Waiting

sermon by Torin Eikler
Psalms 27        Luke 13:31-35

A few weeks ago, I was at home with Alistair and Patrick on a Thursday morning.  (The day of the week matters since Alistair has school on Tuesday and Wednesday and Carrie and I are both home with the boys on Monday morning.)  That makes Thursday a bit of a challenge sometimes, and I usually deal with it by scheduling a trip to do errands that morning.  At least then we are out of the house with a schedule and a change of scenery every twenty to thirty minutes.

I say that I usually make Thursday errand day, but it doesn’t always work out that way.  Sometimes there is just too much that needs to be done around the house, or there isn’t a reason to go out on the town.  When that happens, mornings get long and tedious, and this was one of those days.

All morning Alistair was asking me to play a game or put together a puzzle or read a book – to give some time and attention to him.  My hands full of a baby and  my head full of the many things that needed to be done, I repeated again and again that we would do something later … once I had finished all my chores.

He seemed to be taking it well as he usually does, and we worked our way through the first couple hours.  Then, after yet another request … to build a marble run I think … and yet another (mildly frustrated) response of, “you just have to wait,” I heard Alistair say to himself as he turned away, “I’m in the waiting place.”

 

The words brought me up short.  In case you don’t know what the waiting place is, it’s one of Dr. Seuss’s inventions.  I described it in detail last May.  So, I won’t go into the details, but it is a dis-spiriting place.  Filled with people who are just standing or sitting around waiting for something to come or to change or to open up for them.

That is what Alistair was telling me.  Our house that morning was his waiting place.  He was stuck there … just waiting for something to happen … for me to find time in the morning to do something with him.  And that kind of waiting is hard.  I don’t have to tell you that.  I’m sure you have experienced it for yourselves.  It’s a part of every day of our lives.  Waiting at the grocery store.  Waiting at the doctor’s office.  Waiting, waiting, endless waiting …, or at least it always seems endless … and often pointless.

 

That’s what makes it so hard, I think.  We are all people who prefer to be doing.  We like being caught up in the business of life.  In our better moments, we are good Anabaptists who like doing the work of the kingdom wherever that takes us.  It can feel like a waste of time and energy to just sit and wait. 

When it comes down to it, though, I don’t believe this is the same kind of waiting that Dr. Seuss was talking about.  It is somehow more.  The Hebrew word we translate as “wait” comes from two other roots that mean “to twist or stretch” and “the feeling of enduring.”  It implies some sense of movement or tension even as it describes staying put.  In any case, it certainly isn’t just passively sitting there as we might think

 

Have you ever watched ants at work?  I found in youth great joy watching ants meandering along invisible chemical trails. I didn’t know about the chemical trails at the time, but I delighted in seeing their animated dances of life. There was something about a sense of purpose and a zest for life in their segmented bodily movements. I marveled at how fast they could run and how much a spirit of adventure seemed to mark their steps. Maybe it was my own desire to run with speed or spirit of adventure that I was transferring to the ants. Whatever it was, it was there.

When one ant would find a piece of discarded peanut butter and jelly-smeared bread or a bit of cracker that I had dropped near the line, it was almost as if I could hear an audible cry of delight from that ant who then quickly informed his siblings about the find. In moments the day of searching erupted into a dance of delight for the feast to come as they brought the bounty provided by an unnoticed hand back to the hive. I could spend great lengths of time just watching them dismantle the bread and carry it away. [1]

 

I think that’s the kind of waiting the Psalmist is talking about.  Going about what we need to be doing – following the chemical trails of God’s desire, if you will – the chemical trails discovered by believers over the years.  AND staying open and alert to the new possibilities … the new treasure troves of God’s grace that show up along the way.

It’s still waiting, but it’s waiting with the confidence that “we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” and not just in the life we have after our bodies die.  It’s waiting with a sense of assurance that God is at work among us and expecting that we will discover what God has for us to do when the time is right.

That’s the kind of waiting that I see in Jesus as he laments over Jerusalem.  He did not sit idly by until the time came for him to enter into the city.  He did not twiddle his thumbs until the moment when he was arrested, tried, and condemned.  He kept busy following the path laid down for him by centuries of prophets and by the Holy Spirit going before him.  Even though he had longed to “gather [those] children together” and bring them under the protective wings of God’s loving salvation, he was – if not content – than at least willing to wait until the time was right to go to them.

 

I know that we usually talk about expectant waiting as a part of the Advent season, and it is a particularly appropriate theme when we are anticipating the coming of the Christ child.  But I think that it should be an integral part of our lives all the time.  God does not wait until Advent to move in the world after all.  She is shaping and transforming our lives and all of creation all the time, and if we want to be a part of that good work (as we so often say that we do), then we should be living each day with the expectation that God will reveal his purposes and the hope that we will see and understand how we can be a part of them. 

So, I propose that we all take up the practice of being ants for Lent.  Some of you may have already given up something for Lent.  You may even have added something else to take its place as Carrie and I have suggested before.  But whether you have or not, I would like to ask you to take up this spiritual practice – the practice of expectant waiting – for the next several weeks (and maybe even beyond Easter morning as well).

As you prepare for each day, remind yourself that God is at work in your life and in the world.  Focus your attention for a few minutes on your connection to God and your desire to be part of what God is doing.  Reassure yourself with the words of the Psalmist, saying “I am confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord….”  And then head out into the business of life, following one of the many trails laid down for us with an eye open for the surprising morsel or grace that the Spirit will reveal to you.

It may be that you will go days without discovering one of those crumbs, or you may uncover a feast worthy of a king in no time at all.  It’s not really about the results – or at least it’s not about getting results quickly.  It is about orienting ourselves the right way … about setting our minds and hearts on recognizing and embracing God in our daily living.  And it is important because seeking God in the middle of our confused and busy lives is one of the most essential parts of our calling as disciples.  How can we follow the one we call Teacher, Lord, Savior, and Friend, if we can’t or don’t find the paths prepared for us?

Wake up calls come in many different forms.  Alistair’s words on Thursday reminded me that there are things that are more important than loading the dish washer or making bread.  Without meaning to, he called me out of my morning’s manic obsession and into the time and space that God wanted us to share, and the two of us (three of us, counting Patrick) sat and read and built towers with blocks and laughed and loved and found joy.

The Psalmist is calling us to the very same thing.  Pay attention to God’s time and space, and you will find that God does not fail.  God’s goodness is always before us here and now and it brings hope for our spirits and provides strength for getting through the day.  So, “wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord,” and you will find hope and love and joy overflowing into your life.  You will find the presence of the Lord who is our light, our salvation, our stronghold, our confidence, our safety, our shelter, our teacher, and our Savior leaving all sorts of trails throughout your life.

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[1] inspired by Paul O Myhre from http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx

It all starts wtih a story

sermon by Carrie Eikler
Luke 4:1-13 Deuteronomy 26:1-11
First Sunday in Lent

Stories. 

Who doesn’t like a good story?

Long stories, short stories.

Tales that get taller and taller the more time goes by.

Accounts where we aren’t so much concerned about the facts

as we are about the fact this really happened.

We all love stories.

 

I’m sure if you think about it, you could quickly come up with probably five stories

that you are likely to hear over, and over, and over again

at a family gathering.

 

My family does this.

But Torin’s family really does this.

 

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the story of when Torin’s mom

was called into the principal’s office b/c he had said the anatomically correct word

for a certain part of the human body.

When he was 5.

 

Or the story about deciding which brother gets what when his parents die:

The joke is that Torin gets the money

Josh gets the house and everything in it

and the youngest, Austin, gets the coveted Christmas candle.  Just…the candle.

And that when that arrangement was made

they were all happy with that.

Even Austin.

 

And the funny thing is, they tell these stories as if

I’ve never heard it before.

They tell it, as if

those who they are telling it to, even though they were involved in the story

have never heard it before.

 

So many times, Torin’s mom will interject in our conversation

“I remember the time when….”

and I’m just guessing which one of the top 10 stories will this be?

And I’m usually right.

--

But the thing is…

I never stop her from telling it.

I never put on the brakes and say

“Hold up Bev, I know this one”

She may believe it is the first time she is telling me this

and I know it is the 27^th,

but that doesn’t matter.

 

Because she wants to tell it.

Maybe, she needs to tell it.

 

Stories are not really stories if they aren’t told.

Stories have no power if they remain silent.

--

“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor;

he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien,

few in number

and there he became a great nation,

mighty  and populous.”

 

These words of Moses, as recorded in Deuteronomy

tell a story of the Jewish people

It’s a story that is told and retold at every Jewish Passover.

 

When the seder meal begins,

the gathered body hears these words,

called the Haggadah.

“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor…”

 

This briefly retells the story of their

ancestor Jacob who went to Egypt,

was enslaved the people multiplied

and God delivered them from slavery.

 

and as we heard today when

Moses is fresh on the heels of this Exodus,

looking over into the promised land,

 he gives the people these instructions about what to do

when they enter that new home

 

They are to give of their offerings-

their first fruits—

but not just that.

They are to tell their story.

 

So at every Passover,

the story is told again.

Even though they’ve heard it 27 times

or more.

Because they want to tell it,

And probably more so,

they need to tell it.

“My ancestor was a wandering Aramean…”

 

__

 

We have entered into the season of Lent

this wild and wooly 40 days before Easter.

 

And for Christians, it begins with a story.

One about a wandering Aramean, yes.

One about a tempted Jew in the wilderness, yes.

But one the shakes us to our bones.

 

If you went to a service on Ash Wednesday, you heard it:

“From dust you were made, to dust you shall return.”

On Ash Wednesday, we marked ourselves

with ash to call us to awareness of our mortality.

 

It is a story that doesn’t sound like a good one at the onset.

The mark reminds us of two things:

you have sinned and you will die

(now it is a theological debate on whether each one of these is

related to the other, but

you get the message).

 

You have sinned, and you will die.

But it is more than that… 

The ash it calls us to remember our own story.

Yes, the juicy, tidbits of our story

as a sinner.

 

It seems to me that people fit broadly into three camps

when we talk about sin.
(and yes, I am making generalizations here)

There are those who love to talk about their sin

(or at least, the sin they used, to engage in).

They are the ones who beat themselves up

and others because they only

see humankind as sinful creatures

Who must repent, over and over again.

to escape the fiery depths of hell.

 

These people… have a story to tell.

 

Then there are those who for whatever reason

don’t want to think of sin at all.

Maybe they’ve been turned off

by those first people.

Maybe they don’t see the need to

call into question their behavior.

Maybe they question the concept of original sin, so

are quick to discount any sin.

 

These people don’t see the need to examine their story.

 

Then there’s the broad middle range,

that place where probably most of us sit.

We know we have sinned.  We know we hurt people.

We participate in systems of injustice.

We know we try to be better, and often fail

and many times succeed.

We just don’t feel it’s helpful to go on and on about it.

So instead of sin,

we talk about “brokenness” and “improvement” and “self help”.

We don’t mind spending 40 days in the wilderness of self-examination,

we just want to be sure that it’s only 40 days.  No more.  Until next year.

 

Yes, we have a story too.

We just don’t quite know how to talk about it.

--

So Lent gives us that chance to tell the story.

 

It kind of reminds me of an iconic type of storytelling.

You needn’t have gone to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting

to know how many of the gatherings start out.

After the coffee and the doughnuts and the scuttling to their chairs,

the people turn their focus to one person

who has been chosen to share.

That person stands up and says

“My name is ‘Carrie’  and I’m an alcoholic.”

and they proceed to tell their story.

 

No ifs ands or buts.

This is me, this is what I am, this is how I got here.

A very straightforward  but

a very vulnerable and difficult thing to do, I’m sure.

 

Telling the story in an AA meeting is a crucial part of the recovery process.

Not all get up and speak in front of the “congregation”

but they do have sponsors,

sober individuals who have been alcoholics

who are assigned to them to

hear their story

encourage them along the way.

 

Telling their story of struggle in some way

is the first step.

 

Programs like AA have at the heart of their recovery

twelve principles…twelve steps.

And if you hear the steps,

you may recognize that, it’s not only

alcoholics who could benefit from these principles,

 

But us, as well.

The 12 steps can be condensed into 6 processes:

 

First, and foremost, admitting that you cannot control your addictions or compulsions

Recognizing a higher power can give you strength

Examine past errors with the help of a sponsor

Making amends for these errors

Learning to live a new life with a new code of behavior

Helping others who suffer from the same addictions

 

That sure sounds like a good spiritual process for

many of us, doesn’t it?  In fact, it sounds

a lot like the movement of our liturgy in worship

 

We come before God, welcoming ourselves into holy space and call upon God to strengthen us.

We confess our sins

We ask forgiveness for our sins

We listen to the word of God and the gospel of Christ to give us a new way

and we do all this joined together with others who

are wandering, struggling, sinning, forgiving, and just trying to find that new path.

 

During Lent, we have the chance,

(justified by the religious calendar J)

to say “Hi God.  I’m Carrie and I’m a sinner

here’s my story”

 

And God is probably exhaling a great big

sigh of relief.

Thinking, “Wow, it’s been awhile.”

 

And even though God has heard your story

27 times or more

it’s ok.

Because God wants to hear it. 

But perhaps more importantly,

 you need to tell it.

 

Because that’s the only way you’ll experience Easter

is to go through Lent.

 

The only way to find resurrection,

is walk into death

 

Or as the English mystic Evelyn Underhill said

“No Christian escapes a taste of the

wilderness on the way

to the promised land”

 

Because, the only way to find healing,

is to name your brokenness.

 

And that starts with telling your story.

 

You don’t have to get up in front of everyone.

 

But, telling it to yourself is a good start.

God already knows it.

And while you’ve lived it,

you may not have heard it before.

 

So what’s your story?

I invite you now into a time of confession, where you can begin to tell your story to God.  Please turn to the back of the bulletin and join in speaking the words of confession.

 

 

Responding to Love

sermon by Torin Eikler
I Corinthians 13:1-13  Luke 4:21-30

The first scripture we heard today – the one from 1^st Corinthians – is probably very familiar … at least if you’ve been to very many weddings.  It may be the most popular scripture chosen for those ceremonies, and that’s not without reason.  It speaks eloquently about the enduring, accepting nature of love, and it fits with the occasion….  A couple deeply in love, surrounded by the people who have known them all their lives … the people who have seen them grow up … who have seen the mistakes and the success … who have witnessed their growth and development … the people who love them for who and what they are, who are proud of them, and who have gathered to bless the next step in their lives even as they wonder when these children found the time to grow up.

Fiddler on the Roof captured the feel of the scene so very well when Tevye and Golde sang, “Is this the little girl I carried?  Is this the little boy at play?” … “Wasn’t it yesterday when they were small?”  And, it truth, that’s the feeling we all have whenever the children we have known cross any hurdle, especially the bigger ones.  Those are just naturally moments when we step back from the day to day flow of time and look at the bigger picture of life and how much and (how little) has changed.

I think it might have been like that on that long-ago day in the synagogue….  It was one of those momentous occasions – a son of Nazareth, Jesus the son of Joseph, was preaching in the synagogue for the first time.  The people there knew him.  They had seen him growing up.  They had witnessed all that “growing in wisdom and favor,” and if the stories of Jesus’ childhood that didn’t make into the Bible are to be believed, they had seen him doing some spectacularly mean, childish things as well.  The funny thing is, though, that no matter how much they knew, no matter how much they had seen or remembered, they were terribly, terribly gracious … just glad to have this young man who was becoming someone in the wider world … just glad to have him home, pleased that he had made good, proud of his accomplishments and the promise of his future.

Yes, that’s pretty much the way it starts out in today’s reading.  Jesus had come home.  He was preaching to a crowd of people who had known him since he was just knee high, and they were pleased, and proud, and gracious. “Why, isn’t that Joseph’s boy?”  “Just a poor carpenter, he was, when he left us. And look at him now.”  “Where did he learn to read … and with such authority?  He was born to it, I’m telling you, born to it.”

 

By all accounts it’s a beautiful scene. So what went wrong? How did that tender little home-coming turn suddenly so ugly.

It seems a little risky to say this, but … as a preacher … I kind of think it was Jesus’ fault … at least a little bit.  Right in the middle of all their pride and praise, he just sort of went off.  “No doubt you’ll quote me the old proverb, ‘Physician, heal thyself.’ And you’ll probably want me to do here what you’ve heard I’ve been doing in Carpernaum, that land so full of the Gentiles. Well, guess what, no prophet is accepted in his hometown. And when the prophets of old came to do miracles and wonders, more often than not it was for Israel’s enemies. So back off.”

Really … what was he thinking?  That’s not the way to win people over.  What had gotten into Jesus? Was he skeptical of their praise, suspicious that they just wanted to exploit him as a healer? Or was he just in a really, really bad mood.

 

To be honest, we can’t say for sure why he did it … why he sabotaged his homecoming.  But I do have a hunch. Because I’ve got this feeling, deep down, that as well as these folks knew Jesus, he knew them even better.  So, Jesus understood that these people who loved him … who were proud of what he was becoming … these people weren’t hearing him.  They didn’t really understand what he meant when he said that the scriptures were being fulfilled.  And so Jesus, who was never one to put PR ahead of truth, refused to let them sit comfortably, assuming that he was bringing special blessings for them.  There was so much more to what he was saying….

Jesus had just finished reading Isaiah’s prophecy of a year of favor, of Jubilee, when the blind find sight, the captives release, the oppressed relief, and all the poor of this world consolation.  And, if we want to be completely certain (well as certain as we can be) about the direction Jesus was headed, it’s important to note what he didn’t read because Isaiah goes on to tell of the day when the Lord would trample down all Israel’s enemies, the day when God would crush them underfoot and restore Israel to its rightful place.  

Jesus didn’t read that part.  He wasn’t thinking locally.  He was thinking globally, looking at the bigger picture, and this wasn’t a nationalistic sermon, but one in which he declared that God loves all the world and has a special concern for the poor.  For that prophesy to come true, there needed to be some changes.  Just like Mary sang before her boy was even born, in order to raise the lowly God will have to bring low the powerful; and in order to feed the poor, the rich will have to go away empty … at least more empty than they are used to being.

That was what Jesus was talking about, and the crowd didn’t get it.  They couldn’t get the memories and the wonder out of their head in order to really listen.  So Jesus took it up a notch.  He drove his point home, and this time they did get it.  They got it so clearly, in fact, that they were they’re ready to get him.

It was good news that Jesus was sharing with them.  It was the proclamation that God loves every person on the earth – loved them so much that she would never abandon them – loved them so much that she had sent the Messiah to bring them new life.  But in the end, because they were not open to the prospect of sharing the bounty of God’s deliverance with others, they were not open to receiving it themselves.

 

Strange isn’t it … how speaking the truth – the simple, unadorned truth so often has that effect.  Instead of making people feel thankful for having their illusions cleared away, instead of awakening their sense of hope and joy, instead of energizing them to step out in new and better paths, it arouses anger and fear.  It seems that people would rather live in their comfortably confused cocoons than break out into a new and brighter world where they just might be able to fly.

 

It’s easy to judge the people who drove Jesus to the cliff instead of welcoming him with open arms.  It’s easy to sit here, knowing the whole story, and wonder how they could have missed the point … how they could have responded with such violence when they finally heard the truth.  But, I wonder if things have changed all that much?  

Do you think Jesus’ sermon about change and equity and release would go over any better today?  In a nation tied up in knots over whether millionaires should have their taxes raised and whether it’s fair to make sure everyone who wants to buy a gun has a clean record, would Jesus be cheered for his commitment to the Jubilee or would his message still make people see red?  If Jesus came here to this congregation, sitting in this comfortable space and announced the hard truth that we are not as fully or completely in line with the Kingdom’s values, would we celebrate and cheer?

Happily, it’s not as bad as it that might make it feel.  As I read it, Jesus did not condemn the people of Nazareth during his visit.  Chided them … yes.  Challenged them … yes.  But never condemned them.  How could he?  God’s love was just as much for them as for anyone else.  And so it is for us.  However like or unlike that congregation of two thousand years ago we might be, however much we have succeeded or failed in our struggle to live the lives Jesus would wish for us, the love of God and the promise of life that it offers are still there for us.

Good news, for sure, but it still leaves one troubling question: now what?

If we know that we have it within us to reject the truth offered by Christ, … if we are willing to admit that we almost certainly have turned away from the promise and challenge it brings, … and if we also know that we are still enfolded in God’s great love,  then how do we respond to that?

One idea would be to take a page from Isaiah and all the other prophets … from Jesus himself.  No matter how serious the situation … how harsh their words may have seemed … or how difficult the truth they shared with the people, their words always announced the wonderful truth of God’s love for the people.  Sometimes it’s so hidden in there that it seems like we weren’t meant to find it, but it’s always there… the love of God … running through the history of our faith and bringing hope of a better way.

And if you don’t think you can see yourself on the same level as the prophets of old, perhaps you can relate a little more to Paul – that passionate, misguided man who became such a powerful evangelist.  He had great faith just as we do.  He had hope in the future promised by God just as we do.  But, he didn’t quite get it.  As he said himself, he was no more than a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal until that moment on the road when he faced the truth of God’s love … and it changed his life … and he went out and shared the good news of his transformation … the good news that love was greater than any other thing that might move or control us … that love had come to save us from ourselves and bring us new life.

If we take a page from that book, we must push ourselves.  “Don’t just do good, caring, Christian deeds.” we must remind ourselves.  “Tell people why.”  There is a song that I love called “God is in” by Billy Jonas.  In it is the line where the Buddha says, “don’t just do something, sit there.”  Well that wasn’t Jesus’ message.  His mission was much more dynamic.  Go out and help the poor, feed the hungry, AND share the good news of Christ’s love with them.  God out and stand with the captives and the oppressed, AND tell them how Christ’s love sets them free.  Help the blind see that they are part of the family of God, surrounded by the love of brothers and sisters in Christ.

 

We have received a wondrous gift in Christ … the greatest gift:  love … love that accepts us as we are … love that offers forgiveness and new life.  How will you respond? …

 

However that response comes … whatever the Spirit whispers into your heart, embrace it.  Do it without fear because … because God is there with you … empowering you, encouraging you, … and embracing you in the endless arms of love.