost probably makes most of us uncomfortable. We link it with the word Pentecostal and decide that we are above any such boisterousness: speaking in tongues is not who we are, flames of fire is not how we choose to experience the Spirit, and please let’s just say it was the church’s birthday and leave it at that.
I certainly know the feeling. It makes us uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Kind of like…sitting close together in church when we’ve been happy in that one spot for years. And strangely the Spirit which was sent to give us comfort, also moves in the language of un-comfort…Words from Monica Coleman:
when we put the gospel
to hip hopand host u2charists,
when we share the church building
with the Korean congregation,
when we preach against homophobia
when we break breadwith jews and muslims,
when the teenagers lead worship
on a regular Sunday (not just youth day)
when we invoke the ancestors
and learn from their lives,
when we live at the borders
offering water to those in the desert
harbor to those in danger
and community when we don't fit in. . .
it is then that we speak in tongues[2]
Language of un-comfort, fall on us…
When I think of this unruly character of the Spirit, I think of the Hebrew word for spirit: ruach. Ruach is not only the word for spirit, but also for breath. In the beginning it was ruach that blew across the face of the earth, crafting life and inspiring beings. Ruach—breath—breath that gives life. Ruach—spirit—holy spirit that blew in like tongues of fire. This is the unruly character we witness at Pentecost--the spirit that gives life. Breathe it in (inhale)—spirit! Breathe it out (exhale)—spirit! The Spirit moves in the language of life. Words from seminarian friend and poet Callid Keefe-Perry:
My God is in the next room,
cooking unseen feasts
and humming;
moments of ache
before rain
when the whole June cloud
is ready to burst through
though no drop has yet fallen;
dandelion blades that insist
adamantly they must reside directly
in the middle of your neighbor's
blacktopped suburban driveway;
sights of the shadow of a bird flitting
by the sill near the bed of an aging Grace,
who can no longer move but counts herself
lucky because at least she can still see.
This is my God:expectant and grinningwild and near[3]
Language of life, fall on us…
Spirit speaks in uncomfort, spirit speaks in life. When we sigh and resign to sitting this close to people, spirit moves us here and then moves out us to meet people, this close to people, in the world, in the street, and share an unruly word of God’s love. When you bring spirit into your life, making a commitment that with each breath in and each breath out you will live this one precious life for the kingdom of God and your neighbor’s good, as it is said, you speak the language of Spirit.
When Spirit came to us at Pentecost, she made us polyglots too…people who speak and understand many languages of the Spirit. And as a true polyglot, the Holy Spirit speaks to us not in just one language but in many. In the language of un-comfort, in the language of life, in the language of…?
In these moments, I invite you to sit and think how the Spirit speaks to you. Not how you wish Spirit spoke to you, or how you think Spirit should speak to you. But try to identify one place that you see Spirit speaking, and you understanding. For me, as an example, Spirit speaks in feelings of gratitude, most notably around 1:45 in the afternoon when Sebastian is having quiet time, and Alistiar has just fallen asleep and I can simply rest…and remember and breathe in the blessings of my life.
And if you are unable to identify how Spirit speaks to you, don’t feel like you failed. That you are deaf or dumb to the language of the Spirit. Use your searching as a prayer for the Holy Spirit to make herself known to you. After a few moments of silence, I invite you turn to someone sitting next to you and briefly share what came to you: that place you feel the Holy Spirit, or if you still haven’t identified it yet. Let’s take advantage of being so close, at least.
For we are community, born of fire and water, touched by the unruly affection of the Holy Spirit.
[1] Loader, William. http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/CActsPentecost.htm
[2] How the Spirit Moves Today: in 100 words or less. www.patheos.com
[3] “Bird Shadows/Holy Spirit” www.theimageoffish.com
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Acts 2:1-2
Pentecost Sunday
I like to think of the Holy Spirit as a spirit who speaks many languages, a polyglot. Isn’t that a great word? Polyglot. Someone who speaks many languages. A spirit that communicates with many people, all people in fact. I like to think of our son Sebastian as a polyglot. He has taken it upon himself to discover and create new words. Mostly it sounds like gibberish, but I recognize it is his own special language. It can be kind of weird. But to him some credit, I can just image all the learning that goes into that little head of his: he learns new English words everyday, some French and Spanish words occasionally. And on top of that, he is constantly learning our culture and society’s norms, rules, niceties. We are constantly needing to tell him to not do this, but please do this, the fork goes on this side of the plate the spoon on that side, the proper place to go to the bathroom is in the toilet…not off the top of the outside stairwell, please…
Yes, in that little turning, churning brain of his he is getting so much information, I don’t blame him for wanting to have a little control over his reality. One of the most notable of his Sebastian-ese is quite endearing, even though it is a tad embarrassing. We checked a children’s book out of the library (and I can’t believe I’m saying this from the pulpit) called “Chicken Butt.” It is a dialogue between a boy, his father, and yes, a chicken. And any one who is at least my age and younger, knows about this reference of “chicken butt.” You ask a question, “Guess What?” and the response is? “Chicken Butt” “Guess Why?” “Chicken Thigh” and the questions go all through the body. I don’t know why, but this is hilarious to children.
So somehow Sebastian has turned “Chicken Butt” into a term of endearment meaning “I love you.” And somehow, as if to seal the deal and to add some sort of emphasis, he adds his own special word to the end, which is “gollickly” So if he runs up to you and says “Chicken Butt Gollickly” please don’t take offense. He is simply saying, I love you very much.
Now this can be cute, but I have to admit, I shrink a little when I’m walking out the door to come to church for the day and as I’m crossing the street, I hear the creak of the screen door and such a loud voice, coming out of such a little boy, professing in front of the entire neighborhood “Chicken Butt! Gollickly!” Often, a bit red, I’ll respond “I love you too” or if I’m not quite aware of what’s going on I’ll respond in kind, a reciprocal “Chicken Butt Gollickly.” And then I just realize what I did, and hurry to the church wishing Sebastian would stop yelling this unruly affection.
Unruly affection just might be a way of describing the events of Pentecost. And the Jews who gathered in our story today, gathered together from distant lands to celebrate the end of the Jewish Festival of Weeks, or Shavout, had their own story of God’s unruly affection. They were celebrating the Pentecost, at the end of the fifty days that follows the Passover, a celebration of bringing in the harvest, a celebration of Moses receiving the divine law from Mt. Sinai and giving it to the Israelites, this gift, this unruly affection. Legend has it that when the Israelites received the law, flame came down from heaven and divided into 70 tongues of fire, one for each nation of the world. All could understand, but only one nation promised to keep the Law, Israel.[1] And you thought Pentecost was just a Christian celebration.
So with that story of the 70 tongues and Mt. Sinai in mind, you can imagine those in the room felt part of God’s continuing work. And with that story of the 70 tongues and Mt. Sinai in mind, you can imagine those out in the street were wondering what in the world was going on in there.
We kind of forget about them, don’t we? Those people out in the street? Perplexed at the cacophony of languages coming out of that room, but more amazed that they were understanding, even though they sounded simply drunk (and as Peter reminds us, of course they are not drunk, it’s only 9 in the morning for heavens sake). The unruly party leaks out into the street. What was a private event is now a holy public nuisance.
All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another “What does this mean?” What does this mean? Why are you shouting these words of love at me in the street? And since we have heard this story of Pentecost, most every year, faithfully following seven weeks after Easter (50 days), we have a tendency to move Pentecost off the street, and shove it back indoors where it is safe. “Yes yes, chicken butt gollockily, I love you too, now please, please be quiet and go back inside. The neighbors will hear you.”
And let’s face it, the word Pentecost probably makes most of us uncomfortable. We link it with the word Pentecostal and decide that we are above any such boisterousness: speaking in tongues is not who we are, flames of fire is not how we choose to experience the Spirit, and please let’s just say it was the church’s birthday and leave it at that.
I certainly know the feeling. It makes us uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Kind of like…sitting close together in church when we’ve been happy in that one spot for years. And strangely the Spirit which was sent to give us comfort, also moves in the language of un-comfort…Words from Monica Coleman:
when we put the gospel
to hip hopand host u2charists,
when we share the church building
with the Korean congregation,
when we preach against homophobia
when we break breadwith jews and muslims,
when the teenagers lead worship
on a regular Sunday (not just youth day)
when we invoke the ancestors
and learn from their lives,
when we live at the borders
offering water to those in the desert
harbor to those in danger
and community when we don't fit in. . .
it is then that we speak in tongues[2]
Language of un-comfort, fall on us…
When I think of this unruly character of the Spirit, I think of the Hebrew word for spirit: ruach. Ruach is not only the word for spirit, but also for breath. In the beginning it was ruach that blew across the face of the earth, crafting life and inspiring beings. Ruach—breath—breath that gives life. Ruach—spirit—holy spirit that blew in like tongues of fire. This is the unruly character we witness at Pentecost--the spirit that gives life. Breathe it in (inhale)—spirit! Breathe it out (exhale)—spirit! The Spirit moves in the language of life. Words from seminarian friend and poet Callid Keefe-Perry:
My God is in the next room,
cooking unseen feasts
and humming;
moments of ache
before rain
when the whole June cloud
is ready to burst through
though no drop has yet fallen;
dandelion blades that insist
adamantly they must reside directly
in the middle of your neighbor's
blacktopped suburban driveway;
sights of the shadow of a bird flitting
by the sill near the bed of an aging Grace,
who can no longer move but counts herself
lucky because at least she can still see.
This is my God:expectant and grinningwild and near[3]
Language of life, fall on us…
Spirit speaks in uncomfort, spirit speaks in life. When we sigh and resign to sitting this close to people, spirit moves us here and then moves out us to meet people, this close to people, in the world, in the street, and share an unruly word of God’s love. When you bring spirit into your life, making a commitment that with each breath in and each breath out you will live this one precious life for the kingdom of God and your neighbor’s good, as it is said, you speak the language of Spirit.
When Spirit came to us at Pentecost, she made us polyglots too…people who speak and understand many languages of the Spirit. And as a true polyglot, the Holy Spirit speaks to us not in just one language but in many. In the language of un-comfort, in the language of life, in the language of…?
In these moments, I invite you to sit and think how the Spirit speaks to you. Not how you wish Spirit spoke to you, or how you think Spirit should speak to you. But try to identify one place that you see Spirit speaking, and you understanding. For me, as an example, Spirit speaks in feelings of gratitude, most notably around 1:45 in the afternoon when Sebastian is having quiet time, and Alistiar has just fallen asleep and I can simply rest…and remember and breathe in the blessings of my life.
And if you are unable to identify how Spirit speaks to you, don’t feel like you failed. That you are deaf or dumb to the language of the Spirit. Use your searching as a prayer for the Holy Spirit to make herself known to you. After a few moments of silence, I invite you turn to someone sitting next to you and briefly share what came to you: that place you feel the Holy Spirit, or if you still haven’t identified it yet. Let’s take advantage of being so close, at least.
For we are community, born of fire and water, touched by the unruly affection of the Holy Spirit.
[1] Loader, William. http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/CActsPentecost.htm
[2] How the Spirit Moves Today: in 100 words or less. www.patheos.com
[3] “Bird Shadows/Holy Spirit” www.theimageoffish.com
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Doing the Laundry
sermon by Torin Eikler
Acts 16:16-34 Revelation 22:12-17, 20-21
My grandfather is one those believers who want to use the book of Revelation to predict the second coming. Last time I spoke to him about it, I think he said we are somewhere in the sixteenth chapter which would mean that the angels are in the process of pouring out the seven bowls of God’s wrath. (The dragon and the lake of fire are yet to come, but we’ve got a few chapters before they arrive. So, don’t worry too much just yet.) But, I’m not convinced that this piece of apocalyptic literature written by John was intended to give a timeline.
The lion’s share of biblical scholars – at least the ones that I have read – are in agreement that rather than a guide book filled with landmarks, Revelation is a metaphorical book filled with poetic juxtapositions that challenge our understandings. That is to say, the events that it lists, the numbers it uses, the pictures it paints are not intended to be taken literally. Some of the coded references may suggest real places and events of the time when it was written, but for the most part, it was written using sacred numerology and symbolism that resist logic and reason. It relies on the images and emotions to open the door to inspiration and truth, and rather than our analytical minds, our imagination is the key to understanding – or experiencing - Revelation.
With that in mind, I’d like you to take a moment to imagine God’s paradise since that is the reward that Jesus offers. It’s a big task, perhaps, but there are no right or wrong answers. No one is more qualified than you when it comes to your own imagination. So, try to picture yourself in paradise….
What do you see? ….
What do you hear? ….
Anyone want to share? Remember, there are no right or wrong answers….
Did streets of gold figure in any of your visions? How about walls studded with gems? A glowing presence filling everything with light? Angels or harps or saints in white robes kneeling in adoration?
When I was a youth, I came across a song by a Brethren singer that talked about the streets of heaven being paved with gold and how unappealing that was to “folks who’ve been raised in a simple way.” It was a catchy tune that is still with me, and it got me wondering for the first time what heaven might look like. There are lots of different descriptions out there, and once I started paying attention, I found myself lost in the variety and confused by the differences.
To be honest, I was overwhelmed, and none of the things I read or heard really caught my imagination for long. I still lose interest when a conversation turns in that direction because when I imagine heaven, the background is fuzzy. I couldn’t tell you what I see, but I could tell you what I hear and what I feel. I hear other people. They’re not singing hymns of praise and adoration. They are talking to one another about life and love. They are greeting loved ones, friends they knew in life, and those they are just meeting for the first time – offering hugs and words of kindness. I’m certainly not alone. None of us are, and that’s what makes it feel so nice – so warm and welcoming – so filled with love – so much like home.
Well, … this is Revelation, and there is more to this text than visions of heaven. There is still that lake of fire in there after all, and the reading today began with the lines, “See, I am coming soon, my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work …. Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates.” So, there is something to “worry” about after all – washing our robes.
It seems that it’s time to use our imaginations again, because I’m pretty sure this doesn’t really mean doing the laundry. If it were that simple …. Well I just don’t think God is worried about the state of our appearance as much as the fruit we bear. What does that mean, then – washing our robes? And, how do we do it?
One of the first things that comes to mind is baptism. The Psalmist says, “wash me and I shall be white as snow,” and John the Baptist promised that one was coming who would wash us with the Spirit. By water and the Spirit we are made clean, spiritually, and enter into the grace offered by God through Christ, and that is an important part of our spiritual life that I don’t want to belittle. But I think that this text may be referring to something else. Something that is a part of our faith journey – part of our lives and work as followers of Christ.
And what, exactly is that work? What is it that makes up such an important part of our faith lives? “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and with all your mind” and “love your neighbor as yourself” was Jesus’ response to a similar question. That feels right – feels like it could be the answer. But it is big and vague, and I have trouble imagining what it would look like to love my neighbor as myself because it seems clear that Jesus is not talking about love as a static state of being. He’s talking about love that comes out in action.
Matthew 25 and the verses about the sheep and the goats that we all know so well are a bit more concrete, and since they deal with the final judgment they seem particularly relevant:
“Come, you that are blessed by my Father, … for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”
That gives me a little more to go on. I can picture myself giving out food and water, visiting people, caring for the sick, and even welcoming strangers. I expect that you can imagine yourselves doing those things too. I can picture it, but I don’t do it all that often. For some reason, it still seems too big for me and my life. There is so much suffering and loneliness and hunger in the world. If I try to wrap the arms of my heart around it all, I just can’t do it. Even though each individual action should be easy, they are overshadowed by despair and resignation because of the impossibility of doing it all. Sure Jesus did it, but Jesus was … well … Jesus, (and we lesser folk are a little short on divine compassion and suffering patience to measure up.) But we heard another example of someone (two people actually) washing their robes today.
Paul and Silas had done it again. They were in prison for doing the Lord’s work. (Well it’s not quite that simple. They did cast out a demon in the name of Christ, but they did it for selfish reasons – namely annoyance – which makes them a great example for those of us who sometimes react badly under stress.) Anyway, they were in their cell praying and singing hymns when an earthquake hit, opening all the doors of the prison and unfastening everyone’s chains.
What would you do if you were the chance to escape prison presented itself; especially if you felt you had been beaten and locked up unjustly? I’m pretty sure I would jump on the opportunity to save myself. But no, not only did Paul and Silas stay put, they somehow convinced everyone else to do so as well, and all for the sake of the jailor who would have been in a pickle if they had left. That takes a good deal of courage and a self-less faith.
Balancing self-interest with compassion … caring for the needs of others ... loving neighbors as if they were ourselves. Paul and Silas were doing the work of love as they followed the will of God. Can you picture yourself doing something like that – washing your robe with love?
There is another vision of heaven that I have heard told…. A woman was at prayer when she was lifted out of her body by the Spirit. After a time of hearing and seeing and feeling nothing by the love of God surrounding her, she found herself gazing upon a banquet table laden with food and drink in plenty. Around the table were endless numbers of people, each with his or her place. She asked if this was heaven for she would have been overjoyed to sit at such a table with all those she had ever loved, and heard in reply, “look closely.”
When she did, she realized that everyone had a look of frustration and despair on their face and angry curses were on every tongue. As she watched, she realized that though there was food and drink in front of each person, they could not eat or drink because they had no arms. To be sure, their spoons were long enough to reach the table all the same, but that same fact kept them from getting the food into their mouths try as they might. Thinking of eternity spent longing for the food in front of her, she breathed, “That would be hell.” The vision faded and another took its place.
There in front of her was the same table filled with and endless supply of food and surrounded by people with long spoons and no arms. She didn’t understand why she was being shown all this again. She turned away, shielding herself from the torment on the people’s faces.
Again she heard the words, “look closely,” and when she forced herself to look, she found with surprise that the scene was not at all the same. These people were happy. They smiled and laughed and spoke graciously to one another, offering words of gratitude and praise. She wondered at the difference until she noticed one man lean forward, gathering a bite of food with his spoon and feeding it to the woman next to him. The woman, after chewing with relish, returned the favor. And then she realized that at this table everyone was happy and well-fed precisely because they each cared for needs of their neighbors.
Imagine what the world would be like if we did that. Could that be heaven – the Kingdom of God come down to Earth? Or if that’s too big (and it probably is), imagine what Morgantown or Waynesburg would be like. Could we build the new Jerusalem, shining with the love of God? Or if that’s still too big, imagine this congregation if we washed our robes like that? Would we see the loneliness in our sisters and brothers and spend time visiting with them? Would we recognize the signs of financial difficulties or family struggles in their faces and find some way to relieve the strain? Would we notice the gifts that we each have and support one another in developing them?
What would it be like if we loved each other not with the static, warm-fuzzy kind of love that said hello on a Sunday morning but with an active love that cares for the needs we each have in real ways or holds each one gently as it challenges them to live more fully into their potential? Do we have the courage and the faith to make it real?
What would it look like?
How would it feel?
Imagine….
Acts 16:16-34 Revelation 22:12-17, 20-21
My grandfather is one those believers who want to use the book of Revelation to predict the second coming. Last time I spoke to him about it, I think he said we are somewhere in the sixteenth chapter which would mean that the angels are in the process of pouring out the seven bowls of God’s wrath. (The dragon and the lake of fire are yet to come, but we’ve got a few chapters before they arrive. So, don’t worry too much just yet.) But, I’m not convinced that this piece of apocalyptic literature written by John was intended to give a timeline.
The lion’s share of biblical scholars – at least the ones that I have read – are in agreement that rather than a guide book filled with landmarks, Revelation is a metaphorical book filled with poetic juxtapositions that challenge our understandings. That is to say, the events that it lists, the numbers it uses, the pictures it paints are not intended to be taken literally. Some of the coded references may suggest real places and events of the time when it was written, but for the most part, it was written using sacred numerology and symbolism that resist logic and reason. It relies on the images and emotions to open the door to inspiration and truth, and rather than our analytical minds, our imagination is the key to understanding – or experiencing - Revelation.
With that in mind, I’d like you to take a moment to imagine God’s paradise since that is the reward that Jesus offers. It’s a big task, perhaps, but there are no right or wrong answers. No one is more qualified than you when it comes to your own imagination. So, try to picture yourself in paradise….
What do you see? ….
What do you hear? ….
Anyone want to share? Remember, there are no right or wrong answers….
Did streets of gold figure in any of your visions? How about walls studded with gems? A glowing presence filling everything with light? Angels or harps or saints in white robes kneeling in adoration?
When I was a youth, I came across a song by a Brethren singer that talked about the streets of heaven being paved with gold and how unappealing that was to “folks who’ve been raised in a simple way.” It was a catchy tune that is still with me, and it got me wondering for the first time what heaven might look like. There are lots of different descriptions out there, and once I started paying attention, I found myself lost in the variety and confused by the differences.
To be honest, I was overwhelmed, and none of the things I read or heard really caught my imagination for long. I still lose interest when a conversation turns in that direction because when I imagine heaven, the background is fuzzy. I couldn’t tell you what I see, but I could tell you what I hear and what I feel. I hear other people. They’re not singing hymns of praise and adoration. They are talking to one another about life and love. They are greeting loved ones, friends they knew in life, and those they are just meeting for the first time – offering hugs and words of kindness. I’m certainly not alone. None of us are, and that’s what makes it feel so nice – so warm and welcoming – so filled with love – so much like home.
Well, … this is Revelation, and there is more to this text than visions of heaven. There is still that lake of fire in there after all, and the reading today began with the lines, “See, I am coming soon, my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work …. Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates.” So, there is something to “worry” about after all – washing our robes.
It seems that it’s time to use our imaginations again, because I’m pretty sure this doesn’t really mean doing the laundry. If it were that simple …. Well I just don’t think God is worried about the state of our appearance as much as the fruit we bear. What does that mean, then – washing our robes? And, how do we do it?
One of the first things that comes to mind is baptism. The Psalmist says, “wash me and I shall be white as snow,” and John the Baptist promised that one was coming who would wash us with the Spirit. By water and the Spirit we are made clean, spiritually, and enter into the grace offered by God through Christ, and that is an important part of our spiritual life that I don’t want to belittle. But I think that this text may be referring to something else. Something that is a part of our faith journey – part of our lives and work as followers of Christ.
And what, exactly is that work? What is it that makes up such an important part of our faith lives? “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and with all your mind” and “love your neighbor as yourself” was Jesus’ response to a similar question. That feels right – feels like it could be the answer. But it is big and vague, and I have trouble imagining what it would look like to love my neighbor as myself because it seems clear that Jesus is not talking about love as a static state of being. He’s talking about love that comes out in action.
Matthew 25 and the verses about the sheep and the goats that we all know so well are a bit more concrete, and since they deal with the final judgment they seem particularly relevant:
“Come, you that are blessed by my Father, … for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”
That gives me a little more to go on. I can picture myself giving out food and water, visiting people, caring for the sick, and even welcoming strangers. I expect that you can imagine yourselves doing those things too. I can picture it, but I don’t do it all that often. For some reason, it still seems too big for me and my life. There is so much suffering and loneliness and hunger in the world. If I try to wrap the arms of my heart around it all, I just can’t do it. Even though each individual action should be easy, they are overshadowed by despair and resignation because of the impossibility of doing it all. Sure Jesus did it, but Jesus was … well … Jesus, (and we lesser folk are a little short on divine compassion and suffering patience to measure up.) But we heard another example of someone (two people actually) washing their robes today.
Paul and Silas had done it again. They were in prison for doing the Lord’s work. (Well it’s not quite that simple. They did cast out a demon in the name of Christ, but they did it for selfish reasons – namely annoyance – which makes them a great example for those of us who sometimes react badly under stress.) Anyway, they were in their cell praying and singing hymns when an earthquake hit, opening all the doors of the prison and unfastening everyone’s chains.
What would you do if you were the chance to escape prison presented itself; especially if you felt you had been beaten and locked up unjustly? I’m pretty sure I would jump on the opportunity to save myself. But no, not only did Paul and Silas stay put, they somehow convinced everyone else to do so as well, and all for the sake of the jailor who would have been in a pickle if they had left. That takes a good deal of courage and a self-less faith.
Balancing self-interest with compassion … caring for the needs of others ... loving neighbors as if they were ourselves. Paul and Silas were doing the work of love as they followed the will of God. Can you picture yourself doing something like that – washing your robe with love?
There is another vision of heaven that I have heard told…. A woman was at prayer when she was lifted out of her body by the Spirit. After a time of hearing and seeing and feeling nothing by the love of God surrounding her, she found herself gazing upon a banquet table laden with food and drink in plenty. Around the table were endless numbers of people, each with his or her place. She asked if this was heaven for she would have been overjoyed to sit at such a table with all those she had ever loved, and heard in reply, “look closely.”
When she did, she realized that everyone had a look of frustration and despair on their face and angry curses were on every tongue. As she watched, she realized that though there was food and drink in front of each person, they could not eat or drink because they had no arms. To be sure, their spoons were long enough to reach the table all the same, but that same fact kept them from getting the food into their mouths try as they might. Thinking of eternity spent longing for the food in front of her, she breathed, “That would be hell.” The vision faded and another took its place.
There in front of her was the same table filled with and endless supply of food and surrounded by people with long spoons and no arms. She didn’t understand why she was being shown all this again. She turned away, shielding herself from the torment on the people’s faces.
Again she heard the words, “look closely,” and when she forced herself to look, she found with surprise that the scene was not at all the same. These people were happy. They smiled and laughed and spoke graciously to one another, offering words of gratitude and praise. She wondered at the difference until she noticed one man lean forward, gathering a bite of food with his spoon and feeding it to the woman next to him. The woman, after chewing with relish, returned the favor. And then she realized that at this table everyone was happy and well-fed precisely because they each cared for needs of their neighbors.
Imagine what the world would be like if we did that. Could that be heaven – the Kingdom of God come down to Earth? Or if that’s too big (and it probably is), imagine what Morgantown or Waynesburg would be like. Could we build the new Jerusalem, shining with the love of God? Or if that’s still too big, imagine this congregation if we washed our robes like that? Would we see the loneliness in our sisters and brothers and spend time visiting with them? Would we recognize the signs of financial difficulties or family struggles in their faces and find some way to relieve the strain? Would we notice the gifts that we each have and support one another in developing them?
What would it be like if we loved each other not with the static, warm-fuzzy kind of love that said hello on a Sunday morning but with an active love that cares for the needs we each have in real ways or holds each one gently as it challenges them to live more fully into their potential? Do we have the courage and the faith to make it real?
What would it look like?
How would it feel?
Imagine….
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Leave the Curse Behind
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Revelation 21:10,22-27; 22:1-5
Easter 6
“Nothing accurse will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.” These were the scriptures that grabbed my attention this week from our reading in Revelation. I shouldn’t say “grabbed my attention”, I should say more like, tickled my memory. Something about it sounded so familiar. Why? And then I remembered that yes! There is similar imagery in a literary work by one of the most highly esteemed writers, someone who has inspired so many people, many of you here in fact…
“Now, the Star-Belly Sneetches/ Had bellies with stars./ The Plain-Belly Sneetches/Had none upon thars.”
Ring a bell? For those of you who can’t see this, I am reading from The Sneetches by Dr. Seuss. Not necessarily an apocalyptic masterpiece like the Book of Revelation, but certainly prophetic…
“Those stars weren’t so big. They were really so small/ You might think such a thing wouldn’t matter at all./ But, because they had stars, all the Star-Belly Sneetches/ Would brag, “We’re the best kind of Sneetch on the beaches.’/ With their snoots in the air, they would sniff and they’d snort/ ‘We’ll have nothing to do with the Plain-Belly sort!’/ And whenever they met some, when they were out walking,/ They’d hike right on past them without even talking.”
OK, as much as I would love to do a sermon by simply reading a Dr. Seuss story, I fear I would be accused of wriggling out of a sermon on the Book of Revelation. But in case you don’t know the story of the Sneetches, I’ll catch you up. After suffering through such repression as being ignored, not being invited to frankfurter roasts and years of systematic exclusion, the Plain bellied Sneetches (those without Stars) get duped by a “Fix it up Chappie” named McBean into paying 3 dollars to go into a “star-on” machine.
…and they come out with a beautiful new star on their belly! As you can imagine the original star-bellied Sneetches do not like this one bit because now they can’t tell who is who and who is really the best and who is really the worst. So this “Fix it up Chappie” introduces the star-off machine, through which the original star-bellied Sneetches happily prance through in order to be de-starred. Well you can imagine this becomes a whirlwind of in again out again, on again off again …
“Through the machines they raced round and about again,/Changing their stars every minute or two./ They kept paying money. The kept running through/ Until neither the plain nor the Star-Bellies knew/ Whether this one was that one…or that one was this one/Or which one was what one…or what one was who.”
Yes, this is a prophetic work in the true sense of the word. Prophecy--looking critically out our situations-our reality-and sparing no feelings describing the logical (or illogical) outcomes of our behavior. What we have in Revelation is also a book of prophecy, and given the dramatic, and even frightening imagery of this final book in the Bible, I bet that most of us are either fascinated with it, or ignore it. Many who are fascinated with it understand it to be a prediction laying out a scenario that will lead to the end times. Many who ignore it are either too frightened by it (given that scary scenario just mentioned), or they see it simply as irrelevant and grotesque. Let’s do a personal check in. What is your feeling about the book of Revelation?
To be sure, the Book of Revelation is the final word in the Bible. But the author of the Revelation, understood to be a man named John, was less interested in having contemporary people scramble to decode all the bizarre imagery and signs to try to say when the world would come to a cataclysmic end, but rather, was convicted into sharing an image about God’s ultimate goal. God’s response to oppression and empire.
Today’s scripture is like the ultimate of the ultimate. At the end of the book, we have gone through all the beasts and fires, to the cool river of Life. There’s the tree of life! There… are sweet fruit! There… are healing leaves. The cool water and the delicious fruit and the leaves draw us into this glorious place. But something entices us to stay: “Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.”
We could say, this is the ultimate vision of God, for us. But it’s hard to believe isn’t it? That nothing accursed will be found there anymore? It’s especially hard to believe when we discover that John, the author and the early Christian community, likely saw this new earth, right here, on earth.[1] This isn’t in heaven far away, or a 2012 apocalypse where the earth is destroyed. Remember those words to the Lord’s Prayer: “on earth as it is in heaven”?
So maybe God’s vision is not just something that will happen in the sweet by and by, but something that will happen, right here, right where we are, in spite of our uncleanness, and our cursed frailties. But it’s still hard to believe. If nothing unclean will enter, then maybe it’s a done deal that most of us won’t get in. …
One of my favorite times with the boys is bath time. Since there are two of them now, it is easier to put them both in and let them entertain each other, while one of us sits close by and simply watches them. It is generally a very pleasant time. And then Alistair stands up and tries to do some gymnastic move in the water…and then Sebastian screams and resists washing his hair. And then they are both screaming and crawling out of the bath, and dumping water out of the tub and…and I find myself saying, “OK kids, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. It’s up to you. Either way it’s going to be done.”
I read one helpful reflection this week on this cursedness in Revelation. It said, “The promise that nothing unclean will enter, in the end, is the promise that God will remove all uncleanness from us all.” [2] But maybe God is presenting us with an easy way, or a hard way. Maybe God is whispering to us, “before you get here, leave the curse behind.”
To be sure, we each likely feel cursed in someway. We each carry our baggage, our brokenness. But it seems to me there is a particular curse addressed here that is a shared curse, one that we all share to some extent. And I think it is the curse of the Star-bellied kind…
…that kind of curse that thrives on our distinguishing who the real Christians are, who God’s true chosen are. Sometimes it feels like we’re running like crazy on the beaches—like the Sneetches-- wondering: are they evangelical Christians? Progressive Christians? Welcoming Christians? Lazy Christians? Christians who will shove peace and justice down my throat or Christians who will ask me if I believe Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior? Are they not even Christians? Do they have stars? Do they not have stars? Do they have the “right” name of God written on their forehead?
Instead of the tranquility of the river of life, with its banks of delicious fruit, we’re more like Sneetches, running around on the beaches wondering “Whether this one was that one…or that one was this one/Or which one was what one…or what one was who”
In an interview I heard this week, Archbishop Desmond Tutu was reflecting on his experience early on in his resistance to apartheid in South Africa, where Black South Africans were physically, and politically separated and repressed by White South Africans.
I pictured him eating the dried mango the interviewer brough him as a gift, getting lost in his infectious laugh as he shared. He said “I…used to say if these white people had intended keeping us under they shouldn't have given us the Bible. Because, whoa, I mean, it's almost as if it is written specifically just for your situation. I mean, the many parts of it that were so germane, so utterly to the point for us …it was like dynamite.”
When he was asked to recall one of those early discoveries that the Bible was like dynamite, he continued: “[W]hen you discover that apartheid sought to mislead people into believing that what gave value to human beings was a biological [determinite, that is,] skin color or ethnicity, and [then] you saw how the scriptures say…because we are created in the image of God,…each one of us is a God-carrier. No matter what our circumstances may be, no matter how awful, no matter how deprived you could be, it doesn't take away from you this intrinsic worth.
He would tell those men and women he worked with, who suffered abuse and questioning, "When they ask who are you, you say, 'Me? I'm a God-carrier. I'm God's partner. I'm created in the image of God.'" And you could see those dear old ladies as they walked out of church on that occasion as if they were on cloud nine. [T]hey walked with their backs slightly straighter.[3]
As we shed the curse at the door of God’s vision, we are all with God. Can it really be that there is no barrier between the people and God? Can we really fathom there will be no barrier between each other? There is no heaven or earth, it is one. There is no God beyond or God within, God is one. There is no you, or me, or them, or those with stars or none upon thars, but one. All of us, God-carriers?
Are you legal or illegal? I am a God-carrier. Are you gay or straight? I am a God-carrier. Have you been abused or have you done harm to others? In my brokenness, I am still a God-carrier. Do you weep or shout for joy? I am a God-carrier.
And where do all these God-carriers finally meet God, face to face, with all their curses wiped clean and their barriers torn down? It’s not a self sufficient farm where we each have our own plot of land and take care of only ourselves, stockpiling goods and weapons for that time when things turn really bad. It’s not a pristene suburb where the neighbors all take exquisite care of the lawns, and homes. It’s not even a return to a Garden of Eden, and some blissful paradise.
Isn’t it interesting, that God’s vision, this ultimate of ultimates, the place through which this refreshing river flows, and God-carriers meet—isn’t it interesting that it is envisioned in a city? “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life…flowing from the Throne of God…through the middle of the street of the city.” (22:1-2). The New Jerusalem. A dirty, crowded city, the bastion of all sort of people, and problems…and promises.
Are we willing to leave the curse behind, as we move toward this vision? And is leaving behind the curse, the easy way or the hard way? I’d venture to think that if we take this challenge to free ourselves from the curse of believing we know who should and shouldn’t be in Christ’s family, it will be a long hard process. We’ll be challenged in what we deeply believe about morality, justice, righteousness and faith.
But it seems to me, as I look at the world around me, holding onto that curse devestates us without even knowing it.
"Then, when every last cent/ Of their money was spent, The Fix-it-Up Chappie packed up/And he went./ And he laughed as he drove in his car up the beach, “They never will learn. No. You can’t teach a Sneetch!”
But McBean was quite wrong. I’m quite happy to say/ That the Sneetches got really quite smart on that day,/The day they decided that Sneetches are Sneetches/ And no kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches./ That day, all the Sneetches forgot about stars/ And whether they had one, or not, upon thars.
How about you? How does the curse hold you from entering fully into this vision with God?
“Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, ad his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.”
Leave the curse behind. Find liberation in joining others in the glorious city God is birthing.
[1] Rowland, Christopher. “Revelation” Global Bible Commentary, 2004.
[2] Brian Peterson. http://www.workingpreacher.org/
[3] “Desmond Tutu’s God of Surprises” Speaking of Faith by American Public Media http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/
Revelation 21:10,22-27; 22:1-5
Easter 6
“Nothing accurse will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.” These were the scriptures that grabbed my attention this week from our reading in Revelation. I shouldn’t say “grabbed my attention”, I should say more like, tickled my memory. Something about it sounded so familiar. Why? And then I remembered that yes! There is similar imagery in a literary work by one of the most highly esteemed writers, someone who has inspired so many people, many of you here in fact…
“Now, the Star-Belly Sneetches/ Had bellies with stars./ The Plain-Belly Sneetches/Had none upon thars.”
Ring a bell? For those of you who can’t see this, I am reading from The Sneetches by Dr. Seuss. Not necessarily an apocalyptic masterpiece like the Book of Revelation, but certainly prophetic…
“Those stars weren’t so big. They were really so small/ You might think such a thing wouldn’t matter at all./ But, because they had stars, all the Star-Belly Sneetches/ Would brag, “We’re the best kind of Sneetch on the beaches.’/ With their snoots in the air, they would sniff and they’d snort/ ‘We’ll have nothing to do with the Plain-Belly sort!’/ And whenever they met some, when they were out walking,/ They’d hike right on past them without even talking.”
OK, as much as I would love to do a sermon by simply reading a Dr. Seuss story, I fear I would be accused of wriggling out of a sermon on the Book of Revelation. But in case you don’t know the story of the Sneetches, I’ll catch you up. After suffering through such repression as being ignored, not being invited to frankfurter roasts and years of systematic exclusion, the Plain bellied Sneetches (those without Stars) get duped by a “Fix it up Chappie” named McBean into paying 3 dollars to go into a “star-on” machine.
…and they come out with a beautiful new star on their belly! As you can imagine the original star-bellied Sneetches do not like this one bit because now they can’t tell who is who and who is really the best and who is really the worst. So this “Fix it up Chappie” introduces the star-off machine, through which the original star-bellied Sneetches happily prance through in order to be de-starred. Well you can imagine this becomes a whirlwind of in again out again, on again off again …
“Through the machines they raced round and about again,/Changing their stars every minute or two./ They kept paying money. The kept running through/ Until neither the plain nor the Star-Bellies knew/ Whether this one was that one…or that one was this one/Or which one was what one…or what one was who.”
Yes, this is a prophetic work in the true sense of the word. Prophecy--looking critically out our situations-our reality-and sparing no feelings describing the logical (or illogical) outcomes of our behavior. What we have in Revelation is also a book of prophecy, and given the dramatic, and even frightening imagery of this final book in the Bible, I bet that most of us are either fascinated with it, or ignore it. Many who are fascinated with it understand it to be a prediction laying out a scenario that will lead to the end times. Many who ignore it are either too frightened by it (given that scary scenario just mentioned), or they see it simply as irrelevant and grotesque. Let’s do a personal check in. What is your feeling about the book of Revelation?
To be sure, the Book of Revelation is the final word in the Bible. But the author of the Revelation, understood to be a man named John, was less interested in having contemporary people scramble to decode all the bizarre imagery and signs to try to say when the world would come to a cataclysmic end, but rather, was convicted into sharing an image about God’s ultimate goal. God’s response to oppression and empire.
Today’s scripture is like the ultimate of the ultimate. At the end of the book, we have gone through all the beasts and fires, to the cool river of Life. There’s the tree of life! There… are sweet fruit! There… are healing leaves. The cool water and the delicious fruit and the leaves draw us into this glorious place. But something entices us to stay: “Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.”
We could say, this is the ultimate vision of God, for us. But it’s hard to believe isn’t it? That nothing accursed will be found there anymore? It’s especially hard to believe when we discover that John, the author and the early Christian community, likely saw this new earth, right here, on earth.[1] This isn’t in heaven far away, or a 2012 apocalypse where the earth is destroyed. Remember those words to the Lord’s Prayer: “on earth as it is in heaven”?
So maybe God’s vision is not just something that will happen in the sweet by and by, but something that will happen, right here, right where we are, in spite of our uncleanness, and our cursed frailties. But it’s still hard to believe. If nothing unclean will enter, then maybe it’s a done deal that most of us won’t get in. …
One of my favorite times with the boys is bath time. Since there are two of them now, it is easier to put them both in and let them entertain each other, while one of us sits close by and simply watches them. It is generally a very pleasant time. And then Alistair stands up and tries to do some gymnastic move in the water…and then Sebastian screams and resists washing his hair. And then they are both screaming and crawling out of the bath, and dumping water out of the tub and…and I find myself saying, “OK kids, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. It’s up to you. Either way it’s going to be done.”
I read one helpful reflection this week on this cursedness in Revelation. It said, “The promise that nothing unclean will enter, in the end, is the promise that God will remove all uncleanness from us all.” [2] But maybe God is presenting us with an easy way, or a hard way. Maybe God is whispering to us, “before you get here, leave the curse behind.”
To be sure, we each likely feel cursed in someway. We each carry our baggage, our brokenness. But it seems to me there is a particular curse addressed here that is a shared curse, one that we all share to some extent. And I think it is the curse of the Star-bellied kind…
…that kind of curse that thrives on our distinguishing who the real Christians are, who God’s true chosen are. Sometimes it feels like we’re running like crazy on the beaches—like the Sneetches-- wondering: are they evangelical Christians? Progressive Christians? Welcoming Christians? Lazy Christians? Christians who will shove peace and justice down my throat or Christians who will ask me if I believe Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior? Are they not even Christians? Do they have stars? Do they not have stars? Do they have the “right” name of God written on their forehead?
Instead of the tranquility of the river of life, with its banks of delicious fruit, we’re more like Sneetches, running around on the beaches wondering “Whether this one was that one…or that one was this one/Or which one was what one…or what one was who”
In an interview I heard this week, Archbishop Desmond Tutu was reflecting on his experience early on in his resistance to apartheid in South Africa, where Black South Africans were physically, and politically separated and repressed by White South Africans.
I pictured him eating the dried mango the interviewer brough him as a gift, getting lost in his infectious laugh as he shared. He said “I…used to say if these white people had intended keeping us under they shouldn't have given us the Bible. Because, whoa, I mean, it's almost as if it is written specifically just for your situation. I mean, the many parts of it that were so germane, so utterly to the point for us …it was like dynamite.”
When he was asked to recall one of those early discoveries that the Bible was like dynamite, he continued: “[W]hen you discover that apartheid sought to mislead people into believing that what gave value to human beings was a biological [determinite, that is,] skin color or ethnicity, and [then] you saw how the scriptures say…because we are created in the image of God,…each one of us is a God-carrier. No matter what our circumstances may be, no matter how awful, no matter how deprived you could be, it doesn't take away from you this intrinsic worth.
He would tell those men and women he worked with, who suffered abuse and questioning, "When they ask who are you, you say, 'Me? I'm a God-carrier. I'm God's partner. I'm created in the image of God.'" And you could see those dear old ladies as they walked out of church on that occasion as if they were on cloud nine. [T]hey walked with their backs slightly straighter.[3]
As we shed the curse at the door of God’s vision, we are all with God. Can it really be that there is no barrier between the people and God? Can we really fathom there will be no barrier between each other? There is no heaven or earth, it is one. There is no God beyond or God within, God is one. There is no you, or me, or them, or those with stars or none upon thars, but one. All of us, God-carriers?
Are you legal or illegal? I am a God-carrier. Are you gay or straight? I am a God-carrier. Have you been abused or have you done harm to others? In my brokenness, I am still a God-carrier. Do you weep or shout for joy? I am a God-carrier.
And where do all these God-carriers finally meet God, face to face, with all their curses wiped clean and their barriers torn down? It’s not a self sufficient farm where we each have our own plot of land and take care of only ourselves, stockpiling goods and weapons for that time when things turn really bad. It’s not a pristene suburb where the neighbors all take exquisite care of the lawns, and homes. It’s not even a return to a Garden of Eden, and some blissful paradise.
Isn’t it interesting, that God’s vision, this ultimate of ultimates, the place through which this refreshing river flows, and God-carriers meet—isn’t it interesting that it is envisioned in a city? “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life…flowing from the Throne of God…through the middle of the street of the city.” (22:1-2). The New Jerusalem. A dirty, crowded city, the bastion of all sort of people, and problems…and promises.
Are we willing to leave the curse behind, as we move toward this vision? And is leaving behind the curse, the easy way or the hard way? I’d venture to think that if we take this challenge to free ourselves from the curse of believing we know who should and shouldn’t be in Christ’s family, it will be a long hard process. We’ll be challenged in what we deeply believe about morality, justice, righteousness and faith.
But it seems to me, as I look at the world around me, holding onto that curse devestates us without even knowing it.
"Then, when every last cent/ Of their money was spent, The Fix-it-Up Chappie packed up/And he went./ And he laughed as he drove in his car up the beach, “They never will learn. No. You can’t teach a Sneetch!”
But McBean was quite wrong. I’m quite happy to say/ That the Sneetches got really quite smart on that day,/The day they decided that Sneetches are Sneetches/ And no kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches./ That day, all the Sneetches forgot about stars/ And whether they had one, or not, upon thars.
How about you? How does the curse hold you from entering fully into this vision with God?
“Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, ad his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.”
Leave the curse behind. Find liberation in joining others in the glorious city God is birthing.
[1] Rowland, Christopher. “Revelation” Global Bible Commentary, 2004.
[2] Brian Peterson. http://www.workingpreacher.org/
[3] “Desmond Tutu’s God of Surprises” Speaking of Faith by American Public Media http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Jars of Clay
sermon by Torin Eikler
Youth Sunday
2 Corinthians 4:6-10,16-18
I really like Tuperware. I grew up with the stuff, and I have fond memories of juice popsicles on plastic sticks shared by children whose mothers were having some kind of party – if you can call sitting around looking at Tuperware a “party.” My mother still has some of the pieces of the Tuperware lunch box that I carried to school. It was about so big and so deep and there was a container for my sandwich, one for my fruit, one for my vegetable sticks, and a cup for my juice. It all fit just so, and there was a snapping handle that also served to ensure the lid didn’t come off. Most days, I wished that it was one of the metal ones with Batman or Superman on it, but it was much more useful. I would love to send Sebastian to school with his sandwich, veggies, dessert, and juice all in their own special containers so nothing gets squashed or spilled, and as for the teasing it might invite, hey it builds character … right?
While I’m pretty sure that you all know what Tuperware is even if you aren’t familiar with the pieces I described, I’m certain that Paul had no inkling that anything like it would ever be commonplace. Even if it he had imagined a lunchbox of his own, though, I think he would have stayed with the clay jar imagery. They don’t seal with that comforting thump. They don’t stack well in the refrigerator, and they are a lot heavier. But, they a much better representation of human beings – which is what Paul was inferring when he said, “we have this treasure in clay jars.”
How so? I’m glad you asked…. While we can’t survive for long in the microwave and we can’t provide a measure of refrigeration when stacked the right way, we are very much like clay jars in two important ways. We are vessels that carry something essential – “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” And, we are quite capable of breaking. In fact, we are – most of us – a bit more fragile than a clay jar.
We hear harsh words being spread by the rumor mill, and a little crack forms in the hard shell we have made for ourselves. We fail to live up to the expectations (our own or someone else’s), and our edges get chipped. We hurt someone close to us, and the damage spreads. Each day we collect a dozen new cracks and chips. Each evening we patch them up the best we can so that nobody else will see our flaws.
But it doesn’t ever last, and when our brokenness is put on display, we apologize…, we run…, we throw a quick patch on to cover our shame until we can deal with it all by ourselves. We call it weakness, and we do everything we can to hide it from the world. Our fear of discovery is so strong at times that we even avoid or ignore the pain and brokenness of others lest it trigger something similar in us.
That is taking brokenness to a whole new level. It’s making an idol of sorts out of appearances. We let others go uncomforted for fear that the force of their suffering might be enough to break open the façade we have carefully cobbled together. You know what I mean … how we pretend we don’t see the person crying or raging right in front of us. We say that we are doing it so that we don’t embarrass them, but we really just don’t know what to do. It seems too simple or too hard to reach out with a word or a hand and offer comfort. When we do that, when we ignore the suffering of others that way, we squelch the light of Christ that is our treasure, but it doesn’t have to be that way.
I don’t mean to imply that there is a way we can be un-broken. It doesn’t work that way. Even the glory of God in the face of Jesus cannot change that …, but it can go us one better than simply un-broken. It can make us whole – that light that shines within us.
The love of God in Christ is sticky enough to hold us together. It is strong enough to withstand the shock of insult and failure without collapsing under the weight. It is supple enough to bend and stretch with the needs of daily life. And, it is eternal and abundant so that we need not fear being left to our own devices once again.
All this and more …. The Spirit of Christ can transform us into beacons. It works to do it all the time, pushing at the cracks and imperfections we have accumulated over the years, and if we stop covering them up, all those gaps we have become windows. And, the light of God’s love living within us seeps through the gaps, shines through the holes, and makes us a light on the hill guiding travelers to safety and rest.
We are all broken people - clay jars covered by the marks of life. And, that is exactly why yet God chooses to make us the vessels of divine love and grace. Filled with a treasure so valuable and so abundant that we cannot afford to hold it in, hoarding it like gold or food or whatever you love to stockpile, our weakness becomes our greatest strength – our greatest gift to the world – the light of the knowledge of God’s glory in the face of Christ.
Don’t hide it. Let it shine!
Youth Sunday
2 Corinthians 4:6-10,16-18
I really like Tuperware. I grew up with the stuff, and I have fond memories of juice popsicles on plastic sticks shared by children whose mothers were having some kind of party – if you can call sitting around looking at Tuperware a “party.” My mother still has some of the pieces of the Tuperware lunch box that I carried to school. It was about so big and so deep and there was a container for my sandwich, one for my fruit, one for my vegetable sticks, and a cup for my juice. It all fit just so, and there was a snapping handle that also served to ensure the lid didn’t come off. Most days, I wished that it was one of the metal ones with Batman or Superman on it, but it was much more useful. I would love to send Sebastian to school with his sandwich, veggies, dessert, and juice all in their own special containers so nothing gets squashed or spilled, and as for the teasing it might invite, hey it builds character … right?
While I’m pretty sure that you all know what Tuperware is even if you aren’t familiar with the pieces I described, I’m certain that Paul had no inkling that anything like it would ever be commonplace. Even if it he had imagined a lunchbox of his own, though, I think he would have stayed with the clay jar imagery. They don’t seal with that comforting thump. They don’t stack well in the refrigerator, and they are a lot heavier. But, they a much better representation of human beings – which is what Paul was inferring when he said, “we have this treasure in clay jars.”
How so? I’m glad you asked…. While we can’t survive for long in the microwave and we can’t provide a measure of refrigeration when stacked the right way, we are very much like clay jars in two important ways. We are vessels that carry something essential – “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” And, we are quite capable of breaking. In fact, we are – most of us – a bit more fragile than a clay jar.
We hear harsh words being spread by the rumor mill, and a little crack forms in the hard shell we have made for ourselves. We fail to live up to the expectations (our own or someone else’s), and our edges get chipped. We hurt someone close to us, and the damage spreads. Each day we collect a dozen new cracks and chips. Each evening we patch them up the best we can so that nobody else will see our flaws.
But it doesn’t ever last, and when our brokenness is put on display, we apologize…, we run…, we throw a quick patch on to cover our shame until we can deal with it all by ourselves. We call it weakness, and we do everything we can to hide it from the world. Our fear of discovery is so strong at times that we even avoid or ignore the pain and brokenness of others lest it trigger something similar in us.
That is taking brokenness to a whole new level. It’s making an idol of sorts out of appearances. We let others go uncomforted for fear that the force of their suffering might be enough to break open the façade we have carefully cobbled together. You know what I mean … how we pretend we don’t see the person crying or raging right in front of us. We say that we are doing it so that we don’t embarrass them, but we really just don’t know what to do. It seems too simple or too hard to reach out with a word or a hand and offer comfort. When we do that, when we ignore the suffering of others that way, we squelch the light of Christ that is our treasure, but it doesn’t have to be that way.
I don’t mean to imply that there is a way we can be un-broken. It doesn’t work that way. Even the glory of God in the face of Jesus cannot change that …, but it can go us one better than simply un-broken. It can make us whole – that light that shines within us.
The love of God in Christ is sticky enough to hold us together. It is strong enough to withstand the shock of insult and failure without collapsing under the weight. It is supple enough to bend and stretch with the needs of daily life. And, it is eternal and abundant so that we need not fear being left to our own devices once again.
All this and more …. The Spirit of Christ can transform us into beacons. It works to do it all the time, pushing at the cracks and imperfections we have accumulated over the years, and if we stop covering them up, all those gaps we have become windows. And, the light of God’s love living within us seeps through the gaps, shines through the holes, and makes us a light on the hill guiding travelers to safety and rest.
We are all broken people - clay jars covered by the marks of life. And, that is exactly why yet God chooses to make us the vessels of divine love and grace. Filled with a treasure so valuable and so abundant that we cannot afford to hold it in, hoarding it like gold or food or whatever you love to stockpile, our weakness becomes our greatest strength – our greatest gift to the world – the light of the knowledge of God’s glory in the face of Christ.
Don’t hide it. Let it shine!
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